Late spring arrived quietly.
Ten li outside the capital, beside the official road, a small pancake shop had just opened. A simple, clean banner hung at the entrance, five honest characters written in bold strokes:
Nian Nuan Pancake Shop.(Remembering Warmth.)
Near midday, the air around the shop was thick with the fragrance of freshly baked flatbreads. Inside, the few elmwood tables were packed—traveling merchants resting their feet, farmers from nearby estates, townsfolk who had come especially after hearing word of mouth. The runner was a young man with a straightforward smile and quick hands.
The back kitchen was even livelier.
At the stove stood a sturdy, rosy-cheeked woman, skillfully flipping dough. With every turn, the pancakes released a mouthwatering aroma. She was none other than Xiao Man, once the fire-girl of the Imperial Kitchen. After redeeming herself and leaving the palace, she used the money everyone had helped her gather, her own hard-earned savings, and a portion of discreet support from Qing Sweet to rent this shop.
"Sister Xiao Man! Table three wants another sesame pancake!" a bright voice called out.
The girl carrying the tray was Yunxiang, once a laundry maid from the Washing Bureau. Now she was one of the shop's best hands, running the business alongside Xiao Man.
"Coming right up!" Xiao Man answered cheerfully, her hands never slowing, her face glowing with a solid, contented joy. Every brick here carried her effort—and her hope.
In the midst of this warm bustle, a carriage stopped outside.
It looked ordinary, but anyone with an eye could tell the materials were solid. The driver was a plain-looking middle-aged man with an unusually sharp gaze—once an imperial guard, now retired, still entrusted with certain special duties.
He parked the carriage neatly. A calm, neatly dressed maid stepped down first—Chuntao—and carefully set the footstool.
Then the curtain lifted.
A young woman in pale blue everyday clothing stepped down, her face unadorned, her features gentle and clear.
It was Qing Sweet.
She had received half a day's leave from the Emperor and had come incognito to see Xiao Man's shop.
"Sister Qing!" Xiao Man wiped her hands on her apron and rushed out, her eyes instantly reddening. "You really came! Please, come inside!"
Qing Sweet smiled and took her hand. "I said I would. Business is booming—I could smell it from far away."
"It's all thanks to you—and everyone's support!" Xiao Man led her to the quieter back courtyard. It wasn't large, but it was tidy, with a few vegetable beds by the wall and a grape trellis overhead.
Tea was quickly served. Yunxiang brought over the shop's specialties: jujube–yam cakes, crisp sesame biscuits, and a bowl of thick millet porridge—dishes Qing Sweet had once made or taught in the palace.
"Master Zhang and Chief Steward Li sent word just days ago, asking how the shop is doing," Xiao Man said as she poured tea. "They always ask after you too. I know everything you've been doing in the palace—I'm truly happy for you."
Qing Sweet listened with a soft smile, warmth spreading in her chest.
So many of those who had once huddled together through the palace winters had found their paths. Xiao An and Xiao Lu, trained through the Imperial Culinary School, were now promising young masters. Shunzi—the homesick eunuch—had been transferred to the Pastry Bureau after showing exceptional skill. Even Lady Yang, once anxious and fragile, had risen in rank and lived a steadier life.
And of course, there were those who paid the price.
Consort Liu was demoted and sent to the Cold Palace. Lin Fu was exiled. Wang Youcai and Marton Liu were expelled after investigations.
The world turned, clouds shifted—but some warmth remained, taking root beyond the palace walls.
"Sister Qing," Xiao Man lowered her voice, eyes shining, "His Majesty… treats you very well. To even let you come out like this."
Qing Sweet smiled faintly, stirring the porridge without answering.
The Emperor's trust in her went far beyond the ordinary. In public, it was unwavering support. In private, a quiet understanding. He still asked her for simple food when exhausted; she still offered calming tea when his brow furrowed with worry. They no longer needed a Bowl of Truth—a glance, a few words about food, were enough.
He was a ruler who knew how to use people well.She was a minister who fulfilled her duty.And between them—something rarer: understanding.
"This place is good," Qing Sweet said sincerely, looking at Xiao Man's healthy, glowing face. "Warm. Grounded. Full of life. This is living."
Xiao Man nodded hard. "I just want anyone who passes by—rich or poor—to have a hot, clean meal. Like that bowl of Warm-Heart Soup back then."
Qing Sweet's eyes stung.
Yes. Food's simplest power—to fill the belly, warm the body, soothe the heart—never changed. Not in the palace. Not in the streets.
After checking the accounts, tasting new dishes, and offering a few suggestions, Qing Sweet stood to leave. Xiao Man walked her to the carriage, reluctant.
"I'll take good care of the shop," Xiao Man said, wiping tears. "You must take care too. The palace… isn't the same as outside."
"I know." Qing Sweet squeezed her hand and boarded the carriage.
As it rolled away, she lifted the curtain slightly and looked back at the fluttering banner—Nian Nuan Pancake Shop—smiling peacefully.
Inside the palace, work awaited. New regulations. Ingredient evaluations. Training young cooks and food physicians.
The road ahead was long.
But her heart was steady.
Because her original intention—cherishing things, cherishing people—had never changed. Using food as a bridge, she had connected palace and people, soothed emperors and common folk alike. The Emperor gave her a sky to act under—and she, in return, gave him a warmer, clearer court, preserving a rare haven of human warmth within the high walls.
The carriage passed through the towering gates, leaving the bustle behind. Somewhere toward the Hall of Mental Cultivation, familiar lights seemed to be waiting.
Qing Sweet let the curtain fall, sitting upright—her gaze clear, her resolve unshaken.