The Fragrance Hall was a place of beauty and danger.
The Empress had ordered a seasonal banquet there, inviting all court ladies and favored consorts. Shen Lian arrived dressed in soft jade green, hair unadorned but eyes sharp.
As food and flattery flowed, Shen Lian noticed the strange layering of perfume in the air—too sweet, too dense.
She glanced to the corner where incense coils burned. The smoke curled thick and fast.
Zhou, hiding among the attendants, gave the slightest shake of his head.
Too much smoke. Too fast.
She quietly loosened the silk sashes on her robe, preparing.
Moments later, a scream.
Then flame.
The eastern drapes burst alight. Panic rippled through the banquet.
Ladies shrieked, servants stumbled. Someone shouted that the fire was coming from Shen Lian's table.
She stepped into the smoke calmly.
"Order the guards to douse the incense first," she told a dazed eunuch. "Then seal the southern doors."
"But—"
"Now."
He ran.
By dusk, the fire was extinguished. No one dead, but the Crown Prince's favored concubine had collapsed—and was later rumored to have miscarried.
The whispers began immediately.
"Lady Shen was untouched."
"She walked through the smoke like it meant nothing."
"She planned it."
That night, the Empress summoned no one. But her maid was seen burning records.
Zhou handed Shen Lian a report from their spy among the servants.
"The fire began in the incense itself. A compound traced to the Inner Fragrance Bureau."
"Someone wanted panic," Shen Lian said, "but not blood."
"And the Crown Prince's consort?"
Shen Lian closed her eyes for a moment.
"She was meant to fall. Just not fatally."
She opened them again, sharp.
"Send word to the Crown Prince's steward: I have a recipe that soothes smoke-cough. Let them come ask for it."
She smiled faintly.
"And owe me."