In 1820, Emperor Daoguang and the reunion of the Hachali family

At that time, the young emperor had only been on the throne for a few months. According to court protocol, Emperor Daoguang began reviewing documents about consorts from previous dynasties. It was a routine task that every new ruler had to do upon ascending the throne—a way to control the entire harem. But an unexpected discovery occurred amidst the dusty files when he came across a name: Hachali Shi, a 35-year-old consort he had never heard of before.

The Suspended Files—When Emperor Daoguang Discovers a Forgotten Consort

The records clearly stated: she entered the palace in the 55th year of Qianlong, was promoted to Grand Consort in the 10th year of Jiaqing. This meant she had lived in the palace for 25 years without anyone noticing. Low status, poor location, no supporters. Coldness was written into every line of her biography.

Next to her was only an old wet nurse and two maids, earning only 20 taels of silver per month, living very frugally. But what truly surprised Emperor Daoguang was not these figures, but the final line: she lived very peacefully and contentedly. No complaints, no pleas, no typical palace disputes. In a palace full of schemes and ambitions, such tranquility became especially precious.

A Simple Life in Shou An—Perseverance Amid Solitude

The next morning, at dawn, Emperor Daoguang dressed in plain clothes, accompanied by two guards, and walked from the Yangxin Palace toward the Imperial Garden. Shou An Palace was located in the northwest corner of the royal garden, a quiet place seldom remembered. The modest door was pushed open.

Inside was astonishingly clean. The front yard was swept vigorously, the small stones polished to a shine. The window of the side room was slightly open, and a faint scent wafted out. Hachali Shi was cooking porridge—lotus seed porridge with fresh red apples. Seeing Emperor Daoguang, she quickly knelt, but her movements were neither overly submissive nor arrogant. Natural and respectful.

Inside the room, everything was simple but heartfelt. An old pinewood bed, rustic screen, handwritten scriptures scattered about. On the table, only a dried wild chrysanthemum flower—an insignificant detail that revealed everything about her: she knew how to find beauty in the simplest things.

An Unexpected Interaction—Empathy from the Emperor

Emperor Daoguang sat down and began to converse with her. Hachali Shi’s story gradually unfolded: 25 years living in the palace, copying Buddhist scriptures daily, counting beads on her rosary, then repeating the same routine the next day. A monotonous, lonely life, but she never complained. She only spoke of the sutras she copied, her reflections when looking at the garden each spring.

Her words stirred a strange emotion in the young emperor—compassion. In a palace where everyone competed, schemed, and was ready to use any means to gain favor, Hachali Shi’s way of life was like a cool stream flowing into his soul. Immediately, Emperor Daoguang ordered: increase her monthly allowance, add a maidservant, send silver to ward off the cold, and provide a rare sable fur cloak.

But Hachali Shi refused part of these offerings. She accepted the allowance but politely declined the invitation to move to Tuan Ninh Palace, a more lively and prominent place. She told Emperor Daoguang: “Shou An Palace is peaceful, and this is where I prefer to stay. I do not wish to disturb your minds with my low status.” Then she scooped some porridge for the emperor to taste.

The Elegance of Innocence—Preserving Genuine Feelings

From that day on, Emperor Daoguang always remembered her serenity and calmness. During festivals, he would quietly order the delivery of rare golden apples to her. Not as a public gift, not to boast—just a silent way of saying: “I still remember, I still cherish.”

Hachali Shi remained in Shou An, continued copying scriptures, and maintained her simple life. But she was no longer lonely—for she knew there was an emperor who remembered her rare purity, a soul untainted by the greed and ambitions of the palace. This story concluded not with words of praise, but with silence—the highest sign of genuine affection.