The southern depot was worse than rumors.
Rotting crates. Cracked stone walls. Soldiers gambling with stolen rations. No drills, no discipline—only dust and disdain.
Shen Lian stepped down from the carriage in plain travel robes. Zhou carried no insignia. They looked like nothing—and were treated as such.
"Another court brat?" a guard sneered. "They'll send anyone here these days."
Shen Lian said nothing. She stepped aside as a cart full of moldy grain rolled past.
Then she turned to Zhou. "Take inventory. Of everything."
"Including people?" he asked.
"Especially people."
That evening, she held court—not in a hall, but under the old banyan tree behind the armory.
Three captains stood before her, arms crossed.
"No authority. No seal," one barked. "Why should we listen to you?"
Shen Lian took out a scroll.
Imperial decree. Real. Dry. Cold.
"Because the Emperor sent me. And because the next time you lose ten crates of grain, I'll make sure your pay is docked in flesh."
Silence.
Then one laughed. "A girl? What can you even do?"
She stepped closer.
"I can count. I can command. And I can hang you for treason if I must."
She turned to Zhou. "Bring the list."
At dawn, one guard was dismissed for smuggling.
By noon, two officers were reassigned.
By dusk, the entire storeroom had been re-labeled and sealed under new locks.
Zhou handed her a copy of the revised roster.
"They're scared," he said. "They think you've got backing."
Shen Lian sipped weak tea.
"They're wrong," she said. "I have no backing."
She looked out over the courtyard, where soldiers moved faster than yesterday.
"But I have time. And I only need one spark."
To be continued in Chapter 4: The Blade Beneath Silk