The preparation hall breathed more easily after Jinshi and Gaoshun left. Their footsteps faded down the corridor, taking the subtle weight of high attention with them. Shoulders loosened across the room without anyone saying a word. Footsteps found a steadier rhythm. Voices dropped to normal murmurs again—no longer pitched too high or too careful.
Work flowed on.
Trays were refilled with fresh petals. Flowers were sorted by type and color. Incense bowls, wiped clean of dust, were lined up to dry in neat rows along the low shelves. The earlier tension thinned into something close to ordinary routine.
Almost ordinary.
Yelan Hua moved quietly between the shelves, her steps light and unhurried. She adjusted cloth wraps on bundles that had shifted, nudged baskets a fraction to catch better airflow. She did not seek notice. She spoke only when spoken to, and even then, sparingly.
Yet she felt the change before anyone else did.
The air had begun to turn.
Not suddenly. Not dramatically.
Just a faint heaviness settling low near the floor, persistent like a breath held too long. It crept in slow, pressing gently against the skin.
Yelan Hua slowed her steps near a row of blooming lilies in tall vases. Their scent had thickened—sweet, heady, almost cloying. Petals brushed too close against one another, bruising at the edges, releasing more oil than they should.
She inhaled carefully, sorting the layers.
The fragrance itself was not wrong.
But crowded scents misbehaved. They piled on top of one another, turning rich into oppressive.
A junior maid passed her, pressing two fingers briefly to her temple as she walked. "…It's getting stuffy in here," the girl muttered, more to herself than anyone.
Another maid by the flower racks paused, frowning as she tied a bundle. "My head feels… strange. Kind of fuzzy."
A third waved a hand dismissively. "Probably the heat. Windows are open, but it's warm today."
The windows were open, yes. But the air moving through them felt thick, sluggish.
Yelan gaze drifted across the hall. Across the room, Maomao had stopped mid-motion, one hand still holding a small vial of resin. Her nose twitched—once, twice.
Her eyes narrowed.
"…This again," Maomao murmured, low enough that only those closest heard.
She set the vial down and started walking the center aisle, no longer looking at shelves or jars. Now her sharp gaze swept over faces.
A maid near the back wall leaned against a pillar, blinking slowly, as if trying to clear her vision. Another pressed fingertips to her throat, swallowing like something sat wrong.
Maomao approached the first one. "Dizzy?"
The maid nodded, hesitant. "A little. My head feels heavy. Started a few minutes ago."
Maomao's expression sharpened. "How long exactly?"
"Not long… maybe since we moved the big lily vases."
Maomao glanced around the hall. "Anyone else?"
Two hands rose slowly from different corners. Another maid rubbed her eyes, admitting quietly, "Me too. Thought it was just me."
That was enough.
Maomao's voice cut clear through the room, calm but firm. "Open those windows wider—all of them. And separate the lilies from the incense trays. Now."
Several maids jumped to obey, sliding wooden frames farther apart, letting in gusts of cooler outside air. Others hurried to move the heavy vases, easing them away from the low tables where incense bowls waited.
Yelan had already begun. She slid a large flower basket away from a nearby incense setup—slow, careful, so the motion didn't stir the air more. Petals brushed her sleeves as she worked, releasing another wave of sweetness, but she kept her breathing shallow.
Maomao noticed the movement. Her eyes flicked to Yelan , lingered half a second, but she said nothing. No praise, no instruction—just acknowledgment.
As fresh air spilled in from the garden side, the oppressive sweetness thinned. The heavy edge began to lift, like fog burning off under morning sun.
The dizzy maid by the wall straightened slowly, color returning to her cheeks. "It's… better already."
Another nodded, lowering her hand from her temple. "Yeah. The fuzziness is going."
Maomao stood in the center, arms folded, watching the room like a hawk. "This isn't poisoning," she said, more to herself than anyone. "No one's turning green or clutching their stomach. But it's not nothing either."
She turned to Hui-lan, who had come over at the first sign of trouble. "Which flowers came in first batch today?"
"The lilies and gardenias," Hui-lan answered promptly. "Big shipment, early morning. They've been sitting longest."
Maomao nodded slow, piecing it together. "They're releasing too much oil—bruising against each other in the heat. Mix that with lingering incense smoke and the humidity we've had all week… the air gets dense. Heavy enough to make sensitive people lightheaded."
A younger maid nearby bit her lip, anxious. "So what do we do? Throw them out?"
"No," Maomao said. "Just thin it out. Rotate the flowers—move the oldest vases outside to the covered walkway for a few hours. Cut back on test incense in here until evening. Let the room breathe."
Orders rippled out. Maids moved with purpose now, no panic—just quick, practiced hands.
Yelan finished shifting her basket and stepped back, hands resting loosely at her sides. She watched the airflow change as windows widened and vases were carried out. The heaviness ebbed further, replaced by the cleaner note of garden breeze.
Maomao's gaze swept the hall once more, checking faces. Most looked steadier already. Satisfied, she started toward the shelves again—then paused.
Her nose twitched.
That faint, unfamiliar scent brushed her senses once more. Lighter than before, almost gone in the fresh air, but still there. Distinct.
Not incense.
Not medicinal herb.
Not any flower she knew.
Her brow creased faintly, just for a moment.
That smell…
She glanced around—no obvious source. Her eyes landed briefly on Yelan , standing quiet near the newly cleared space, hands calm, expression serene.
The scent seemed to drift from that direction. Or near it.
Maomao's frown deepened a fraction. But the room was settling, symptoms fading, and there was no time to chase ghosts.
She turned away before the thought took root.
"Keep an eye on anyone who still feels off," she called out, voice carrying. "If it gets worse—or comes back—tell me right away. No waiting."
"Yes, Maomao-sama!" came the scattered reply.
The hall settled once more.
Work resumed—quieter now, more careful.
But something had shifted.
Not danger.
Not yet.
Just a quiet imbalance—noticed, eased, but not fully solved.
And Yelan , standing at the edge of it all, folded her hands gently in her sleeves.
She felt the fresh air on her skin, the room's relief like a shared exhale.
She waited.
Silent.
Watching the scents settle.
Wondering, in the still corners of her mind, what the palace would whisper next.