The Sect adjusted before anyone acknowledged it had.
On the first morning after the wedding, Seo Yerin rose before dawn out of habit. The inner chambers were still quiet, lanterns low, servants moving softly through corridors that no longer belonged to a widow—but did not yet feel like a wife's domain either.
She dressed without assistance.
When she stepped outside, a servant bowed instinctively.
Not to Jin Muyu's chambers.
To her.
The servant froze, eyes widening slightly at their own mistake, then bowed deeper as if correcting an error that had already been accepted.
Yerin said nothing and continued on.
*****
Jin Muyu did not wake until midmorning.
By then, the household had already run through half its routines. Meals had been ordered, reports delivered, requests filtered. When he finally emerged, robe loosely tied and hair still damp, he looked around in mild confusion.
"Did anyone bring breakfast?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," a servant replied immediately.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
The servant glanced past him—toward Seo Yerin, seated nearby, reviewing a ledger.
She looked up. "Bring something light," she said. "He has a meeting later."
"Oh," Muyu said. "I do?"
"Yes," she replied.
He frowned briefly, then shrugged. "Alright."
The servant left at once.
Muyu sat, satisfied, and began complaining about the stiffness of the bed.
No one responded.
*****
By midday, word had come that the elders would convene.
Not a full council.
Not a formal assembly.
A discussion.
Muyu was informed last.
He reacted with visible reluctance.
"Do I have to sit through all of it?" he asked. "They talk too much."
"You have to be present," Yerin said calmly. "You don't have to speak."
That seemed to please him.
"Good," he said. "You can handle it."
She did not correct him.
*****
The hall was already occupied when they arrived.
Several elders were standing together, voices low. The conversation faltered when the doors opened—not because Jin Muyu had entered, but because Seo Yerin had.
She walked beside him.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
Beside.
Jin Muyu waved awkwardly. "Everyone looks very serious today."
No one laughed.
Seats were indicated.
Muyu settled into the central chair with a sigh of relief, leaning back as though relieved to have found somewhere comfortable. Seo Yerin took the seat immediately to his right.
No one objected.
The discussion began cautiously—matters of supply routes, training rotations, pending requests from subordinate halls. Mu Jin listened for a few minutes, then began tapping his fingers against the armrest.
"Do we really need to talk about grain now?" he asked. "I'm hungry again."
There was a pause.
Seo Yerin spoke smoothly. "We'll keep it brief."
Several elders nodded—grateful for the interruption, grateful for the permission.
When questions arose, they were directed toward Mu Jin out of formality.
His responses were vague.
"I trust your judgment."
"Do what you think is best."
"That sounds fine."
Each time, the elders turned—not consciously, not defiantly—but naturally toward Seo Yerin.
She answered.
Not decisively.
Not dramatically.
She clarified, redirected, summarized.
By the end of the meeting, nothing revolutionary had been decided.
Everything had been settled.
*****
Afterward, as they walked back through the inner corridors, Muyu stretched lazily.
"That went better than expected," he said. "I didn't even have to think."
"That was the point," Yerin replied.
He laughed. "You're good at this."
She did not deny it.
*****
In the days that followed, the pattern solidified.
Servants brought reports to her first.
Elders asked for her presence "for clarity."
Requests that arrived addressed to Jin Muyu were quietly rephrased.
He did not notice.
Or if he did, he did not mind.
He spent his afternoons eating, sleeping, wandering the grounds with idle curiosity. When he grew bored, he returned to her chambers and complained until she redirected him.
"You should rest," she would say.
He always did.
*****
One evening, Elder Heo bowed to her in the outer corridor.
Not deeply.
Not formally.
But with recognition.
"The sect appreciates your steadiness," he said.
She inclined her head. "Stability benefits us all."
"Yes," he replied. "It does."
He did not mention Muyu.
*****
That night, Seo Yerin stood at the window and watched the lanterns flicker along the inner paths. The household moved according to rhythms she now set—quietly, efficiently, without instruction needing repetition.
She had not claimed authority.
She had simply occupied the space where it was required.
Beside her, Muyu lay half-asleep, mumbling about tomorrow's meal.
She listened.
She adjusted.
And the sect, without ever declaring it, followed.