The library beneath the Eastern Pavilion was rarely visited.
Dust clung to silk scrolls and the air smelled of old paper and quiet betrayal.
Zhou pulled a thick volume from the second tier, eyes narrowing. "Registry of Candidates. Palace Year 96."
Shen Lian unrolled it slowly.
There—ink faded but legible—her name.
Shen Lian, House of Shen. Temperament: Cold. Status: Reserved. Title: Imperial Consort (Delayed).
Her fingers paused over the note beside it: Held for activation pending succession stability.
"This was never shown," Zhou murmured.
Shen Lian said nothing. Her gaze hardened.
"They planned to install me... only if the new Emperor proved unstable."
She rolled the scroll again.
"This wasn't love. This was insurance."
In the courtyard that night, she met with an old embroidery maid named Lian Po.
"I need eyes that can see without being seen," Shen Lian said.
The woman bowed. "We once stitched dragons into flags without names. We can sew silence into silk."
"Then sew for me," Shen Lian whispered. "Sew names into seams. Sew warnings into thread."
Behind her, the registry burned in a copper brazier—turning fate into ash, and silence into threadbare power.