The morning after her visit to the Third Prince, a commotion broke out in the west courtyard.
A young maid from the Second Prince's household had gone missing.
No one knew when she vanished. But the whispers came quickly—she had been seen speaking with Shen Lian two days before.
A coincidence, some said. A warning, said others.
Shen Lian said nothing.
Later that day, a new robe arrived in her chamber. Simple white silk, embroidered with plum blossoms.
She traced the needlework with one finger.
The message was clear: a symbol of purity… and mourning.
She smiled faintly. "How subtle."
Zhou entered a moment later.
"They're trying to paint you," he said. "As poison cloaked in silk."
"Then let them. I'll give them a prettier color to fear."
That evening, she left a letter beneath the incense burner in the Weaving Hall. An old hiding place. One that hadn't been used in years.
Inside the envelope: nothing but a single strand of red silk.
By dawn, the contents had been replaced. A folded slip of parchment.
She opened it in private.
It held only a name. One she recognized.
A concubine from the previous reign. One who had died in disgrace… but not before hiding a letter that accused the Empress herself.
And now, that letter was about to be found again.
Or rather—planted to be found.
The true war wasn't fought with armies. It was fought with timing, whispers, and ashes tucked neatly into sleeves.