The next morning, Shen Lian returned to the training quarters as if nothing had changed.
But everything had.
She was no longer just a participant. She was a piece—deliberately placed, already seen.
The other girls, unaware of the tea under magnolias or the words exchanged behind silk screens, still saw her as "the quiet one," "the Prime Minister's forgotten daughter."
Let them.
A new round of training began. The girls were told they would be "observed" over the coming week—not just by court tutors, but by unnamed "eyes."
It was not said aloud, but everyone knew what it meant: selection was already underway.
Later that day, while the others practiced embroidery, Shen Lian slipped into the storage yard behind the laundry halls.
Zhou was there, sorting linens.
"You've been moved," she said.
"Lower east wing," he replied. "Closer to the water chambers."
"Good," she said. "You'll hear more there."
He hesitated. "Are you safe?"
Shen Lian turned to him. "Are you doubting me?"
"No," Zhou said softly. "I'm doubting the palace."
She allowed herself a faint smile. "Then stay close to its heart, and keep watching."
Before she left, she handed him a folded note.
"Tonight. The one who tried to pass herself as a concubine candidate—she's not done yet."
That night, a scream split the servant's corridor.
A girl—bloody, terrified—was found in the laundry pool.
She gasped only one thing before fainting: "It was her. The Shen girl."
The next morning, Shen Lian was summoned to the Hall of Discipline.
She walked in calmly.
Because she knew: the girl had spoken her name.
But Zhou had already silenced her story.
And replaced it with something else entirely.