By the time the sun climbed fully above the tiled roofs, the Inner Palace had slipped into a new rhythm. The sharp, focused energy of morning chores had softened into something lighter, restless—like a held breath waiting to be released.
Yelan Hua noticed it first through scent.
The familiar morning blend of boiled rice, warm water, and plain soap was still there, but now it carried an undercurrent: excitement. Human excitement had its own fragrance—slightly sharper breaths, a faint tang of anticipation on the skin, carried in quicker footsteps and lingering glances.
She stood near the outer service corridor, folding the last bundle of freshly rinsed cloth onto a drying rack, when the whispers began to drift toward her.
"Did you hear?" a voice floated from the well area.
"They're really holding it this time."
"I thought the Virtuous Consorts had postponed it again."
Yelan Hua did not turn. She smoothed the cloth with calm hands and waited.
A small knot of maids had gathered by the stone well, pretending to scrub wooden spoons while clearly more interested in talk. Their sleeves were rolled high, water dripping unnoticed onto the ground.
"It's been decided," one of them—tall, with a long braid—said in a lowered voice that still carried. "A fragrance offering. For the turning of the season."
"That means an Inner Palace function," another breathed, eyes wide. "All the high consorts will attend."
"Of course they will. It's tradition. Pleases the Emperor's eye—and the officials'."
Yelan Hua stepped forward to hang the cloth on the higher rack. As she reached up, the tall maid's gaze flicked toward her.
"…She's the new one from Gaoshun-sama's side, isn't she?"
The others followed the look.
Yelan Hua felt the attention settle on her—curious, measuring, not unfriendly—but she kept her posture unchanged, movements slow and steady.
Hui-lan approached from the preparation hall doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes," she said calmly, answering the unspoken question. "She is."
One of the younger maids cleared her throat. "So it's true, then? The announcement came down?"
Hui-lan nodded once. "Preparations begin today. The Fragrance and Offering Function will be held in three days' time."
A soft ripple went through the group.
"Only three days?"
"That's barely enough time to air the blending halls properly."
"No wonder the seniors are already snapping."
Yelan Hua listened with her head slightly inclined, hands now folded in front of her.
"A fragrance function isn't simple,"Hui-lan continued, voice practical. "Flowers, incense, herbal balances—everything must align perfectly. One wrong note, and the whole rite feels off. Any mistake reflects on all of us."
One maid grimaced. "Especially with the sensitive consorts. Consort Lishu will complain if the air is too heavy."
Another added in a conspiratorial whisper, "And the court officials will attend the opening."
At that, several maids exchanged quick, knowing glances.
A younger one leaned in. "Lord Jinshi will be there, won't he?"
The name landed softly, but Yelan Hua felt the air tighten—just slightly—like silk pulled too quickly across skin. A few sighs escaped. Someone's cheeks colored.
Hui-lan noticed and gave a short, fond huff. "Enough daydreaming. We have work to do."
Hui-lan paused at the corridor's bend and turned back toward Yelan Hua, the morning light resting gently on her sleeves.
"You'll assist with early preparations today," she said. "Mostly observation for now. Carry what's asked. Watch how things are handled."
"Yes, Obāsama."
Hui-lan gave a small approving nod.
"And mago—stay close."
As Yelan Hua followed, two younger maids a few steps behind slowed their pace, whispering just loudly enough for one another.
"Did you hear that?" one murmured. "She called her mago ."
"But… she doesn't have any relatives in the Inner Palace, does she?" the other asked quietly.
"No. She came without a name, without connections."
"Then why would Madam Hui-lan call her her grandchild?"
The first maid peeked ahead, eyes curious.
"Maybe she saw something in her."
"Or maybe," the second said thoughtfully, "she didn't want her walking alone."
Their whispers faded as footsteps approached.
Ahead, Hui-lan's tone sharpened — official once more.
"If you notice anything unusual — scent, color, texture — report it to me," she said. "Not to the whole room. To me."
"Understood."
But behind them, the whispers lingered in the air like floating dust in sunlight:
As they walked, Yelan Hua became more aware of the palace's subtle shift. Doors opened more frequently. Trays of early flowers passed by on the shoulders of workers—some buds still tightly furled and perfect, others already opening too fully, petals bruised from tight packing.
She caught the faint, sweet scent of crushed jasmine in one passing basket.
Too early, she thought. They'll wilt before the rite.
Inside the main preparation hall, several senior maids were already sorting materials on long wooden tables. Sunlight slanted through high windows, catching on dust motes and the glint of porcelain bowls.
"Separate the sandalwood sticks," one senior ordered sharply. "The humidity will ruin the resin if they stay bundled."
"And don't mix last season's leftover incense with the new blend," another snapped at a junior. "We made that mistake once. Never again."
Yelan Hua took her place near the wall, hands folded, watching quietly.
Her gaze moved slowly: shelf to shelf, jar to basket, flower tray to cloth wrapping.
She noticed small things others hurried past.
A tray of dried lavender placed too close to a steaming kettle—moisture already softening the buds.
Fresh peonies stacked three layers deep, bottom petals beginning to bruise and release an overripe sweetness.
An open box of frankincense resin left just a breath too long, its sharp citrus edge dulling in the warm air.
She did not speak. Not yet.
Hui-lan watched the quiet girl from the corner of her eye, noting the careful way she held herself — as if trying not to disturb the air around her.
A senior maid paused in her work and looked over.
"You," she called gently, motioning with her chin. "Come here a moment."
Yelan stepped forward at once.
"What is your name?" the maid asked.
"Yelan Hua."
The maid nodded once, committing it to memory.
"Good. Hold this tray steady."
She placed a wide wooden tray of empty porcelain incense bowls into Yelan's hands. Yelan accepted it smoothly, keeping it level without a tremor.
"Yes."
Nearby, one of the younger maids stole a curious glance at her — then another — and finally leaned in a little closer, voice lowered.
"So… Yelan Hua," she said softly, as if trying the name out for size, "where are you from?"
Yelan lowered her eyes slightly.
"A small village to the north."
"Oh…" The girl smiled faintly. "That explains it. You don't look nervous at all."
Yelan blinked once.
"Should I be?"
The maid's smile widened. "Give it time. You'll learn."
She moved off to fetch more bowls — and Yelan remained standing quietly in the new light, a new name settling into a new place.
She moved away to fetch more bowls.
The morning flowed on in fragments—half-finished conversations, orders given and quickly revised, materials shifted and reshuffled as seniors changed their minds.
Then a familiar sharp voice cut through the hum like a cool blade.
"Move. You're blocking the light."
Yelan Hua turned just in time to see a slight figure step into the hall: pale freckled skin, dark hair tied loosely, sleeves faintly stained with green and brown herbs.
Maomao.
She carried a small wooden box under one arm, eyes already scanning the room with quick, precise flicks.
"Who left the camphor jar open?" Maomao muttered, nose twitching. "Do you want it to lose half its potency by tomorrow?"
Several maids scrambled at once, hurrying to seal lids.
Yelan Hua felt the room's energy shift—not into tension, but into sudden focus.
Maomao moved like someone who had no time for wasted motion: direct, efficient, unapologetic.
Hui-lan approached her. "They sent you early?"
Maomao gave a short nod. "Herb inspection. Incense safety checks. Food reaction monitoring. The usual things that go wrong if no one watches."
She set her box down and began walking the tables, gaze sharp.
Her nose twitched again.
"…Something already smells off," she said, almost to herself.
Hui-lan stiffened. "Off how?"
Maomao didn't answer right away. She moved between tables, pausing here and there.
Her eyes drifted past the shelves of dried herbs.
Past the baskets of fresh flowers.
Past the trays of porcelain bowls.
And—for half a breath—past Yelan Hua.
Their gazes did not meet.
Maomao clicked her tongue softly. "Not dangerous yet. Just… careless."
She pointed to the lavender tray near the kettle. "Move that before it steams itself useless."
Then to the peonies. "Loosen the stacks. Bruised petals sour fast."
Finally to the open frankincense. "Close it. Now."
The maids chorused, "Yes!" and moved quickly.
Yelan Hua adjusted her grip on the tray as the subtle heaviness in the room eased—like pressure lifting from the ears after a long climb.
Maomao noticed the shift too, but didn't comment.
"Keep it this way," she said, already turning toward the door. "If anyone starts feeling lightheaded or queasy, tell me immediately. Don't wait."
She paused at the threshold, glancing back once more.
This time, her eyes landed directly on Yelan Hua and stayed a moment.
"…Who's that?"Maomao asked Hui-lan.
Hui-lan followed the look. "New helper. Yelan Hua. Gaoshun-sama placed her."
Maomao's brow creased—just slightly.
"Hm."
That was all.
She left, footsteps quick and light.
The room resumed its motion, quieter now, more careful.
Yelan Hua set the tray down gently on the nearest table.
She did not look after Maomao.
But the faint, unnamed discord in the air—the one Maomao had sensed without naming—lingered like a distant bell still echoing.
Outside, the palace bells rang softly, marking the next hour.
The Inner Palace was preparing.
And something—still quiet, still small—had begun to stir.