The courier arrived just before dusk.
She wore the robes of a minor palace physician—pale green, with the Empress's embroidery barely visible at the cuff. Her eyes never met Shen Lian's directly.
"A gift of health," she murmured, placing a lacquered box on the table. "From Her Majesty."
Shen Lian said nothing. She simply opened the box.
Inside, five sachets of powdered herbs. A tonic blend, perfectly measured. Far too perfect.
"Leave it," Shen Lian said. "And send my thanks."
Later, in her quarters, she stared at the sachets under candlelight.
Zhou frowned. "You think it's poison?"
"I think it's proof," she said.
The next morning, she held a public health inspection at the depot.
Each officer, each servant, each laborer was called up to receive a tonic—prepared from the same sachets.
She took the first dose herself, mixing only a trace into warm tea. She drank it slowly.
The crowd watched.
By afternoon, no one had fallen ill.
But word spread fast: the lady of the depot drank imperial medicine before her men. A gesture of loyalty—and danger.
That night, a second courier arrived.
This one bore no emblem. Only a slip of paper tucked beneath a vial of clear liquid.
"Diluted. Just enough to frighten. Not enough to kill."
Beneath it, a symbol: the private seal of the Empress's eldest aide.
Zhou tensed. "She was testing you."
"No," Shen Lian murmured. "She was warning me."
She poured the rest of the vial into the fire.
The flames hissed green.
"She thinks I'll retreat. But I've already stepped forward."
She looked out the window, toward the cold horizon.
"Let her see that."