The plum blossom tea was warm, fragrant, and laced with just enough bitterness to suit Shen Lian's mood.
She sat in her private study, gazing at the small tray of gifts her sister had left after the meeting—perfumed sachets, a hairpin, and a box of candied osmanthus. Delicate. Pretty. Hollow.
She picked up the sachet, sniffed it lightly, then tossed it into the brazier.
Aunt Lin, watching from the side, flinched. "Miss Shen?"
Shen Lian didn't look away from the flame. "Have these things removed. Replace them with plum charcoal and clean silk."
"Yes, miss."
When Aunt Lin stepped out, Shen Lian opened the small lacquered drawer in her writing desk. Inside were two scrolls she had prepared the night before.
One bore her sister's name. The other—hers.
In her first life, she had not submitted her own scroll. She had been told she was "too frail" for palace life, and like a fool, she believed it. But this time, she would enter the palace not as a lamb to the slaughter, but as a blade hidden beneath silk.
She dipped her brush in ink, and in precise, deliberate strokes, finished writing the final character of her name.
The next morning, she approached her father's study. Shen Yuheng, the Prime Minister, rarely concerned himself with the affairs of his daughters—but he was still a man who understood balance and appearances.
"Father," she said after bowing. "I wish to enter the selection alongside Yue'er."
The Prime Minister glanced up from his scrolls. "You?"
"Yes. I've recovered well this winter, and it would reflect poorly on the family if only one daughter shows ambition."
He studied her. "You were never one for court life."
She smiled faintly. "Then let this be the start of change."
He made a sound of disinterest but waved his hand. "Fine. Submit both names."
Shen Lian bowed again and left.
Outside the study, the sun cut through the frost on the courtyard tiles.
Two scrolls would go into the palace. One sister hesitant. One determined. One will rise.
And Shen Lian intended it to be her.