The snow had begun to melt.
From the gates of South Garrison to the capital's main road, a small caravan moved swiftly under imperial banners. At its head, Shen Lian rode alone.
She wore no jewels. No armor. Just white fox fur, clean and cold.
Those who passed her turned to stare.
In the court's eyes, she had been buried. Forgotten. But now, she returned with the weight of power behind every silent step.
In the throne hall, whispers bloomed like wildfire.
"She's just a girl."
"She executed a man with her own hand."
"They say she rebuilt a garrison in three moons."
The Emperor sat unmoved as Shen Lian entered and knelt, head bowed.
"You were not summoned," he said.
"No," she answered. "But I was expected."
A pause.
He nodded. "Rise."
Later that evening, the Crown Prince stood by the corridor windows.
"She'll unsettle everything," he murmured.
Behind him, the Empress crushed a petal in her fingers.
"She already has."
Zhou unpacked the final crate in Shen Lian's new quarters—an inner palace residence once reserved for visiting royals.
"No guards," he noted. "No eyes inside. Just open space."
She stepped to the window. Below, plum blossoms had begun to bloom early.
"I'm not returning to the palace," she said quietly. "I'm rewriting it."