028

The palace was silent, the candlelight flickering red. Inside the Zhuixia Pavilion, Si Mianmian dismissed her attendants, leaving only Qiuhe guarding outside the door. A sheet of plain paper lay before her, the ink already ground thick, the brush tip fully dipped, yet she hesitated to write. The cold moonlight outside the window illuminated her serene profile, her almond-shaped eyes, usually smiling, now only held a icy sharpness.

A few days ago, one afternoon, she went to visit her mother, Consort Wen—now Imperial Concubine Wen. She found her mother sitting alone by the window, weeping over a plate of cold, untouched pastries. Those pastries were the "Lotus Heart Auspicious Cake," a dish her mother had painstakingly recreated for her father, the late Empress Xiaoyichun, supposedly her father's specialty. Her father took a bite, uttered only a curt "Similar in appearance, but not in spirit," and put it down. He didn't even notice the red welts on Consort Wen's fingers from the hot water she had burned while trying to replicate the pastry.

Si Mianmian's heart felt like it had been pricked by a needle. She recalled more details: her father always treated her mother with a kind of unsettling detachment, as if he were looking through her eyes at someone else; even the occasional rewards felt like completing a task; and even the favor of promotion carried a hint of indifferent "it should be this way." Survival Manual Rule Twenty-Eight: Wounds that don't bleed are the most tormenting. Silent grievances, suppressed for too long, eventually need an outlet. Since those in power "can't see," then let the "voice" reach their ears.

A bold idea began to grow wildly in her mind. She wanted to write a storybook, not to win favor, not to slander, but simply to tear away the mask of tenderness and expose her mother's years of hidden grievances to the light of day. She had already decided on a pen name—Si Xiaotu, which was both a homophone for "tu" (meaning "disciple") and a metaphor for the cunning and shrewdness of the weak, who were adept at hiding and waiting for their chance to strike.

She closed her eyes and focused her mind, sorting out her chaotic thoughts. When she opened them again, her eyes were clear. The pen finally fell, the ink flowing across the paper, each word tender yet sharp as a knife.

Act One: A Shocking Change

The opening of the story is incredibly vivid. It depicts a concubine in the deep palace, "Lady Wenwan," meticulously preparing a pastry—the favorite of the late Empress Yuan—under a solitary lamp on a cold night. It shows how her delicate fingers are scalded by hot water, and how tears stream down her face from flour splattering into her eyes, yet she still presents the pastry, imbued with her heart and sweat, to the emperor with anticipation. However, the emperor glances at it only once, then coldly ignores it, turning instead to question the eunuch about the appropriateness of the reward sent to another favored concubine, "who closely resembles the Empress Yuan."

The "gentle lady" stared blankly at the neglected plate of pastries, the candlelight flickering in her eyes before finally going out. She didn't utter a word, only silently putting the pastries away. As she turned away, a tear fell silently onto the cold floor tiles.

Si Mianmian's writing is extremely delicate, vividly portraying Consort Wen's humble expectations, her disappointment after being rejected, and her resilience in enduring pain. She does not directly point out the king's faults, but creates a suffocating sense of oppression through a stark contrast—the consort's dedication versus the king's indifference.

Act Two: Old Dreams

The second act shifts focus, using the recollections of an elderly palace maid to unveil a long-buried past. It turns out that when the king was in distress, an unknown noblewoman named "Arou" saved him from hunger and cold with a simple, yet kind, coarse grain cake. The king promised, "If I return one day, I will not betray you." However, when he ascended the throne and searched for his "benefactor," he mistakenly attributed this favor to another concubine who better resembled the "Empress Yuan" in his mind, because "Arou" shared a similar pronunciation with the Empress's name, and with someone deliberately guiding him.

The real "Arou" is the current Lady Wenwan. Due to her family's decline, she entered the palace as an orphan. Gentle and compliant, she never argued. Seeing the king mistake her for someone else, she simply accepted it as a matter of fate, burying the past deep in her heart and continuing to live a dutiful life. Even when she discovered that the king favored certain pastry flavors because of his longing for the former empress, she secretly learned to make them, hoping that when he tasted the familiar flavor, he would smile, even if… he would never know the origin of that flavor.

Survival Handbook Postscript: The most painful knife often lies wrapped in honey. Moving people with emotion, winning with details, genuine resonance far surpasses vehement accusations.

In this chapter, Si Mianmian wrote with extreme restraint, without any fierce accusations, only a faint sense of melancholy and endless heartache. Especially when she wrote about how the gentle lady secretly imitated the Empress Yuan's handwriting and practiced calligraphy diligently, just so that her handwriting could attract the emperor's attention for a moment when reviewing the pastry list, she vividly portrayed that deep-seated, almost humble, love.

Third Act: Feeding

In the third act, Si Xiaotu's writing takes on a touch of biting satire. She depicts how the king repeatedly misplaces the care and rewards that should have belonged to the gentle lady on that "shadow double." And how the pastries made by the gentle lady are enjoyed by the king as a matter of course, and he even occasionally comments that they "have a bit of the flavor of an old friend," but never investigates where this "flavor" comes from.

"Records of the Inner Palace: On a certain day of a certain month of a certain year, the Emperor bestowed 'Jade Dew Dumplings' upon Changchun Palace (the Shadow Residence), saying that the person was weak and needed to be well cared for. On the same day, Lady Wenwan presented 'Calming Cake' that she had made herself. The Emperor ate it and said, 'It's alright,' and said nothing more."

One by one, the daily trivialities piled up like a mountain, suffocating people. Si Mianmian even fabricated a "palace maid's whisper," using a servant's words to reveal the truth: "Alas, our lady is really foolish. She did so much, but the Emperor's heart is always with someone else." "Indeed, even her merits were stolen. This deep palace is truly a place that eats people without spitting out the bones." These dialogues greatly enhanced the "realism" and spreadability of the story.

Act Four: Tears Exhausted

In the final act, the scene returns to the present. In the stillness of the night, Lady Wenwan takes out a locked sandalwood box. Inside lies a simple jade pendant, a gift from the king during the only genuine smile he ever showed her after he mistook her for his benefactor. She murmurs to herself as she looks at the pendant:

"Your Majesty, I do not ask for your gratitude. I only ask that Your Majesty... may occasionally see me, not just me, but who I am... even just a glance would be enough."

"But in Your Majesty's eyes, there are only the figures of old friends. My humble sentiments, along with past favors, are ultimately... misplaced."

The story ends abruptly here. There is no conclusion, only a blank space left for the reader to ponder. That endless sorrow and desolation is far more powerful than any fierce criticism.

Si Mianmian put down her pen and let out a long sigh, as if she had poured out all the pent-up emotions in her heart onto the paper. She carefully blew on the ink to dry it, then summoned the absolutely loyal Qiu He and whispered, "Find a trustworthy bookstore outside the palace and secretly print this storybook under the name 'Si Xiaotu'. Distribute it in teahouses and markets, especially... places where upright officials and censors often gather."

A Survival Handbook Revisited: Public opinion is like water; it can carry a boat, but it can also capsize it. High palace walls cannot block out rumors from the streets; sometimes, the voices of the people are the most powerful hammer knocking on the palace gates.

Qiu He accepted the order and quietly left. Si Mianmian walked to the window, gazing at the gradually brightening sky in the east. She knew a storm was brewing. Her actions were tantamount to playing with fire; if exposed, the consequences would be unimaginable. But she also knew that if she remained silent, her mother would forever live in the shadow of others, and her grievances would be lost forever.

The story quietly circulated among the common people, and its "realistic" plot and sincere emotions quickly caused a sensation. The name "Si Xiaotu" spread like wildfire, and people speculated which emperor or concubine the story was alluding to. Soon, the news reached the heavily guarded Forbidden City through various channels.

That afternoon, the emperor was reviewing memorials in his study when the chief eunuch, looking terrified, presented him with a plainly bound storybook and whispered a few words in his ear. At first, the emperor paid no attention and casually opened it, but the more he read, the more grim his expression became. When he read the section on "mistaking kindness for favor," his hand holding the pen suddenly paused, and the vermilion brush left a long red mark on the memorial!

Countless images flashed through his mind: Consort Wen's always quiet demeanor, the familiar taste of the pastries she sent, the hesitant, sorrowful look in her eyes when she looked at him... And, he had indeed shown favor to another consort because of a vague word "gentle" and certain eating habits...

"Snap!" The emperor slammed the storybook shut, his chest heaving violently. Yes, he remembered! Many years ago, the girl who gave him the coarse grain cake seemed to have a faint scar on her wrist, while Consort Wen's wrist… he had never noticed it before!

"Get out! All of you, get out of here!" The emperor roared in fury, sweeping the items off the table. The palace servants were terrified and scrambled away. Only the emperor remained in the imperial study; his heavy breathing was all the more distinct in the silence.

He wasn't angry because he was offended, but because he was enraged by the truth being exposed, and even more so because of the immense guilt and shock welling up from the depths of his heart! He, who prided himself on being a wise ruler, had made such an absurd mistake? Had he let down a woman who had silently loved him for so many years and given so much for him?

That night, the emperor did not choose any concubines and stayed alone in the Hall of Mental Cultivation. According to his trusted eunuch, the lights in His Majesty's hall remained on all night, and occasional sighs could be heard.

The following morning, an unprecedented imperial decree of favor shook the entire harem. Gifts poured into Consort Wen's palace, including the finest silks, jewels, and antiques. Even more astonishing was the Emperor's decree granting Consort Wen a luxurious and comfortable royal villa with a hot spring on the outskirts of the capital for her to recuperate in, stating that she had "worked tirelessly for many years in raising the imperial heir and assisting in managing the six palaces," and thus this favor was bestowed upon her, allowing her to stay there at any time.

This move is undoubtedly a disguised acknowledgment and compensation for the content of that story.

When the news reached Zhuixia Pavilion, Si Mianmian was pruning the flowers. Listening to Qiuhe's excited report, she held her hand as steady as a rock and cut off a withered branch.

There was no joy on her face, but rather a complex emotion flickered across it. Had she succeeded? It seemed so; her mother had received unprecedented attention. But she also knew that this "favor" was built on the emperor's guilt, not on genuine understanding and love.

The final lesson of the survival manual: Use the power of speech with caution. Revealing the truth may bring compensation, but it rarely wins back genuine affection. However, when there is no other choice, it remains the sharpest dagger for the weak.

"Is Mother... happy?" she asked softly.

Qiuhe hesitated for a moment: "Your Majesty... accepted the decree and expressed her gratitude, but... after returning home, she shed tears again when she looked at the blueprints of that villa. However, this time, I think her tears were warm."

Si Mianmian remained silent. She walked to the window and looked at the sky in the four corners above the palace walls.

Si Xiaotu's mission seems to be complete. But can Consort Wen's tears truly be stopped? And how will she herself continue on this thorny path through the deep palace?

The answer is drifting in the wind.