Smoke curled above the South Garrison as dawn broke, not from fire—but from forge.
Blacksmiths hammered rhythmically, while workers moved crates under Shen Lian's new directives. Zhou coordinated delivery logs near the newly reconstructed depot entrance, his sleeves rolled and ink-stained.
Inside the watchtower, Shen Lian poured over maps and marked the outposts needing reinforcement.
"Too many blind spots," she murmured. "No wonder this place became a ghost."
By midday, she summoned the local scribes.
"I want a three-layer record system," she instructed. "Inventory by hand, mirrored with sealed ledgers, then cross-checked weekly."
An older scribe frowned. "That's… excessive."
"Which is why it will work."
She tapped the table. "You can either write history or disappear into its footnotes. Choose."
Outside, a curious crowd had begun to gather.
Men who once spat at her carriage now paused when she passed.
She visited the village market, buying dried herbs and commissioning local weavers. To the untrained eye, she was rebuilding commerce.
To those watching closely—she was building loyalty.
At twilight, a tall, sharp-eyed youth appeared at the garrison gates, bowing low.
"I'm Lin Mu," he said. "Former steward of Lord Xu's estate. I heard you were seeking ledger men."
Shen Lian studied him. His fingers bore ink stains. His boots had walked far.
"Can you lie with a smile?" she asked.
"I was once married to a politician's daughter," he said with a wry grin.
She nodded. "You're hired."
That night, under the lantern's glow, Zhou entered with a letter.
"It's from the Crown Prince," he said. "A single line."
Shen Lian unfolded the note.
'We see your silence. Some find it dangerous. I find it promising.'
She folded it without expression.
Then looked to the map again.
"The gears are moving," she whispered. "Let's see who they grind next."