The Ministry of Rites had transformed overnight.
Where once it was a place of quiet ceremony, now it buzzed with quiet intensity. Long tables stretched across the hall, scrolls prepared, ink stones lined up like soldiers, and officials sat in shadowed alcoves, ready to observe.
This was no mere formality.
It was a battlefield dressed in parchment and silence.
The first round of assessment, the Test of Virtue and Talent, had begun.
---
Xue Lian sat with the other candidates in a sun-drenched hall, each girl given a brush and a sealed scroll. Some hands trembled. Others adjusted sleeves. Xue Yan sat two tables down, chin lifted like a queen already crowned.
A bell rang. The official in gold robes lifted his hand.
"You may begin."
With a sharp snap, the scrolls were unrolled.
Compose an essay on the role of women in courtly governance. Cite the virtues expected, the faults to avoid, and provide a historical example of one palace woman whose influence proved either honorable or disastrous.
A few girls blinked. One gasped softly. The question was no simple poetry or embroidery score—it required study, memory, thought.
Xue Lian smiled faintly.
She dipped her brush.
---
Ink flowed in swift, measured strokes.
The role of a palace woman is not merely to decorate the background of power—but to anchor it. While a virtuous woman does not seek to rule, her presence may guide emperors and still storms...
She wrote with calm precision, drawing on her previous life's knowledge—names long buried, scandals long forgotten by the naïve.
Xue Lian knew better.
She wrote of Lady Bai, who once dissuaded an emperor from war by reciting a poem that made him weep. She wrote of Consort Yu, whose vanity led to the wrongful execution of three ministers. She wrote with balance, not emotion—like a historian with ink in her veins.
When time was called, her scroll was the first to be sealed.
---
Outside the hall, the noble daughters stepped into the garden to await results.
Shade tents had been set up, servants offering tea and candied plums. But the atmosphere was tight—stretched between practiced smiles and nervous glances.
Xue Yan leaned against a pillar, fan fluttering lazily. "Quite the question, wasn't it?" she said, loud enough to carry.
One girl tittered. "I only remembered one historical name. Something about Consort Fei—"
"Ah," Xue Yan cut in sweetly. "The one accused of seducing the royal astrologer? A bold example."
A few girls flushed.
Xue Lian sat under a peony tree, quietly sipping tea.
She had no need to speak. Her words had already been written.
---
From the second-floor balcony, Minister Wei and Lord Shen Jingyuan observed the garden below. A stack of scrolls rested on a lacquer tray between them.
But there was something else on the table—a sealed letter.
Delivered anonymously that very morning. Its content... precise, elegant, damning.
A report of Xue Yan's previous conduct: how she had bullied maidservants, taken credit for a tutor's work, and manipulated her way into society's good graces. It was unsigned, but the language was dignified—written like a court official, or the daughter of one.
Minister Wei set down Xue Lian's essay. "She's either read more than most tutors—or she lived through it herself."
He tapped the letter beside it. "And this... corroborates much of what we've quietly suspected."
Shen Jingyuan didn't answer.
He watched Xue Lian in the garden—unmoving, unbothered, a single white figure beneath the blooms.
"She doesn't seek attention," the Minister murmured, "and yet the air bends around her."
Finally, Shen Jingyuan said, "Too still. Like a bowstring drawn."
---
When the results were posted on the silk banner, the names were listed by merit.
1. Xue Lian
2. Wei Meiling
3. Jiang Yue
4. Xue Yan
Gasps fluttered through the crowd.
Xue Yan's smile held, but her hand whitened against her fan.
"How... interesting," she said through her teeth. "Little sister must have impressed them with her poetry."
Xue Lian bowed gently. "It must've been luck. I only answered from the heart."
Xue Yan's eyes glittered. "Then your heart must be very clever."
---
That night, as Hongyu helped unpin her mistress's hair, her hands trembled again.
"You placed first," she whispered, awe creeping in. "You really did it."
Xue Lian said nothing.
She sat before her mirror, face calm, gaze distant.
"It's only the first round," she said quietly. "The court doesn't open its gates with essays. But today was useful."
"For what?" Hongyu asked.
Xue Lian turned, holding up a slip of paper—folded, stained, faintly scented with plum ink.
It had been left tucked into her sleeve during the garden break.
A secret admirer? A warning? A trap?
The seal bore no name—only a brushstroke shaped like a flame.