Lady Shuyin never missed a move.
Not the rustle of silk when a concubine bowed too low, nor the bitterness in tea when an apology was offered without sincerity. She had been in the palace for twenty-two years. Four reigns of chief ministers. Three crown princes. Two empresses. One Emperor.
And still she stood.
She stood now, at the upper level of the Orchid Tower, looking down through carved screens at the women in the Silken Pavilion. Her attendants lingered behind her, silent as mice.
The three girls sat in a triangle of tension. Not arguing. Not allied.
Just present.
That, Shuyin thought, is enough to change the balance.
She watched the foreign girl laugh. The merchant's daughter pour tea with care. The noble Anhai sip without blinking.
Three faces.
Three kinds of danger.
"Summon my steward," she said at last.
A younger maid bowed and fled the room.
Shuyin moved back to her chair—deep red cushions, embroidered with tigers in gold thread. She sat with the grace of someone used to being watched.
"Too many seeds sown in the same soil," she murmured aloud.
Her steward arrived moments later, an older man with a ledger tucked beneath one arm.
"Lady," he said, bowing low.
Shuyin didn't look at him. "I want their records. All three. The one from the South. The foreigner. The Yu girl."
"Yes, my lady."
"And find out who recommended them. Every whisper. Every bribe. Every string pulled."
She finally turned.
"Also—remind the Empress Dowager that I'd like to pay her a visit this week."
The steward stiffened.
"She hasn't received guests in months."
"Then it's time someone reminded her," Shuyin said coolly, "that still waters rot faster than flowing ones."
She turned back to the window.
The girls were leaving the pavilion now—each taking a different path.
Shuyin smiled faintly. "Let's see what they do when they stop being watched."
But of course, they would never stop being watched.
Not in this palace.