Early spring still carried a bite of cold, yet the warm pavilion behind the Hall of Mental Cultivation felt like late spring itself. A brazier of fine silver-thread charcoal burned steadily, releasing soft crackling sounds that blended into the quiet.
Qing Sweet had just presented a draft proposal on improving the medicinal-herb management system of the Office of Imperial Provisions—measures to prevent adulteration and ensure quality. After handing it over, she did not immediately withdraw. The Emperor seemed unhurried today and kept her to talk awhile.
The conversation gradually drifted away from specific administrative matters.
Tang Yi rolled a smooth jade thumb ring between his fingers. His gaze settled on the palace walls outside the window—towering, austere, their eaves sharp and cold even under the pale spring light. Then he asked, almost casually, yet with unmistakable depth:
"Qing Sweet. All that you're doing now in the Office of Imperial Provisions—setting rules, issuing extra meals, running the training school, even what you did last time, going around in circles just to save a young eunuch punished to kneel in the snow."He turned back to her, eyes dark and searching."Why expend so much effort helping everyone? Even those who have nothing to do with you—or who may not have treated you kindly in the past?"
He paused."In this palace, self-preservation is the norm. What you're doing—many would say it's thankless work. Or even… inviting trouble."
Qing Sweet had been pouring him a cup of jasmine red-date tea she had blended herself to calm the spirit. At his words, her hand stilled slightly.
She set the teacup gently on the rosewood table beside him and straightened. She did not answer at once. Instead, her eyes followed his, toward the endless layers of palace walls.
"Your Majesty," she said slowly, her voice steady and clear, "look at the bricks of the Forbidden City."
Tang Yi followed her gaze.
"They are thick. Tall. Carefully chosen. They've weathered centuries of wind and rain—solid and unyielding."Her tone carried a rare stillness."They form the most exalted palace under heaven. They define the strictest rules. And they also… confine countless lives."
She turned back to him. Her eyes were clear and unwavering—no fear, no flattery, only frank sincerity.
"But, Your Majesty," she said softly, firmly,"bricks may be cold and hard. Human hearts… should not be."
The warm pavilion fell silent. Only her voice rang on:
"Everyone who lives here—whether a consort high in the halls, a maid or eunuch running errands, a guard standing watch, or a laborer sweeping courtyards—they are not bricks.""They were born of parents. They have flesh and blood. They grow hungry, feel cold, fall ill, grow old. They miss the families far away. They feel lonely and afraid in the depths of night. And they also… hope—for even the smallest visible good, for the dignity of being treated like a human being."
She paused, her voice lighter now, yet somehow stronger:
"What the Office of Imperial Provisions does has never been charity, nor an attempt to buy loyalty. We only hope that those struggling to survive inside this palace of cold stone might… live a little more like people."
"To eat one's fill—that is the most basic thing. To have warm clothes. To have medicine when sick. To not be abandoned in misery when old. To have grievances seen, or at least heard. To allow those with skill a path upward, instead of a life with nothing ahead but despair."
Her gaze was earnest."Your Majesty works tirelessly in the outer court for the stability of the realm, for calm seas and clear skies, for the people of the world to live in peace. And this palace—this is also part of the world. It is also… Your Majesty's home."
"If the people here carry a little less resentment, a little more peace of mind; fewer schemes, more mutual help; fewer crushing rules, more warmth and understanding—then when Your Majesty returns here, would it not be a comfort?""And when you handle the burdens of state, knowing the rear is stable—might that not ease your heart, even a little?"
She lowered her head slightly.
"I know the Office of Imperial Provisions is small. We cannot change the coldness of these bricks, nor shake the foundations of palace law.""All we can do is try, within this rigid frame, to warm the hearts of those living inside—just a little."
"Like lighting a small fire in the snow. It cannot melt the entire frozen plain. But for those who draw close, it gives warmth… and light."
When Qing Sweet finished, the pavilion remained silent for a long time.
Tang Yi did not speak at once. He simply looked at her, eyes deep as an ancient well. Within them stirred surprise, reflection, and a quiet, profound stir of emotion.
No one in the inner palace had ever spoken like this—not so plainly, yet not so piercingly.Consorts fought for favor and power. Palace servants fought to survive. Only she stood at this strange angle, seeing what everyone else ignored—the basic truth of human lives inside these walls.
And all she did, she did not for favor, nor authority, but for one simple belief:
Human hearts should not be so cold.
At last, Tang Yi lifted the jasmine red-date tea. The warmth was just right; the floral fragrance and gentle sweetness blended into a calming comfort that eased both body and mind.
He took a sip. Warmth spread from tongue to chest.
"You are right," he said at last, his voice low but unmistakably clear."It is I… who did not think deeply enough before."
His gaze drifted once more to the cold palace walls, then returned to Qing Sweet. In his eyes was undisguised admiration—and something deeper, more complex, as if through her he glimpsed an answer he had long sought without knowing its shape.
"This palace should not be made of rules and cold stone alone," he said slowly, each word firm.
Then he looked straight into her eyes and said, with solemn weight:
"Continue doing what you wish to do, Qing Sweet."
"I… support you."