Chapter 2: The Three-Day Pact
Inside the ancestral hall, the scent of sandalwood mixed with the agarwood clinging to Gu Yurong’s robe. The fragrance was so thick it felt viscous, like a knot of unfurling fog that wrapped tight around the nasal passages, numbing the scalp and making every breath feel sluggish and gritty. Around them, the candle flames flickered erratically in the draft, stretching Gu Yurong’s shadow on the floor long and short, twisting it into ghostly, distorted shapes.
Su Wanxiang didn’t flinch at the cold finger pointed at her. She watched Gu Yurong quietly, fearlessness in her eyes, replaced only by a profound stillness, like a pool of bottomless cold water reflecting Gu Yurong’s meticulously constructed facade of maternal love.
Gu Yurong slowly released her hand and stepped back, her face wearing a smile of serene, noble kindness. But the warmth didn’t reach her eyes; it was icy to the core, like a winter gale swirling with shards of ice.
“Wanxiang, your father’s conviction is a pain for the whole family. Even though you are of concubine birth, I have never been harsh with you. Now, Su Jinyuan is to present incense to the palace. If she fails, the blame will be unanswerable. Since you’ve proven your nose, it’s time to produce real results. If you can’t present a formula that surpasses your sister’s, don’t blame me for ignoring sisterly bonds. Per Family Rules, I will send you to the manor outside the city to copy the *Admonitions for Women*.”
Her words were watertight, displaying a veneer of “tolerance” while hiding lethal intent. Each word was like a fine, dense nail, hammered silently into Su Wanxiang’s eardrums, attempting to cage her hands with the double shackles of morality and Family Rules.
Su Wanxiang lowered her gaze, masking the cold light in her eyes. Under her sleeve, her knuckles tightened, nails digging into her palm and leaving bloody tracks, the pain sharpening her focus even more.
What a Gu Yurong she was. Not tearing the face-off into an open fight, but setting a death trap. Three days as the deadline, using the “mistaken materials” from Zhou Chongshan’s limited stock. If she used that batch of exposed low-grade incense, it was a dead end; if she didn’t use it, Gu Yurong would accuse her of waste, or even theft. This was exploiting a loophole in the rules to kill by proxy—even if Su Wanxiang actually succeeded, she’d be covered in stench.
Su Wanxiang bowed silently: “Mother’s instruction is correct. Wanxiang accepts the order.” Her voice was as clear and cold as ice, touching down without a sound, yet carrying an undeniable resolve.
Leaving the ancestral hall, the sky had already darkened, twilight closing in from all sides, the cold seeping up her ankles over the stone steps. Su Wanxiang returned to her courtyard alone, the wind sweeping up dry leaves that hissed against her face, while a storm brewed in her mind.
The *Compendium of Ten Thousand Perfumes* quietly unfurled. The chaotic smells transformed into clear diagrams, like countless glowing threads weaving together in the depths of her consciousness, constructing a precise maze.
“Since you want me to play the game, then I’ll show you how the game is played.”
Back in her room, she didn’t light a lamp. She sat on the dark bed, rubbing her cuffs. The rough fabric against her fingertips provided a tangible sensation. Outside, thunder rolled distantly, as if cheering on this silent contest.
Three days? For normal people, the cost of trial-and-error in Compounding Incense was huge. Grinding, ratio, and heat control all required massive amounts of raw material for verification, often taking weeks or even months to finalize. But for her, with the *Compendium of Ten Thousand Perfumes*, time was compressed to the absolute limit; every second that passed became fuel for deduction.
Eyes closed, her consciousness sank into an ocean of fragrance. The darkness receded, replaced by a boundless spectrum.
[Compounding Incense Deduction: Initiated]
Countless lines intersected in her mind, light and shadow flowing, as if hundreds of her were grinding, blending, and testing incense simultaneously.
Version One: Agarwood as the sovereign, sandalwood as the minister, assisted by Longnao.
Result: The scent was heavy, fitting the winter austerity, but lacked vibrancy. The cost was high, violating the “twelve cash” constraint. Rejected.
Version Two: Remove the agarwood, substitute with Cliff Cypress.
Result: Cliff Cypress had a pungent flavor, irritating the throat. Paired with mint, it was cold and heartless; paired with licorice, it was too cloying and lost elegance. Rejected.
Version Three... Version Four...
In the outside world, moments had passed; inside her brain, dozens of rounds had been played. Her breathing was steady, fingertips pale, and fine beads of sweat appeared on her temples—a physiological reaction to high-intensity mental computation.
On the sixtieth deduction, inspiration struck.
Use Cliff Cypress for its crispness, but only the surface “frost bark” from branches exposed to wind and snow. Pair it with a tiny amount of Baizhi to remove the fishiness and increase transparency, then add a negligible amount of withered osmanthus petals—leftovers dried last autumn, ignored by everyone, yet containing a sweet warmth that was there and not, like Spring Tidings in Snow, breaking through the cold.
The formula took shape:
Sovereign: Cliff Cypress Frost Bark (three qian)
Minister: Baizhi (two qian)
Assistant: Withered Osmanthus Petals (one and a half qian)
Messenger: Mint Leaf (a pinch)
Total cost under twelve cash.
Su Wanxiang opened her eyes, a glint flashing in her irises, silently chanting in her heart: “Spring Tidings in Snow.”
This wasn’t an unattainable tribute incense. But in a moment of cold human hearts, it was like a cup of warm wine—not intoxicating, but warming the body. This wisp of fragrance was the sliver of survival she had fought for herself in a desperate situation.
...
The next morning, in the back courtyard of Su’s Perfumery. Frost flowers still clung to the blue stone slabs; the air was thick with the complex mix of damp mold and aged spices.
Zhou Chongshan dozed against the counter, a pipe in his mouth. His cloudy, shrewd eyes suddenly snapped open, fixing on the girl with the cloth bundle, his brow furrowing into a deep crevice.
“Girl, you certainly have guts.” He sized her up, his tone sharp and street-smart, though it couldn’t quite mask the underlying concern. “Gu Yurong’s smiling tiger set you a trap, didn’t she? Three days, and you have to use those ‘scraps’ in our shop? I told you, that batch was watered down and old. Using it for Compounding Incense is planting bombs. If it blows up, it’s theft; if it doesn’t, it’s mucking around.”
Su Wanxiang set down the bundle and spread out the several small packs of prepared ingredients. They were the cheapest things available; that pack of withered osmanthus petals was shriveled and blackened, looking unappetizing.
Zhou Chongshan leaned in and sniffed, chucking out a snort of disdain. “That’s it? You want to crush your legitimate sister’s head with this junk? She’s holding top-tier agarwood and Longnao, the spec used by the palace consorts. Throwing this together are you trying to get yourself killed, or are you sick of Su’s Perfumery’s reputation taking a beating?”
Su Wanxiang didn’t defend herself. She silently took out the small silver burner and placed the Cliff Cypress Frost Bark inside. Her movements were practiced and calm, without any unnecessary explanation.
Zhou Chongshan crossed his arms, waiting for the show. “I advise you to go back and copy sutras. Don’t mess up the heat control. If that Cliff Cypress hasn’t had the bitterness removed, and you suffocate Gu Yurong, no one’s going to pay for it.”
Su Wanxiang lit the charcoal. Her actions were steady, the heat perfectly calibrated.
As the temperature rose, a crisp, warm scent began to seep out. Initially, it was the unique spicy chill of Cliff Cypress, like a clear bell piercing through the heavy tobacco smell; next, the transparency of Baizhi surfaced, like ice melting, washing away the bitterness; finally, the sweet fragrance of the withered osmanthus petals wasn’t overpowering, but it sketched a bright stroke over the cool background.
It didn’t smell like flower blossoms; it smelled like a winter afternoon deep in memory, sunlight hitting an old cotton quilt. Warm, reassuring, not flashy, but making it hard not to lean closer.
Zhou Chongshan’s pipe dropped from his hand, burning his fingers without him noticing. His pupils contracted. He lunged forward and took a deep breath. That scent reached straight to his lungs, smoothing out the old grief and regret that had constantly pressed on his heart, instantly soothing them.
“Bloody nonsense,” he muttered, his voice trembling.
He turned and rummaged under the counter, pulling out an oilcloth-wrapped package and throwing it into Su Wanxiang’s arms. It was heavy with copper coins and a few silver notes.
Zhou Chongshan turned his back, pretending to organize the shelves, his voice muffled. “Take it. Don’t say I gave you a discount. Say I bought your batch of ‘scrap’ at a premium. Get out, don’t stand here annoying me; seeing you makes this old body anxious.”
Su Wanxiang’s lip curled slightly, warmth flickering in her eyes. Zhou Chongshan was foul-mouthed but soft-hearted. What he guarded wasn’t just the silver, but Su’s Perfumery’s signboard, and the father who had taught him his first Compounding Incense.
She clutched the copper coins and turned to leave.
As she reached the door, she collided with Su Jinyuan, who was walking in with a food box.
Su Jinyuan wore plain clothes, her beauty resembling a secluded orchid. The food box in her hand was exquisite, clearly a deliberate “supply” she had brought. She stopped, her gaze dropping to the copper coins in Su Wanxiang’s arms, then flicking toward the half-opened door behind, finally settling on the faint residual scent lingering in the air.
“Wow, little sister is making a fortune? Over just one night, and she’s received such a large sum of silver?”
Su Jinyuan smiled brightly as she stepped closer, reaching out to touch Su Wanxiang’s sleeve. It looked affectionate, but was actually probing. Her fingertip was a hair’s breadth from the fabric, carrying a testing chill.
Su Wanxiang sidestepped easily to avoid her, her tone flat. “Just Master Zhou bought me a few packs of old leaves. Nothing special.”
“Old leaves?” Su Jinyuan raised an eyebrow, her eyes darting. “Sister really knows how to be self-deprecating. If old leaves could be worth that much, I’m curious, what ‘new’ formula is sister brewing?”
As she spoke, she subtly moved closer, her nose twitching slightly to catch that faint, elusive wisp of air.
Su Wanxiang watched her silently, slowly retreating half a step to create distance.
A shade of darkness flashed in Su Jinyuan’s eyes. The food box in her hand tilted slightly, as if she was planning to use the momentum to throw hot soup onto her skirt, creating a “slip” illusion to snatch the money or muddy the waters.
Just then, a cold voice cut in: “Stop it.”
Pei Yan stood at the courtyard entrance, dressed in black official robes, his face cold as frost. He didn’t look at Su Jinyuan; he stared directly at Su Wanxiang, his gaze appraising, as if evaluating an unfinished object.
“Gu Yurong gave you a three-day limit. Two days remain.”
Pei Yan stepped forward. His footfalls were crisp, each step feeling like it stepped on a person’s heart, startling the crows roosting on the veranda.
“I heard you were in the storeroom last night, smelling leftover incense all night.”
Su Wanxiang raised her eyes to meet his: “Reporting to the Commissioner, I was deducing.”
“Deducing?” Pei Yan sneered coldly, raising his hand to grip Su Wanxiang’s wrist. The force was immense, as if he intended to crush the bone.
His nostrils flared, his eyes deep and dangerous. “Since you’ve been deducing, why does this burner of ‘Spring Tidings in Snow’ still have a residual scent?”
He dragged Su Wanxiang straight toward the front hall. There, Su Jinyuan held her food box, her face pale white, frozen in place.
“If you dare use that residual scent, then burn another round in front of everyone.”
Pei Yan’s voice was ice-cold, leaving no room for argument.
Su Wanxiang was pulled forward, her wrist aching, but there was no panic in her heart, only a surge of excitement and battle-lust.
Pei Yan recognized incense, not people. He valued not the daughter of the Su Family, but the “incense” on her.
Su Jinyuan stared死死 at that string of copper coins, greed and jealousy nearly overflowing from her eyes.
When Su Wanxiang sat down in the front hall and took out the pristine new burner, Su Jinyuan finally couldn’t hold it back. Her eyes lit up, staring intently at the air where the residual incense had dissipated, a twisted smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
“Sister. Since Commissioner Pei wants to watch, let your big sister join the fun. How about a contest? Let’s see which is better: your ‘Spring Tidings in Snow’ or my newly blended ‘Orchid Heart and Noble Character’.”
Su Wanxiang smiled faintly, saying nothing.
Pei Yan suddenly spoke, his gaze sweeping over Su Jinyuan, cold as a blade. “Your ‘Orchid Heart and Noble Character’ contains too much musk. It’s meant to steal people’s minds. Using it in the boudoir is plotting against proper conduct. Get out.”
Su Jinyuan’s face turned white, and the food box in her hand clattered to the floor with a “slap.”
Every single person’s gaze focused on the wisp of blue smoke Su Wanxiang had just lit.