The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis
Chapter 108: A Weed With Deep Roots

Chapter 108: A Weed With Deep Roots

By the time mid-morning light filtered through the silk-draped windows, I had already bathed, dressed, and sent three letters.

Each was written in a different hand.

Each was delivered by a different person.

None of them would be traced back to me.

"I don’t need assassins," I murmured, stretching my legs out along the edge of the chaise as I leaned back on one elbow. "I need gardeners."

Shi Yaozu stood near the screen wall, arms folded, eyes scanning the room like he was expecting it to erupt into flames.

He still hadn’t spoken much since the night before. I knew he had questions, but I also knew he wouldn’t ask them—not unless he thought I needed them answered. That was the kind of silence I valued most.

"I want Yuan Siyan to die slowly," I said, reaching for the scroll I’d been working on. "But not physically. Not yet. I want the people who protect him to start doubting him. I want rumors to reach the wrong ears. I want to see how quickly a man with nothing to fear begins to sweat when whispers crawl beneath his collar."

Yaozu stepped forward. "You want the Court to turn on him."

"I want the Court to forget him," I corrected. "And then, when no one’s watching... I’ll prune the root."

He said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

Instead, he walked to the table and set a folded piece of parchment beside my elbow. "Yuan Siyan’s routine. Morning meetings in the Red Hall. Afternoons in the prison. Evenings in his private estate just off the inner city wall. It’s heavily guarded—archers on the roof, Shadow-trained dogs patrolling the grounds, and three women assigned to his pleasure chamber."

I arched a brow. "Does he rotate them, or are they permanent fixtures?"

"Permanent. Or at least, as permanent as women in his household get. One goes missing every two weeks. They’re replaced without comment."

I exhaled, slow and sharp. "Then we’ll begin there."

"With the women?" Yaozu asked.

I nodded, tracing my finger down the parchment. "They’re his softest point. He doesn’t see them as threats. No one does. But women are the ones who know how a man breathes when he sleeps. What he drinks. When his stomach turns. If anyone can poison him without being noticed, it’s them."

He hesitated. "You’re not planning on giving them poison."

"No," I said, tone dry. "I’m planning to give them choice."

Yaozu stilled. "That’s more dangerous."

"Exactly."

I stood and crossed to the screen, brushing the curtain aside to look out over the courtyard. A pair of doves picked at seed near the base of a gnarled peach tree. Too busy fighting each other to notice the shadow of the hawk circling overhead.

"The eunuch assigned to Consort Yi is named Bao Lin," I said casually. "He’s been exchanging letters with one of the Emperor’s jewelers—something about a missing brooch and some stolen gems. If I can remind him of that indiscretion, he’ll deliver a note for me. One that ends up in the hands of Yuan Siyan’s estate manager."

"And the note says...?"

"That there’s been a shift in supplier. A new set of girls will arrive in two days." I turned toward Yaozu. "Two of them will be mine. One of them will be me." I said the second half of that statement softly... I knew he wouldn’t be happy with my plan.

"You have people in the Flower House?"

"I have favors owed," I replied with a shrug. "Same thing."

He crossed his arms, clearly fighting the urge to ask how deep my web went. I offered no details. Let him wonder. The less he knew, the safer he’d stay when the pieces started to fall.

"Tell me more about the Ink Well," I said, voice low. "I want to know how he uses it. Who he brings. How often. I want to know what kind of man thinks a room of screams makes him more powerful."

Yaozu’s expression shifted—not to anger, but something colder.

"Every third night, he goes down into the pit. It’s a stone chamber beneath the prison wing. No windows. No ventilation. Chains welded into the wall. There are mirrors." He glanced at me. "On the ceiling."

My lips parted slightly, not from surprise—but from disgust. "He watches himself?"

Yaozu nodded. "While others suffer."

A beat of silence passed between us.

And then I smiled.

Not a kind smile.

Not a gentle one.

Just the quiet kind—the kind meant for predators who don’t realize they’re prey.

"I think it’s time he saw something different in that reflection."

----

By late afternoon, the first response arrived.

It came in the form of a lotus petal folded inside a teacup—delivered by a nervous girl with ink-stained fingers and the wrong earrings for a palace maid. She set it beside me, bowed, and vanished before I could ask her name.

I opened it carefully.

The petal was pale blue.

The answer was yes.

Two girls would be arriving by the end of the week. One trained in incense. One in oils and medicine. Both were ready to work under my name—no questions asked, no limits given.

They had nothing left to lose.

"They’ll need a reason to trust me," I murmured aloud.

Yaozu sat across from me now, cleaning one of his knives. He didn’t look up. "They’ll trust you when you’re the first person who ever gave them a way out."

I didn’t answer.

They would trust me when I was beside them the whole way.

-----

That night, I sat beneath the stars in my garden pavilion, tea cooling beside me, eyes fixed on the red envelope I had tucked into a lacquered box beside the incense burner.

Yuan Siyan’s name still sat there, heavy as lead.

He didn’t know it yet, but the air around him had begun to shift.

His girls would change.

His meals would change.

His servants would make the wrong turns at the wrong moments.

And if he wasn’t careful, he’d start to feel it. Not pain. Not fear.

But doubt.

The kind that makes powerful men check the locks twice.

The kind that whispers you’re not as untouchable as you think.

----

Yaozu approached as the moon crested the roof tiles. He didn’t speak—just crouched beside me and handed me a scroll.

"What’s this?" I asked, unrolling it.

"Every person who’s ever survived the Ink Well," he said. "There aren’t many. But one of them lives three streets from here. A seamstress. Lost her left hand. Still breathes fire."

I traced a finger down the name. "I want her here. Tomorrow."

"She might not come."

"She will," I said softly, "if I tell her she’s going to help kill the man who took her hand."

And this time, Yaozu didn’t offer a word of caution.

He just stood, sword in hand, and disappeared into the night.