It was rare to be summoned alone.
When Shen Lian received the notice, sealed in gold and tied with white silk, even the palace attendants paused.
"The Empress wishes to speak with you privately," the maid said, bowing low.
Shen Lian dressed with care—plain silver silk, a single jade pin, no rouge. Then she followed the quiet servant through a walled garden few had seen.
The path wound through willow trees and silence.
In a teahouse beneath blooming magnolias, the Empress waited.
She wore no crown. Her robes were the color of frost.
"You are not what they expected," the Empress said, without preamble.
Shen Lian knelt. "I am only what I must be, Your Majesty."
The Empress poured two cups of tea herself. "Most girls would deny it. Or pretend to flatter."
Shen Lian said nothing.
The Empress studied her face. "Your mother was the first wife. Gentle, I heard. Not suited for the court."
"She died young," Shen Lian replied. "Kindness is rarely rewarded."
A breath of wind stirred the magnolia petals.
"You staged the letter incident."
It was not a question.
Shen Lian met her eyes. "I merely protected the Shen name from scandal."
The Empress laughed softly. "Ah. So loyal. So clever. So dangerous."
A pause.
Then she said, "I have no use for another starry-eyed concubine. But a girl who sees the board clearly? I might have room."
Shen Lian bowed her head. "Then I will wait at the edge of the board, until summoned."
The Empress stood.
"Good. Let the others play for petals and pearls. You, child... will play for the throne."