The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis
Chapter 110: When The Garden Blooms With Blood

Chapter 110: When The Garden Blooms With Blood

By the time dusk draped itself over the capital like a blood-soaked shawl, the manor gates had already opened.

Three girls stood outside in silk too thin for the wind, their faces veiled, their backs straight. The guards barely looked at them. They were used to this—fresh arrivals from the Flower House, broken pretties with painted lips and hollow eyes. They didn’t notice the way one girl scanned the estate with purpose, or how her veil fluttered just long enough to reveal the faintest scar above her collarbone.

I kept my eyes low as we were led inside, but I counted every corner. Seven guards on rotation. Two dogs leashed to the main column. A pair of women in red sashes waiting by the stairs—his senior favorites, judging by their tired stares and the wine stains on their sleeves.

The scent of incense was thick, cloying, but beneath it I caught the sharp bite of metal and mildew. The Ink Well was close. Even now, in the main wing, I could feel the rot clinging to the walls.

A woman in pale green—likely the house steward—ushered us through the cleansing wing. As predicted, we were stripped of our outer layers, scrubbed down with bitter oils, and wrapped in gauze-draped robes that left just enough bare skin to appeal to a man who liked bruises. She handed us each a sachet of powder and a cup of tea.

"For your lips," she said. "And your nerves. I know I don’t need to tell you this, but keep your eyes down and your lips closed... unless you’ve been told to open them. There is no such word as ’no’ when you entered this manor."

The other two girls nodded their heads, their arms stretched out to take the sachet of powder. They lowered their heads and breathed in deeply, trusting me to not let things get too far. After taking in a deep breath, they drank their tea and handed back the empty cup.

I copied their movements, but instead of bringing the sachet up to my nose, I palmed it and crushed it quietly under my sleeve. I let the black powder I’d hidden in my braid fall into the teacup she handed me.

It hissed faintly, but no one noticed.

Yuan Siyan wouldn’t be the only one manipulating shadows tonight.

------

The room we were led into was bathed in warm gold light, but it was an illusion. The tapestries were meant to distract from the restraints built into the walls, the red cushions meant to hide the stains in the grain of the floor. Mirrors covered the ceiling and one far wall. The air buzzed—not from heat, but anticipation.

We knelt as instructed.

I settled on the right, my eyes cast downward. Not submissive. Calculating.

Footsteps echoed moments later—slow, dragging, like someone too comfortable in their own filth.

Yuan Siyan entered with a bored expression and a cup of wine balanced in one hand. He wore red, trimmed in black, and a thin chain hung from his belt—a ring of keys, not for doors, but bodies.

"Which one is the healer?" he asked lazily.

"The middle girl, my lord," the steward replied, bowing low.

He ignored her and walked toward me instead.

Of course he did.

I’d chosen the scar. I’d planted the rumor. I made myself the bait.

He crouched beside me, one hand brushing my jaw, fingers cold and too soft for a man with so much blood on his record.

"Look at me."

I didn’t.

He gripped my chin.

And then I did.

Our eyes locked.

He smiled—too wide, too pleased with his own power.

"Pretty," he murmured. "But there’s steel in there. I like that. Breaks nicer."

Behind the veil, I smiled.

It wasn’t sweet.

It wasn’t safe.

"If you touch me without permission," I said, voice low enough only he could hear, "you’ll be dead before the next breath leaves your lungs."

He froze.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then laughed and patted my cheek like I was a pet with a sharp bark.

"You’re a challenge, and I like that. You’re going to be so much fun to break."

He turned away.

It would be the last mistake he ever made.

-----

Later that night, once the girls were dismissed and the manor quieted, I waited.

The cook had left a note folded into a lotus petal on my tray.

Midnight. No guards in the east hall.

I rose silently, tucking the poison vial into my sash. I didn’t dress as a seductress. I dressed as myself—tight-wrapped cloth around my chest, pants beneath my robe, boots soft as breath.

Every footstep was measured. Every breath held like it had been trained in silence.

I moved like the mist I command—undetected, unbothered, unseen.

Yuan Siyan’s study was dimly lit, papers scattered across his desk, a wine cup still steaming.

I poured three drops of the airborne toxin into the oil burner beside the desk and waited in the shadows.

He entered moments later, shut the door, and lit a stick of incense. It hissed in the air for a moment before becoming nothing more than smoke.

And then he froze.

His knees buckled first.

Then the cup fell.

He wheezed—eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish ripped from the river.

I stepped into view.

Removed my veil.

Watched realization hit him like rot in the spine.

"You," he croaked.

"Me," I confirmed.

I crouched beside him and tipped his chin up. "Tell me, Yuan Siyan... how does it feel to be powerless for once?"

He couldn’t answer.

But I didn’t need him to.

I let him lie there. Let the paralysis take him inch by inch. And when his breath slowed, I whispered one final truth into his ear:

"Believe it or not, this isn’t personal. This wasn’t for me. It was for every woman who never made it out."

Then I stood.

Unsheathed the smallest blade in my boot.

And made the cut just clean enough to keep the face recognizable.

The head would be delivered to Yan Luo before dawn.

Let the court whisper.

Let the Emperor wonder.

I wasn’t just a shadow in the garden anymore.

I was the one who planted the seeds.

And this?

This was only the first bloom.