Su Luoyun had no desire to take on the role of matchmaker. Before her father had even finished speaking, she cut him off: “Father should know that Caijian and I have never been close. Her parents are both alive — why should I, as an elder sister, overstep and meddle in her marriage? And you want Caijian to enter the Shizi’s residence? Why haven’t you brought it up with the Shizi himself? It’s as though you think I’m the one who runs that great household.”

Su Hongmeng, however, refused to believe this. “All of the capital knows that you prayed and interceded for him, saving the Shizi’s life. He dotes on you now — how could he possibly refuse?”

Su Luoyun lowered her eyelids slightly, her voice cool and detached: “Has Father forgotten how I lost my sight? The Shizi knows about that as well. You claim he pampers me now — then you ought to be able to imagine just how disagreeable he finds the sight of Su Caijian. Why invite that displeasure upon yourself?”

Su Hongmeng frowned. “So you truly believe your wings have hardened — you won’t even listen to your own father. Whatever Caijian’s faults may be, she is still your younger sister. And she never did it on purpose at the time. She would only be staying at your residence for a few days. What is there to make such a fuss about?”

In the days before her marriage, Su Luoyun’s approach to her father had been to deflect whenever possible. As long as he did not go too far, she could not be bothered to deal with him.

But now she was a married woman with a household of her own, and her younger brother had entered official service. She had no patience left for her father’s unreasonable pestering.

She was also somewhat puzzled. Su Caijian had always kept her distance from Su Luoyun — had she actually agreed to come and stay at her elder sister’s residence?

Seeing that he could not get a firm grip on his eldest daughter, Su Hongmeng put on a stern face and brought out his trump card: “I know I have no say over you anymore. My only hope these next few days is to find Guiyan a suitable match. Once Caijian has a sister-in-law who knows how to be considerate, I won’t need to beg you for anything!”

This blind daughter of his had truly grown beyond his reach — he dared not push her too hard. But Su Guiyan was now an official. Could he afford to be seen as a son who defied and dishonored his father?

As for what sort of wife Guiyan would marry in the future — that decision would rest entirely with him as the father!

If they were a harmonious family, naturally things could be discussed with goodwill. But if he were provoked, let no one blame him for washing his hands of his children!

In earlier days, such words from her father would have left Su Luoyun shaking with cold fury. But now, watching him bluster and threaten with that small piece of leverage, she found him more pitiable than frightening — even a little absurd.

Taking in Caijian for a few days was nothing new. She had done it before. Her father truly did have a habit of using others as levers to press her.

Still, it served as a quiet reminder to Su Luoyun: she must never allow her father to interfere in her brother Guiyan’s marriage.

After some back-and-forth between father and daughter, Su Luoyun finally gave her consent.

Caijian would not technically be residing in the Shizi’s household, for Su Luoyun arranged for her to stay in the Su family’s small courtyard situated just beside it. She would have maidservants deliver three meals a day.

Su Luoyun made herself perfectly clear: the Shizi’s residence was governed by its rules. Caijian would be treated as a guest, but without an explicit invitation from the Shizi himself, she was not to set a single foot inside.

After all, the Sixth Imperial Prince had recently sent people to probe into Han Linfeng’s affairs. Su Luoyun could not afford to be careless, and she had no intention of allowing Caijian unrestricted entry into the residence.

As for the matter of arranging a match for Caijian — she had no desire to concern herself with that, and even less inclination to intervene.

As long as Caijian did not starve or cause any trouble during her father’s absence from the capital, Su Luoyun would consider her duty as an elder sister fulfilled.

However, Caijian appeared to have fallen ill of late. According to Xiangcao, when she alighted from the carriage her complexion had looked haggard, and when Xiangcao tried to speak with her, Caijian had responded listlessly, her manner vague and distracted.

Su Luoyun frowned slightly and told Xiangcao to find a physician to examine Caijian when she had a free moment. But Caijian seemed reluctant to see a doctor and refused to be examined, saying only that she had already consulted a physician and was taking remedies, and that she would recover in a few days.

As for Han Linfeng — although he had enjoyed more than a month of leisure under the pretext of his harrowing ordeal and injury, he was eventually obliged to return to the Ministry of Works and resume his duties.

His Majesty, taking pity on him for having suffered such a fright, had even promoted his rank slightly and allotted him more subordinates. With the Ministry of Works now burdened with the complex affairs of shipbuilding and grain transport, every person who could be pressed into service was being put to use without exception.

So after one day of cold silence between the two of them, Han Linfeng was dispatched to Yanzhou to supervise the shipbuilding operations. The matter being urgent, he had already departed with Minister Li, sending only a manservant back with a message, along with instructions to collect a few personal items he would need for the journey.

In the public office study, Qingyang watched as his young master stood before the window, head tilted back, staring at the clouds drifting across the horizon.

Unable to help himself, Qingyang sighed softly and muttered to no one in particular: “Keep staring — those clouds aren’t going to drift down to your feet. How is it that after all the trouble of taking a wife, you end up sleeping in the study every night? Where’s the sense in that?”

The Shizi’s consort seemed perfectly composed and gentle in public — and yet, behind closed doors, she was quite another creature entirely.

Qingyang recalled that for a time, the young lady had seemed genuinely in awe of the Shizi, measuring her every word with great care.

He could not fathom how his young master had managed to let his authority in the household slip so thoroughly. The longer this went on, the worse it seemed to get. The Shizi’s consort grew bolder by the day — it was as though a small kitten had taken to yanking at a tiger’s whiskers — and now she had his own young master banished to a cot in the study!

Hearing Qingyang’s rather loud “private musings,” Han Linfeng raised an eyebrow and shot him a sharp look.

At the same time, the Shizi thought to himself: he was about to be away for some time. He wondered whether she might soften enough to come and see him off.

Yanzhou was not an ill-omened place — the climate was generally fair. It was damp and cold and prone to snakes and insects, but nothing truly calamitous should befall him there.

When Su Luoyun heard the manservant’s message, she had initially meant to ignore it. But after a moment’s thought, she instructed Ji Qiu to have the nourishing ginseng and deer antler paste, along with a generous parcel of incense herbs to repel snakes and insects, packed and sent along with the Shizi’s manservant.

While Ji Qiu was helping the manservant pack the luggage, she noticed that in addition to the trunks of clothing, the manservant had deliberately taken the painted portrait of the Shizi’s consort.

It was evidently on the Shizi’s orders that the portrait had been taken. Before departing, Han Linfeng had also sent a message back with careful instructions regarding his consort’s daily needs and routines — it was plain that he could not stop worrying about her.

Ji Qiu returned and reported all of this to her mistress without delay: “My lady, the whole city is full of women who envy you. Everyone knows the Shizi has been gradually settling his heart, becoming more and more proper in his ways. You… ought not to be too harsh with him.”

Su Luoyun, distracted in thought, ran her fingers lightly over the row of fragrant sachets arranged neatly on her dressing table. She picked one up and hung it at her waist.

She understood what Ji Qiu was trying to say — not to push the Shizi so far that he truly withdrew from her.

And yet she knew better than anyone that between the two of them, it had always been he who held the reins.

Her husband was about to leave on a journey. By all propriety she ought to see him off — but today she genuinely could not go.

It was not from stubbornness. It was because she had just received a summons from the Empress and would soon be entering the palace.

On the fourteenth of each month, the Empress customarily held an afternoon tea gathering.

It was the Empress’s long-standing tradition — a gathering held once every month, on the fourteenth.

Those invited to these gatherings were typically the wives of officials known for their steady and virtuous conduct, along with female relatives of the imperial clan who were on close terms with the Empress.

To receive the Empress’s special favor and be invited even once was considered a remarkable distinction.

A household like the Northern Garrison Shizi’s residence would not ordinarily have warranted inclusion.

But the Empress had apparently heard from her daughter Princess Yuyang that the consort of the Northern Garrison Shizi came from a family that ran a fragrant goods shop, and that she was particularly skilled in the art of blending incense. Curiosity had stirred in the Empress as well.

And so Princess Yuyang had sent word at short notice, asking Su Luoyun to accompany her into the palace, and instructing her to bring along fragrant herbs suited to soothing and aiding sleep for elderly persons.

When it came to the appreciation of fragrance, the Empress was as exacting as her daughter Princess Yuyang — her standards for lingering scent and subtlety of composition were exceedingly high.

Princess Yuyang had apparently offended her mother of late, and seemed eager to restore herself to the Empress’s good graces. She had sent a message asking Su Luoyun to bring a generous selection of rare and precious ingredients, lest the standard palace stores prove insufficient for blending something truly suitable.

Having received the Princess’s instructions, Su Luoyun accordingly prepared several dozen varieties of fragrant herbs — though she chose only conventional, dependable ones. For people of high rank, using anything too rare or unusual could be counterproductive if their constitution proved ill-suited to it.

When Su Luoyun arrived, she discovered that both of the Fang sisters were already present.

Coming face to face once again with Fang Jinshu — that formidable woman — Su Luoyun felt not the slightest flutter of anxiety.

After all, this was the Empress’s own inner palace. As long as Fang Jinshu had not lost her senses entirely, she would have to consider the time and place before acting imperious.

Besides, at worst Fang Jinshu would make cutting remarks. Su Luoyun had no fear of that — she would simply smile and listen serenely. In a setting like today’s, even if Fang Jinshu were to hurl abuse at every ancestor in the Su family tree, Su Luoyun had no intention of rising to the bait.

The assembled ladies paid their respects to the Empress and took their seats, watching the palace female officials perform the graceful art of the tea ceremony with serene smiles. And just as Su Luoyun had anticipated, Fang Jinshu did occasionally cast cold, piercing glances in her direction — but made no verbal attack.

For Fang Jinshu’s position before the Empress was itself a delicate one.

Unlike the legitimate-born Sixth Imperial Prince, the Ninth Imperial Prince’s mother was Noble Consort Qiong. The Empress and the Noble Consort had both entrenched themselves in the palace over many years, each cultivating her own faction of loyal court officials — the two sides stood in quiet but unmistakable opposition.

His Majesty had long delayed naming a Crown Prince, which no doubt served his own purposes — but it left both camps in a state of perpetual unease.

Both princes were men of about thirty. The Sixth Prince had more stable succession: his consort, Fang Jinrou, had borne him two sons, providing a solid line of inheritance.

The Ninth Prince, though he had several sons born of concubines, had suffered a grave loss with his previous consort. She had given him only two daughters by formal birth, and when she finally conceived again, she had died in an accident — both mother and child lost.

Those who supported the Sixth Prince made much of the Ninth Prince’s lack of a legitimate heir. But now the Ninth Prince had taken Fang Jinshu as his new consort, and there was a real opportunity to reverse his disadvantage.

If a son were born to the consort of the Rui Prince — a daughter of the Lu Ducal family — the Ninth Prince could no longer be faulted for lacking a legitimate heir.

And given His Majesty’s longstanding partiality toward Noble Consort Qiong, who could say with certainty which way the succession would ultimately fall?

This being so, the Empress’s regard for this second daughter of the Fang family had shifted into something considerably more complicated.

Before, she had looked upon the second Fang daughter simply as her son’s wife’s younger sister — practically family, and naturally warmly received.

But now, looking at Fang Jinshu, the Empress saw something else entirely — an instrument for elevating the treacherous consort and her prince. The sight of her was not exactly welcome.

Fang Jinshu, for all her pampered upbringing, was perceptive enough to read the situation. In the Empress’s presence, she had adopted a policy of speaking as little as possible.

Even so, when the Empress asked what the consort of the Northern Garrison Shizi enjoyed as pastimes, Fang Jinshu could not resist: “Someone who peddles fragrant goods — what hobbies could she possibly have? Blending incense and counting silver, most likely.”

By Fang Jinshu’s standards, this was actually quite restrained. But it was still excessive.

All of the ladies present were from noble or official families, women whose hands never touched common work. In such circles, even a casual mention of money was considered vulgar enough to leave a sour taste in the mouth.

Yet Fang Jinshu had opened her remarks by sneering at the Shizi’s consort for her lowly origins and mercenary interests — it was as good as tearing away a person’s dignity in front of an audience.

Any other woman in Su Luoyun’s position would have either flushed scarlet with anger or shriveled with mortification.

But Su Luoyun only smiled, without a word, and lifted the teacup the palace female official had just presented to her, sipping from it at an unhurried pace — as though she had no intention of answering at all.

She said nothing in her own defense, but the elegant line of her arm as she drank, and that air of perfect, unshakeable composure, made the onlookers feel that it was the consort of the Northern Garrison Shizi who possessed the greater grace and dignity — and not the daughter of an illustrious noble house.

The Duchess of the Lu Duchy was present as well, and seeing her second daughter behave like this, she smiled with visible discomfort and prepared to intervene with a change of subject.

But Princess Yuyang could not abide the sight of Fang Jinshu.

At the banquet held at the Princess’s residence some time ago, Princess Yuyang had deliberately not invited Fang Jinshu — to avoid any appearance of entanglement with the Ninth Prince’s faction. Her own blood brother was the Sixth Prince; how could she look favorably upon the Ninth?

Such things were not spoken of openly. Everyone understood them without words.

But Fang Jinshu, apparently oblivious to all of this, had charged uninvited into the Princess’s gathering and demanded to know why only her elder sister, the Heng Prince’s consort, had been invited while she had not.

Any person with a modicum of social awareness would never have questioned a hostess so bluntly — the tactful thing to do was simply to let it pass without remark. But Fang Jinshu had chosen to embarrass Princess Yuyang in front of her assembled guests.

And then that same Consort Rui had seemed to take leave of her senses altogether, making cutting remarks at Han Yao and humiliating the girl so thoroughly that she had fled in tears.

Han Yao was admittedly an unremarkable girl — but whatever her failings, she bore the surname Han. She was of the imperial clan.

Yet Fang Jinshu, relying on her identity as a daughter of a great noble house, had spoken with such vicious sharpness to a young woman of the imperial family — how could Princess Yuyang, who was effectively that girl’s great-aunt by rank, simply sit there and say nothing?

At the time, the Princess had been the hostess, which prevented her from making a scene. She had swallowed that indignation with great difficulty.

She might appear as docile as a cat before her husband Zhao Dong, but in her younger days she had been the most imperious princess in all the capital. Who was a noble house’s daughter to be so brazen in her presence?

And now Fang Jinshu was at it again, letting loose her sharp tongue — this time aimed at the daughter-in-law of an imperial clansman.

Princess Yuyang smiled with an expression that did not reach her eyes, and offered her defense in a manner laced with pointed meaning: “The Rui Princess Consort’s words betray rather a lack of perspective. Being able to blend a refined lingering fragrance is a cultivated and deeply skilled art. A fine incense does not merely delight the senses — it soothes the mind, aids in sleep, and sharpens one’s faculties. It is most certainly not something that any ordinary dullard could produce.”

The implication was unmistakable. Fang Jinshu’s expression changed at once.

But Princess Yuyang was the Empress’s own daughter, and they were seated in the Empress’s very chambers. Fang Jinshu had no choice but to absorb the rebuke.

The Duchess of the Lu Duchy quickly stepped in to smooth things over, saying with a smile: “Speaking of which, this Shizi’s consort’s Slender Fragrance Studio truly is a marvel of the capital. I have heard that many ladies troubled by sleeplessness bought her incense and found genuine relief. I only wonder — might there be a fragrance that sharpens the mind? I tend to grow drowsy when playing cards, and I have wasted many a fine hand because of it.”

The Duchess’s words caught the interest of Consort Yu, who was seated nearby. She remarked frankly that she, too, was of an age where she found herself drifting off at inopportune moments, much like the Duchess.

Consort Yu had been in the palace for twenty years and remained without children. Now aging and fallen from favor, her face bore the evident marks of her years.

In order to maintain her footing within the palace, she had long sought out patrons. She had formerly done her utmost to cultivate a friendship with Noble Consort Qiong — but the Noble Consort had never truly regarded this childless consort with any particular value. When Consort Yu had still been relatively young and attractive, she had been somewhat useful for helping to shore up the Noble Consort’s favor and trip up younger rivals. But now that Consort Yu herself had lost her bloom, her usefulness was exhausted — and meanwhile Noble Consort Qiong had continued her ascent, becoming the Imperial Noble Consort.

Unable to reach those heights any longer, Consort Yu had gradually been edged out of the Noble Consort’s circle.

Not long ago, Consort Yu had fallen gravely ill, and in her misery during the sickness, she had cursed Noble Consort Qiong at some length for her ingratitude and abandonment.

Fortunately, the Empress had extended her aid — arranging physicians and medicine — and Consort Yu had recovered.

Having survived that illness, Consort Yu felt she had devoted the first half of her life to the wrong patron. And so she had specially commissioned skilled craftsmen to produce a gilded incense burner in the form of a crane with a long beak, and presented it to the Empress as a gift of gratitude — thereby signaling clearly which side she now stood with.

Now, seeing Princess Yuyang bring up the subject of incense, and with several of the other consorts also showing interest, there arose a general wish for the Northern Garrison Shizi’s consort to demonstrate her skill on the spot — blending something suitable for Consort Yu and the Duchess of the Lu Duchy right then and there.

Su Luoyun knew well that blending anything for use by those within the palace was a matter requiring the utmost discretion, much like an imperial physician attending a royal consultation. The guiding principle was not to seek distinction, but to avoid harm at all costs. One must never venture anything potent or extreme.

When the Empress asked her to blend a fragrance, Su Luoyun prescribed only mild and gentle herbs such as the pei orchid — nothing unusual or remarkable in the slightest.

Princess Yuyang, who knew Su Luoyun’s true abilities, inhaled the finished incense and said with undisguised disappointment: “This is nothing like what I know you are capable of. This fragrance is so very ordinary.”

Su Luoyun quickly replied with an apologetic smile: “The ladies of the palace are all of the most precious constitutions. Should any fatigue or discomfort arise, they must not delay in summoning an imperial physician to tend to their health. My humble skill in blending fragrance is only a minor craft — I would not dare show off such a trivial art before Her Majesty the Empress.”

Consort Yu was not particularly concerned with what fragrance the Northern Garrison Shizi’s consort could produce. What she most wished to do at that moment was to display the gilded incense burner she had specially commissioned at great expense — the crane with the long beak that she had presented to the Empress as a gift.

The belly of this crane-shaped incense burner could hold water, so that the fragrance filtered through it became gentle and moist rather than harsh. And when wisps of white smoke curled from the crane’s long beak, set against its wings poised as if for flight, the effect was remarkably lifelike — elegant and captivating.

Wishing to make a show of her devotion to the Empress before everyone present, Consort Yu called out: “Bring my burner here, and burn the incense that the Northern Garrison Shizi’s consort has blended. We can all play cards together while it burns — so we don’t nod off and let the young ones cheat us out of our good hands!”

The Empress smiled and had the card tables set up. The assembled ladies and consorts gathered around to play.

This pastime, which required the use of one’s eyes, was naturally not something Su Luoyun — who was blind — could participate in. She sat quietly to one side, sampling the pastries and refreshments the palace attendants had brought, breathing in the scent of the calming incense she had just blended.

The pei orchid, though unremarkable, was blended in the right proportions. The scent that arose was genuinely pleasant. But in less than the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, Su Luoyun gave a slight, involuntary twitch of her nose.

Something about the fragrance had suddenly shifted.

Beyond the few herbs she herself had blended, she could now detect the unmistakable notes of sandalwood and agarwood.

Anyone with even a passing knowledge of incense would understand that sandalwood and agarwood did not blend well together. Both were fixatives — strong foundation notes — and layered together, they would smother rather than support, drowning out much of what lay beneath them.

But Su Luoyun’s blindness had sharpened her sense of smell considerably beyond the ordinary, and she was especially attuned to the nuances of fragrance. Even with the overpowering base notes pressing in, she could still discern something of what lay beneath.

While the other ladies laughed and played their cards, Su Luoyun sat apart with nothing to occupy her, free to settle her attention and examine the shifting fragrance with quiet deliberateness.

What she detected within this gradually transforming scent, beneath the sandalwood, was something else: hints of moxa leaf — and beneath that, the unmistakable presence of medicinal herbs.

She could not be certain whether it was residue left from earlier use of the burner, or whether it had been placed there intentionally. The two notes were releasing themselves slowly and steadily, masked beneath the blanket of pei orchid scent. Only someone with a nose as sensitive as hers would be likely to notice them at all.

Su Luoyun gave nothing away. She leaned quietly toward Ji Qiu and murmured: “Did you see the incense burner that was lit? Were there any remnant herbs inside it?”

Ji Qiu had helped her mistress prepare the incense and had personally placed it into the burner herself — she had seen it clearly. The burner was the brand new gilded crane-beak incense burner that Consort Yu had just presented as a gift. There was nothing left inside it from before.

Su Luoyun inhaled again, more carefully. The proportions of sandalwood and moxa were artfully calibrated — and beneath them, woven in with great subtlety, was a medicinal note that Su Luoyun could not quite identify. These layers worked together in such a way that, without a nose as acute as hers, one would simply not notice them.

At the very least, the noble ladies playing cards had noticed nothing amiss.

And yet — a brand new incense burner, releasing such a complex array of notes. How was that possible? Could it be that someone had tampered with it? And if so — to what end?

A cold thought turned over in Su Luoyun’s mind. Using the excuse of dabbing her mouth, she covered her lips with her handkerchief and whispered: “Xiangcao — look around and tell me how everyone appears.”

Xiangcao, puzzled by her mistress’s question, could only lift her gaze and examine each person in turn.

She quickly noticed that Fang Jinshu, the Consort Rui, had also not joined the card game. She had moved to sit near the window.

Earlier, Consort Yu — who had been accompanying the Empress — had complained that the wind gave her neck pain, so all the windows in the hall had been closed. But Fang Jinshu, sitting by the window, could bear it no longer, and surreptitiously pushed one open a crack to let in a breath of air.

Consort Yu immediately called out: “What is this draft? My neck is aching again!” And a eunuch, smiling apologetically, went and shut the window once more.

After gathering all of this, Su Luoyun’s mind turned rapidly — and she drew in a sharp, silent breath.

Of everyone in this room full of noble ladies, only she and Fang Jinshu were newly married.

Sandalwood and moxa were harmless enough on their own — but if a woman were with child, they could be disruptive to the fetus. And most unsettling of all was that unidentified medicinal note woven through the blend. Su Luoyun, who worked with fragrance, knew well the categories of herbs that posed a danger to women in early pregnancy — it was knowledge essential to her craft.

Reckoning by the timing of the Ninth Prince’s marriage, if he had been effective, Fang Jinshu might well be with child by now.

And Fang Jinshu’s inability to tolerate the scent was proof enough.

As for what that unidentifiable medicinal note was — she could not say with certainty. A brand new incense burner, and yet it was releasing this many complex layers of scent, drawn forth gradually by the moisture within the belly of the crane. If her guess was correct, the burner itself must have been pre-soaked in some medicinal solution.

Whoever had done this had not acted out of idle fancy.

But if Fang Jinshu were to suffer some ill effect, and it were attributed to the agitation of the fragrance — who would bear the blame?

After all, the incense had been blended by the Northern Garrison Shizi’s consort. And the burner had been presented to the Empress as a gift by Consort Yu only moments ago. The placing of the incense into the burner had been carried out by Ji Qiu, Su Luoyun’s own maidservant. From beginning to end, not a single person from the Empress’s own palace staff had laid a hand on the burner.

If Fang Jinshu breathed in too much and fell ill afterward, she would lay the blame — old grudges and new grievances together — squarely at Su Luoyun’s feet.

A cascade of thoughts rushed through Su Luoyun’s mind.

While Consort Yu harbored plenty of her own resentment toward Noble Consort Qiong, Su Luoyun did not believe that a woman who had spent half her life carefully surviving in the palace would make such a foolish blunder — tampering with an incense burner to harm the Ninth Prince’s new consort.

And the animosity between Su Luoyun and Fang Jinshu was known throughout the capital. If someone were to believe that she had taken advantage of this occasion to take revenge against the Consort Rui — that, too, would seem entirely plausible.

However she turned it over, if her suspicions were correct, both she and Consort Yu had been drawn in without their knowledge — made into someone else’s pieces on a board.

Translator’s Notes — Yun Bin Tian Shang – Chapter 61

This Yun Bin Tian Shang – Chapter weaves together three distinct threads with considerable economy. The opening confrontation between Su Luoyun and Su Hongmeng establishes the shifted power dynamic: she is no longer the daughter who endures her father’s manipulation in silence, but she still capitulates on the smaller point (housing Caijian in the adjacent Su courtyard rather than the Shizi’s residence), revealing her characteristic pragmatism. The subplot concerning Caijian’s unspecified illness, her vague manner, and her refusal to see a physician is left deliberately ambiguous — the reader is invited to draw inferences about what Caijian may be concealing.

The Han Linfeng section offers a rare comic register. The portrait taken along on his journey and the manservant dispatched with careful domestic instructions signal real attachment beneath the standoff, while Qingyang’s exasperated “private musings” provide gentle irony at the Shizi’s expense. Su Luoyun’s response — sending nourishing remedies and insect-repelling incense without going to see him off — is characteristic: attentive in action, remote in gesture.

The palace tea gathering is the chapter’s dramatic centerpiece. Several political dynamics are compressed into a social scene: the Empress versus Noble Consort Qiong (and their respective proxies); Princess Yuyang’s allegiance to the Sixth Prince; the Ninth Prince’s succession liability and Fang Jinshu’s value as a potential bearer of a legitimate heir; and Consort Yu’s belated realignment toward the Empress’s camp. The incense-burner mystery at the chapter’s end is the key narrative turn: Su Luoyun, by virtue of her acute smell, becomes the only person in the room who perceives that something is wrong — and immediately grasps that she has been positioned as the ideal fall person, whether or not she acted. The final line (“someone else’s pieces on a board”) sets up the chapter’s central thematic question, which will presumably be pursued in subsequent chapters.

Key translation decisions: 瘦香斋 (literally “Slender Fragrance Studio”) rendered as “Slender Fragrance Studio”; 佩兰 (pei lan) rendered as “pei orchid,” a type of orchid-leaved plant used in traditional herbal medicine known for its mild calming properties; 花牌 rendered as “cards” / “card game” for readability; 引香 (fixative / base note in fragrance blending) rendered as “fixative” in context.