The invitation arrived on pink silk paper, tied with a gold thread.
"A spring flower gathering," Zhou read aloud. "Hosted by Consort Yi in the Western Pavilion."
"A test," Shen Lian replied, "dressed in perfume."
The garden was blooming when she arrived. Peonies, orchids, and plum blossoms painted the air with fragrance. The consorts sat beneath a painted canopy, laughter like chimes in the wind.
"Lady Shen," Consort Yi greeted with a smile too perfect. "We feared you might not attend."
"I never miss a bloom," Shen Lian said, bowing.
As wine was poured and flattery exchanged, a contest was announced.
"Let each of us choose a flower," said Noble Lady Qin, "to represent the character of our neighbor. A harmless game, of course."
Harmless.
When it was Shen Lian's turn, all eyes fell on her.
She glanced at the Empress's vase—still empty.
Then rose.
"I choose the winter plum," she said, walking to the edge of the garden.
"It blooms in cold, thrives in silence, and bears fruit when others fade."
A pause.
Then she plucked a single blossom and placed it before the Empress.
The air changed.
Afterward, two consorts fell ill—too much wine, they claimed. A third was seen weeping near the lotus pond.
Shen Lian said nothing.
But the next day, the Empress sent back her empty porcelain vase—now filled with plum branches.
Zhou only asked, "Was that your intention?"
Shen Lian smiled.
"I didn't plant the thorns," she said. "I just let the garden speak."