The palace forgot quickly.
New rumors replaced old ones. New faces replaced praised daughters. The Spring Banquet faded into memory like incense smoke.
But Yu Lan did not forget.
She remembered the Emperor's tightening smile.
She remembered Imperial Master Long Tianwei's assessing gaze.
And most of all—
She remembered how many people had looked away when power shifted in that hall.
In the capital, loyalty was not declared.
It was calculated.
Three days after the banquet, Yu Lan requested permission to visit the Temple of Benevolent Virtue.
On the surface, it was a harmless act of filial piety.
In truth, it was her first move.
The temple grounds were quiet at dawn, filled with incense and murmured prayers. Old officials often came there — men dismissed quietly after disagreeing with court policy, scholars whose words had been too sharp, too honest.
Forgotten men.
Forgotten men were useful.
Yu Lan knelt beside Steward Shen beneath a blooming plum tree.
He had once overseen imperial grain storage before exposing corruption within a powerful noble clan. He had been removed within the month.
"You should not be seen with me, Lady Yu," he said gently. "Association brings suspicion."
Yu Lan poured tea for him herself.
"If justice were contagious," she replied softly, "this empire would not fear it."
The old steward studied her carefully.
"You are not gathering sympathy," he said after a long silence.
"No."
"You are gathering memory."
Yu Lan's smile was faint.
"The court forgets too easily. I prefer records."
He understood.
Information flowed downward before it ever reached the throne. Servants, scribes, warehouse clerks, minor magistrates — they saw everything.
"I can introduce you to men who still care about governance," Steward Shen said quietly.
Yu Lan bowed her head.
"I would be grateful."
The first root took hold.
Meanwhile, within the Prime Minister's residence, Huo Yun set aside a scroll.
"Lady Yu Lan visited the temple twice this week?" he asked.
His aide nodded.
"She has also sent medicinal herbs to the families of dismissed officials."
Huo Yun leaned back slightly.
"She moves gently."
"Should we intervene?"
"No."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
"Observe."
Yu Lan did not meet allies in grand halls.
She met them in gardens.
In tea houses.
In charity halls where medicine was distributed in the Emperor's name.
She never spoke of reform.
She never criticized policy.
She asked questions.
Who controls the salt tax routes?
Which minister's nephew oversees the southern granaries?
Why was the northern garrison underfunded despite surplus reports?
She listened more than she spoke.
And people began speaking.
One evening, as rain tapped softly against lattice windows, General Bo Li arrived at the Yu residence under the pretense of returning a ceremonial token.
He found Yu Lan in the study, reviewing a ledger.
"You are studying military allocations," he observed.
Yu Lan did not startle.
"Merely curious," she said calmly. "The northern frontier seems under-resourced."
Bo Li's gaze sharpened.
"That information is not widely circulated."
She closed the ledger.
"Is it incorrect?"
He did not answer immediately.
Most noble daughters pursued embroidery.
Or poetry.
Yu Lan pursued infrastructure.
"You should not involve yourself in matters of the army," he said at last.
"Should I involve myself only in marriage?" she asked softly.
Bo Li had no answer to that.
After a pause, he said quietly, "If you seek stability, do not trust reports sent directly to the palace. Inspect who verifies them."
It was not a pledge.
But it was not indifference.
Another thread.
Across the capital, Yu Ya's maid delivered news in hushed tones.
"Lady Yu Lan has met with dismissed officials, temple stewards, and even the Northern General."
Yu Ya's fingers stilled over her embroidery.
"She moves faster than expected," she murmured.
In her previous life, Yu Lan had seemed gentle, passive, easily overshadowed.
This Yu Lan was different.
Careful.
Measured.
Yu Ya rose and walked toward the window.
"She is not seeking favor," Yu Ya said softly. "She is building foundation."
Her reflection in the bronze mirror looked thoughtful.
"And foundations threaten those who stand on unstable ground."
That night, in her chamber, Yu Lan unfolded a sheet of parchment.
Names.
Connections.
Influences.
Supply chains.
Weak points.
She did not seek to overthrow.
She sought to understand.
In court, power did not belong solely to the throne.
It belonged to those who could not be easily replaced.
If the Emperor valued public admiration—
If the Prime Minister valued policy—
If the General valued defense—
If the Imperial Master valued control—
Then she would become necessary to all four.
The candlelight flickered across her calm expression.
"I do not need to be powerful," she whispered.
"I only need to be indispensable."
Outside, the rain eased.
And somewhere beyond her chamber walls—
Imperial Master Long Tianwei read a quiet report about a noble daughter who asked too many thoughtful questions.
His lips curved slightly.
"Interesting," he murmured again.
The lotus had begun to grow roots.
And roots, once deep enough—
Could crack stone.