The carriage that bore Li Mei away from the West Market was not a vehicle of honor, but a rolling prison of black lacquer and silk. As the iron-shod wheels rattled against the stone pavers of Chang'an's primary thoroughfare, Mei felt the shift in the city's atmosphere through her nostrils alone. The vibrant, chaotic scent of the common wards—the frying dough, the sweat of laborers, the earthy aroma of pack mules—faded, replaced by the sterile, cold fragrance of the Imperial City. Here, the air was thick with the scent of ancient dust, expensive agarwood, and the terrifyingly sharp ozone of a gathering storm.
Prince Zhao sat opposite her in the cramped, swaying space, his presence an inescapable weight that commanded the air she breathed. In the flickering light of a single silk lantern, his features remained as unreadable as a jade carving, yet his scent told a different story. Beneath the layers of royal musk, Mei's "Golden Finger" detected the ragged, frayed edges of his soul. He smelled of burning cedar and raw, primal hunger—a "Qi deviation" so intense it threatened to consume the very silk he wore. This was the hook that kept her heart pounding; the man before her was a hero of the Tang, yet he carried the scent of a predator that belonged in the wild wastelands, not the halls of power.
"You are looking for the monster, Alchemist," Zhao said, his voice a low, melodic rasp that vibrated in the small cabin. He didn't open his eyes, but his hand—large, scarred, and resting on his knee—clenched until his knuckles turned the color of bone.
"I am looking for a patient," Mei corrected, her voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through her veins. She reached for her needle case, the familiar weight of the silver tools grounding her in a world that had suddenly turned supernatural. "In the records of my father, a Qi deviation of this magnitude usually results in the explosion of the meridians, not the growth of silver fur and the slaughter of the innocent".
The Prince's eyes snapped open, two voids of dark obsidian that seemed to swallow the lantern light. For a fleeting second, a flash of gold ignited in his pupils, a reflection of the beast she had seen in the teahouse. The sexual tension in the carriage became a physical pressure, a magnetic pull between her clinical rationality and his volatile, beastly energy. He leaned forward, his face inches from hers, and the scent of winter mint and predator-musk became overwhelming.
"My father was executed for trying to understand what you are," she whispered, her courage born from a sense of crisis and a need for revenge. "If you brought me here to kill me, do it now. If you brought me to cure you, then start by telling the truth".
Zhao let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-growl, a haunting detail that showcased the complexity of his human nature. "Truth is a luxury the Daming Palace cannot afford, Li Mei".
The carriage came to a halt, not at the grand gates of the palace, but at a secluded side entrance hidden behind weeping willows and high stone walls. As the door opened, the scent of the palace hit her—not of gold and glory, but of damp stone and iron bars. This was the "Gilded Cage," a world designed to trap both the divine and the monstrous.
Mei was led through a labyrinth of subterranean corridors, her scent-tracking ability mapping the darkness. She smelled old blood in the mortar of the walls and the distinct, cloying aroma of a "System" of suppression—heavy incense designed to dull the senses. Finally, they reached a heavy iron door inscribed with ancient Taoist seals.
Inside, the room was a paradoxical blend of a royal bedchamber and a torture cell. Massive silk hangings were torn to shreds, and the stone floor was gouged with deep, four-clawed furrows. As the moon reached its zenith, shining through a high, barred skylight, the Prince began to shiver. His breathing became a series of wet, guttural snaps, and the scent of his Qi deviation spiked, smelling now of scorched earth and blood-soaked fur.
Mei realized then that her first three chapters were not just a race for survival, but a test of her skill as an alchemist. She opened her kit, her fingers steady as she selected a long, silver needle. She had to act before the man vanished and the beast took hold, creating a cliffhanger of life and death that would determine the fate of the Tang Dynasty itself.