On the third night in the palace, Shen Yue received a letter.
Delivered under a pastry tray, it was pressed with her mother's personal seal. The words were sweet, doting, and filled with harmless reminders:
Don't forget to smile, even when you feel tired.
If you meet the Crown Prince, remember your poetry.
I miss you. Be strong.
It seemed innocent—until the end.
The Prime Minister worries the Empress may favor other families. You must shine for our sake.
Shen Yue, heart fluttering with naive pride, brought the letter to a senior palace attendant. "A message from my mother. May I place it in the outer archives?"
The woman frowned but nodded. "Letters are monitored. Be careful."
Two corridors away, Zhou handed Shen Lian a small scroll.
"She passed it on. The letter will be reviewed by the archivist at dawn."
Shen Lian lit a small oil lamp and read the copied lines.
Then she smiled.
"She's clever enough to walk into fire," she said. "But not smart enough to check if it's real."
She handed Zhou a second slip of parchment. "Burn the original. Replace it with this."
He hesitated. "This one's... worse."
"Exactly," Shen Lian said. "Let the archivist find it, panic, report it—then let the real letter mysteriously reappear."
"A trick?"
"A lesson."
By morning, the archives were in uproar. Talk of 'treasonous words' in a noble girl's letter swirled like smoke. Shen Yue was summoned, questioned, weeping with confusion.
By afternoon, a second letter was 'found'—mild, sweet, harmless.
Mistake, the palace said.
But the Empress received both copies.
That evening, she stared at the ashes of the forged one and murmured:
"Two voices from one girl. Or two hands behind one name?"
Her gaze drifted to the lanterns swaying outside her window.
"And who, I wonder... holds the match?"