As Shen Lian stood in the hall of mirrors before the Dowager Empress, the silence was almost theatrical.
The old woman sat beneath a carved golden screen, her expression unreadable, fingers tapping once… twice… on the edge of her jade cane.
"You wear blue," the Dowager finally said. Her voice was slow, but sharp.
"It calms the eye," Shen Lian answered with a bow. "And clears the heart."
A whisper rustled through the room.
The other girls—noble-born, richly adorned—shifted their gazes between Shen Lian and the Empress Dowager.
But the Dowager only nodded once. "Too many hearts are clouded these days."
The inspection began.
Each girl stepped forward, offering names, lineage, talents. Some stuttered. Others curtsied too low.
When it was Shen Lian's turn, she walked with quiet grace.
"Your father died in battle," the Dowager said, glancing at her scroll. "Your mother followed soon after."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And yet, you seem composed."
"I have had time to grieve," Shen Lian replied. "And I prefer not to waste it twice."
The Dowager let out a dry chuckle.
That evening, as the sun dipped past the horizon, Shen Lian returned to her chambers to find an envelope waiting on her desk.
Inside was a single line:
"You walk a line no mirror dares reflect."
There was no seal.
No name.
Only a plum blossom pressed between the folds.