It began with whispers. A servant in the laundry hall saw a man in a tiger mask vanish behind a silk screen. A kitchen maid found scratch marks on the storeroom door. Someone knocked over an oil lamp—twice.
Shen Lian listened without reaction.
"Too theatrical," she said. "Someone wants to be noticed."
Three nights later, the third prince's attendant was attacked en route to the archives.
A masked figure slashed his arm, whispered a warning, then vanished into the night.
Zhou laid the bloody sash before her.
"Not an assassination. A message."
Shen Lian studied the fabric. Embroidered in one corner—faint, almost invisible—was the symbol for 'nine.'
"The Ninth Bureau?" Zhou asked.
"No," she replied. "A date."
That same day, an old eunuch slipped a note into her sleeve.
'The Crown Prince grows restless. He tests the winds with fire and fright.'
That night, Shen Lian visited the outer hall. She left a sealed box on the offering table.
Inside: a mirror, a paper tiger, and a single plum blossom.
The next morning, the masked figures vanished. No more sightings. No more scratches. But everyone remembered.
Zhou asked, "What did you give them?"
"A reflection," Shen Lian said. "And the promise that I saw them first."
From that day on, no one in the palace lit incense at night.
And Shen Lian's name began to carry weight not just in whispers—but in fear.