The summons came at dawn, carried by a eunuch in silver robes. Zhou accepted it silently and slipped it beneath Shen Lian's door.
She read it over a cup of cold tea.
A decree from the Empress.
"Shen Lian of the Shen household is hereby assigned to assist the Office of Military Logistics in overseeing the restoration of South Garrison's supply depot. Departure: immediate."
It was written with the gentleness of a blessing—and the cruelty of exile.
Zhou paced behind her. "They're sending you out of the palace."
"They're giving me land," Shen Lian said. "And breathing room."
He stared. "You're not angry?"
"I'm relieved." She set the decree down. "The court is too loud. I'd like a quieter battlefield."
By noon, she was in a covered carriage bound for the South Garrison. No fanfare. No escort. Only Zhou, and the sound of hooves striking frozen dirt.
They passed through villages half-buried in snow. Smoke curled from chimneys. Children ran barefoot.
At the garrison gates, a grizzled officer looked her over with disdain.
"You're the court girl?"
"I'm the one sent to make sense of your mess," she said calmly.
He scoffed. "We don't need palace mice here."
"Good," she replied, stepping down. "I'm a fox."
That night, she walked the depot ruins by torchlight. Broken crates, rusted chains, scorched walls.
Zhou followed in silence until she stopped beneath a collapsed beam.
"We're not here to fix this," she said. "We're here to build something new."
He nodded. "Where do we begin?"
Shen Lian turned, her eyes gleaming in the firelight.
"With the names of those who let it burn."