In the drama The First Jasmine (莫离), no one dares to speak her mind like Qin Zhen (秦蓁). She openly complains about the young emperor right in front of the empress dowager—his own mother. Most people would lose their heads for such audacity. Yet, this very boldness becomes the secret engine behind the success of Ye Li’s (叶璃) uncle’s workshop, Chang Sheng Fang (长生坊). Why does the empress dowager tolerate it? And how does one woman’s loyalty fuel an entire business? The answer lies not in schemes, but in a debt of gratitude born from a deadly plague and a midnight rescue.
A Fearless Friendship
Qin Zhen and the empress dowager share a bond closer than sisters. While the dowager handles state affairs, Qin Zhen sits beside her, eating lychees and urging her to rest. She scolds the dowager for exhausting herself over endless documents—for a “young bird” who will never thank her. That young bird is the emperor. Anyone else uttering such words would be executed. But Qin Zhen does not flinch. Her tone carries no malice; it carries concern. She is not scheming. She is simply furious that her friend suffers for an ungrateful child.
At first, viewers suspect Qin Zhen of pretending loyalty while secretly driving a wedge between mother and son. But the drama peels back her layers. Her bluntness comes from a place of pure empathy. She watched the dowager risk everything to save her life years ago. Now, she cannot stand by and watch that same woman destroy her health for a throne that offers no thanks. Qin Zhen’s courage is not reckless—it is the loudest form of devotion.
This friendship defies palace rules. The dowager never silences her. Instead, she smiles, hands her another lychee, and keeps working. Why? Because Qin Zhen is the only person in the entire court who speaks without calculating gain. In a world of whispers and poison, her honesty is a rare gift. And that honesty later builds a bridge to a small workshop called Chang Sheng Fang.
A Deadly Plague
To understand why Qin Zhen protects Chang Sheng Fang, you must go back to the year of the plague. Nan Yi’s (南夷) princess had just married the late emperor. She was young, beautiful, and favored. Then disease struck the palace. Qin Zhen fell ill. The emperor was away. The jealous empress locked her in a side hall, cut off her medicine and food, and waited for her to die. Qin Zhen had no power, no allies, and no hope—until two people broke the rules for her.
The first was the woman who would become empress dowager. Back then, she was only an unloved concubine. The empress had chopped down her favorite tree, the one that shaded her while she copied scriptures. Perhaps she saw her own suffering in Qin Zhen. Or perhaps she simply could not bear to let a person rot alive. Whatever her reason, she climbed a wall at midnight, carrying food and herbs. Night after night, she nursed Qin Zhen back from death’s door. That kind of risk could have cost her head. She did it anyway.
The second savior was Zhou Xiankun (周咸坤), a scholar from Tai Shi Ju (太史局). Treating the plague in ancient times meant trial by death. Zhou tested every formula on himself. He swallowed unknown herbs, recorded every reaction, adjusted the doses—all to save a princess he barely knew. Qin Zhen lived. But Zhou’s body broke apart. Within two years, he was gone. Two people saved her life. One became her sister. The other became her ghost.
Paying Back Life
Qin Zhen never forgot Zhou Xiankun’s sacrifice. She treasures his painting, Nan Yi Misty Rain (南夷烟雨图), as if it were his soul in ink. But a painting cannot repay a life. So she watches over those he loved. His most prized student was Ye Li’s third uncle, Ye Wenshen (叶文申). He ran a small workshop called Chang Sheng Fang. It sold crafts and curios—nothing special on its own. But Qin Zhen decided that this workshop would never fail.
She held banquets there. She invited nobles, generals, and officials to feast at Chang Sheng Fang. Each event put money in its coffers and protection around its walls. No bully dared touch it. No rival shut it down. Why? Because everyone knew Qin Zhen stood behind it. And behind Qin Zhen stood the empress dowager. The workshop flourished not because of its products, but because of a promise made to a dead man. Qin Zhen paid her debt with influence, not tears.
Ye Li never understood why her third uncle’s business thrived while others failed. Only at the end does she see the truth: Qin Zhen’s loud mouth and bold heart were not flaws. They were weapons. She insulted the emperor to defend her friend. She built a social empire to honor her healer. And in doing so, she turned a forgotten workshop into a legend. Chang Sheng Fang did not rise on skill or luck. It rose on gratitude—raw, reckless, and unshakable.