This one started with a simple intention: to take the Jasmine and Musk further. I did, but along the way I found myself following where the blend was pointing rather than steering it. I do believe some blends tell you where they want to go, even if they speak in a very subtle voice. So I tuned in.

First came mango, then peach. Then I felt something else was needed. I pulled a few materials from my library, and in testing I was genuinely conflicted. Patchouli? Cedar? Basil? Orange? Grapefruit? In the end I added them all, because each one left its own mark and made the blend what it is.

Then I began testing it against ouds, and the pairing felt as if I was being pulled and called, not by the Jasmine, the Musk, the cedar or any of the other materials, but by the Chinese oud itself. Liu Zhi turned out to be an exceptionally good match. I’ve never felt cedar integrate so seamlessly with an oud the way it does with this one.

But the blend wasn’t finished talking. It asked for a little more air and a little more bloom, so in went White Tea and Egyptian Geranium. Then came a second Chinese oud: a Hainan oil distilled from 15–20-year-old trees, golden, sweet and honey-like. Liu Zhi brings the woods, and the Hainan wraps them in honey. Together they read as one oud with more depth than either has alone.

This time the Musk is content to stay underneath, holding everything together without asking for attention.

The opening is fresh and citrusy: grapefruit brightened by basil. Then the fruits come in, mango and peach, softened by the airy calm of white tea and the rosy green of geranium. They make way for cedar and patchouli (more cedar than patchouli). Vanilla follows, and finally the golden pair arrives: Liu Zhi and Hainan oud, woody and honeyed in turn.

The name is taken from these ouds’ homeland. Lingnan (岭南) is the traditional name for southern China, covering today’s Guangdong, Guangxi and Hainan. For centuries this region has been the heartland of Chinese agarwood, so much so that Hong Kong, meaning “fragrant harbour,” is often said to take its name from the incense trade that passed through it. With a Hainan oud now in the blend, the name feels even more right: it’s named after the home of the ouds that called me to it.

This is one blend where I feel I wasn’t the one driving; I was being driven. It’s my third venture into Chinese ouds, and I couldn’t be happier. Honestly, I can’t name a favorite, whether it’s this one, Qinna Rose (Spray), or Hainan & Rose (Attar).