Madam Chen's little hut sat in the most forgotten corner of the Imperial Kitchen.
It had once been a storage room for broken tools and discarded odds and ends. Now, after years of quiet effort, it served as both her living quarters and a crude dispensary. A single oil lamp burned in the center, its flame trembling like a living thing, casting long shadows over several young faces tight with unease.
Qing Tian didn't waste time.
Lowering her voice, she went straight to the point.
"I asked you all here because I want to talk about survival."
The word landed heavily.
"In this palace, none of us have roots. No backing. On ordinary days, we endure and tell ourselves it's enough. But when real trouble comes—when you fall sick, when your family needs money, when you offend the wrong person by accident—there's no one to turn to."
She paused, letting the silence settle.
"You can cry to heaven, and it won't answer. You can call to the earth, and it won't respond."
Her gaze moved slowly across the room.
Xiao Man bit her lip.
Fu Gui's jaw tightened.
Xiao Anzi and Xiao Luzi exchanged a glance.
Madam Chen sat quietly in the corner, rolling a dried mugwort leaf between her fingers, listening.
"I was thinking," Qing Tian continued, choosing words simple enough for palace servants to understand, "what if the few of us here quietly looked out for one another?"
She raised her hand slightly, counting off examples.
"If someone falls sick and needs leave, the rest cover their work in turns so they won't be punished. If someone has an emergency at home and truly needs money, those who can spare a little lend it—temporarily. And on normal days, we watch each other's backs. No letting anyone be bullied alone."
When she finished, the room fell silent.
Only the faint crackle of the oil lamp could be heard.
In a palace ruled by hierarchy and suspicion, this idea was dangerously close to forbidden. Private cooperation could easily be labeled forming factions—a charge that destroyed lives.
Fu Gui spoke first, his voice rough.
"Qing Tian… your heart's in the right place. But can this really work? What if someone lets it slip?"
"That's why," Qing Tian replied without hesitation, meeting his eyes, "this stays in this room. Outside, we say nothing. No records. No oaths. No names."
She paused.
"This only works if it's built on one thing."
"Trust."
Xiao Man twisted the hem of her clothes. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I believe in you, Sister Qing Tian. If it weren't for that stew… I don't know if I would've made it through."
The usually quiet Xiao Anzi suddenly spoke.
"My mother used to say, when you're far from home, one more friend is one more road to survival." He looked around the room. "What Qing Tian is offering… is a road."
Xiao Luzi nodded quickly beside him.
At last, all eyes turned to Madam Chen.
She set the mugwort leaf aside and brushed her hands clean. In the lamplight, her eyes seemed deeper than before.
"I've spent forty years in this palace," she said slowly. "I've seen people turn on each other for a few coins. I've seen companions push someone else forward to take blame just to save themselves."
Her words were heavy.
"Groups like this aren't rare," she continued. "Most fail. Because when benefit is involved—affection becomes thinner than paper."
The silence grew thicker.
Then she looked at Qing Tian.
"But I've also seen this." Her voice softened. "One winter night, two young eunuchs were freezing to death. They broke their last hard biscuit in half and fed each other."
"They both lived."
She stood, bent down, and pulled an old wooden chest from beneath the bed. From it, she took out a small cloth bundle. Inside were a few broken pieces of silver and several strings of copper coins.
"I don't have much," she said calmly. "This is my share. Not a loan. This goes into a common pool. Whoever needs it most takes it first."
That was the moment.
Fu Gui reached into his robe and placed two worn silver ingots beside hers.
Xiao Anzi and Xiao Luzi each added their carefully saved hoards.
Xiao Man hesitated, cheeks flushing, then pulled out a dozen copper coins—the money she'd been saving for a new hair ribbon.
Qing Tian added her own carefully saved monthly allowance.
The pile was small.
But in that room, it felt heavy.
No blood oath was sworn.
No vows were made to heaven.
Yet amid the bitter scent of medicinal herbs, a silent pact took shape—fragile, dangerous, and very real.
They didn't give it a name.
In their hearts, it was simply a small flame in the freezing depths of the palace.
Something to gather around.
Something to protect.
Unfortunately—
The first test of that flame arrived far sooner than any of them expected.