After the first success, Qing Tian grew bolder.
She began to prepare more batches of the Crunch Chips and Comfort Soup. Not much—just enough for ten or so people at a time.
She never made a scene.
Sometimes she would "accidentally" drop a small cloth pouch beside a maid who had just been reduced to tears by Nanny Liu.
Sometimes she would "forget" a warm jar of soup in the corner where an old coughing eunuch always rested.
Sometimes there would be a leaf beside it, with a crooked little smile drawn in charcoal.
Sometimes nothing at all.
No names.
No explanations.
Only the sound of crunch.
And a mouthful of warmth.
At first, people were afraid. They looked around nervously, unsure if it was a trap.
But when the pressure became unbearable, someone would always give in.
And when they did…
The crisp snap of the chips cut through the fog in their minds.
The gentle sweetness of the soup softened something tight and painful inside their chests.
Slowly, quietly, things began to change.
A young eunuch who had been forced to kneel for two hours after breaking a bowl accepted a few chips with trembling hands. He cried while chewing, but when he finished, the hopelessness in his eyes was just a little less heavy.
A laundry maid whose wages had been unfairly docked found a small leaf-wrapped bundle beside her. She ate one chip. Then another. Her sobbing faded into silence as she stared blankly at ants crawling across the ground.
Once, Matron Liu was viciously scolding a new palace girl until she was shaking like a leaf. Qing Tian passed by and said nothing—but as she walked away, a few chips slipped from her pouch and rolled to the girl's feet.
The girl hesitated… then grabbed one and stuffed it into her mouth.
Crunch.
That small sound gave her just enough strength to straighten her back.
These changes were tiny—like ripples in a spring pond that vanished almost as soon as they appeared.
But Qing Tian could feel it.
The explosive tension among the lowest servants… had eased, just a little.
The supervisors still raged.
The managers still schemed.
The storm was still coming.
But the people at the very bottom—those who were crushed, ignored, and forgotten—had found the smallest release valve.
A sound.
A taste.
A moment to breathe.
Qing Tian knew this wouldn't save her master.
It wouldn't stop the consorts.
It wouldn't change their rations.
But food could carry something more than hunger.
It could carry comfort.
And in this frozen palace, even the faintest warmth was worth protecting.
Before the storm broke, she would keep that tiny flame alive.