The palace has no shortage of delicacies. What it lacks is a piping-hot pot of crispy rice.
The day A Man entered the palace, all she wanted was a full meal. She never imagined that the golden crispy rice she casually fried from leftover rice would make even the picky emperor eat three pieces and give it a name: “Golden Crisp.”
Overnight, consorts in every palace are busy learning to make crispy rice, and the threshold of the Imperial Kitchen is worn flat by all the foot traffic. A Man, meanwhile, just wants to retreat to the stove, keep watch over her iron wok and bubbling oil, and listen to the rice crackle.
But somehow, this crispy rice gets caught up in the most inconspicuous whirlpools of the harem:
Some use it to win favor, while others lose favor because of it. Some hope to use it to overturn a verdict, while others want to use it to kill.
Again and again, A Man is pushed into the eye of the storm, then shoved back down to the bottom of the wok. The little palace maid who rises faster than anyone yet fears promotion more than anything becomes the harem's most dangerous and irresistible “piece of crispy rice.”
There is no poisoned wine in this story, only a sprinkle of salt; no peril at every turn, only fragrance at every step.
She only wanted to eat her fill, but accidentally satisfied the hearts of everyone in the imperial city.
Want to know how a piece of crispy rice turns the tides in the depths of the palace?
Open the first page, and the scent of rice is already in the air.
