The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis
Chapter 111: To The Witch

Chapter 111: To The Witch

The head hit the table with a muffled thud, wrapped in silk but still leaking blood where it was pressed against the solid surface. It rolled slightly against the lacquered wood, staining a circle into the grain.

Zhao Xinying didn’t glance at it again. She stood at the threshold to her chamber, casually unlacing the outer robe from her shoulders. The movement was unhurried, elegant, as if discarding death was no different from shedding cloth at the end of the day.

"Do me a favor?" she asked over her shoulder, her voice light, almost teasing, yet undercut with command. "Give that to Yan Luo before you come to bed. Don’t take too long. I’ll be waiting."

She vanished into the shadows beyond her curtain without ceremony, her silhouette dissolving behind silk as she walked toward the bathtub. No flourish. No reflection. The man had been a weed, and she’d pulled it from her garden. That the roots were deeper than she could reach today only meant she’d sharpen the blade tomorrow.

Shi Yaozu stared at the silk-wrapped head for a long moment. Then, with surgical precision, he rewrapped the cloth—tight, neat, final. Not because the man’s face disturbed him. But because of what it symbolized: corruption protected by the Emperor’s hand, and justice carried out by the very weapon they all thought they could keep leashed.

A quiet knock echoed—two short, one long.

He vanished into the dark.

-----

Yan Luo’s private quarters were beneath the brothel’s back wing, behind silks no patron dared push aside. Down narrow stairs that curved like a throat, past corridors lined with wine jars and paper lanterns that never swayed unless he wanted them to. The walls whispered. Not with words—but with the weight of secrets crushed beneath gold rings and red lips.

The door opened without a knock.

Inside, the chamber was dim and stifling. The scent of sandalwood hung thick, but something sharper lurked beneath it—clove, lacquer, blood long cleaned but never quite forgotten. Curtains in imperial red hung low around the walls, and the only light came from candles cradled in glass bowls filled with oil.

Yan Luo sat on a sunken divan, his legs stretched out, and a robe of black silk draped over one arm. His bare chest bore a web of old scars that crossed like a forgotten map. A wine cup dangled between his fingers.

When he looked up, his smile was slow. Controlled. Lethal.

"Well," he murmured. "I expected her to come to me in person, not to send a messenger, and definitely not her pet assassin."

Yaozu didn’t respond. He dropped the silk bundle onto the low table between them with a thud that made one of the oil candles flicker.

"Payment," he said. No bow. No preamble.

Yan Luo’s gaze flicked lazily to the bundle but didn’t linger. "She moves fast."

"She moves decisively," Yaozu corrected. "There’s a difference."

Yan Luo sat up, the cup tipping gently in his hand as he swirled the wine. "You’re still so careful with your words. Loyal little shadow, aren’t you?" His voice turned mocking. "Always one pace behind her. Always the blade in someone else’s hand."

"She trusts me," Yaozu replied evenly. "That’s more than most people ever earn."

Yan Luo chuckled and leaned forward, setting the cup aside with a quiet clink. "She trusts you because she hasn’t yet needed to decide whether your life or her mission comes first. When that day comes—will you still be smiling when she walks away without turning back?"

"She won’t walk away," Yaozu said, stepping closer. "Not from this. Not from me."

"That’s what they all think," Yan Luo murmured. "Until the fire reaches their bones."

The tension snapped tight between them. Neither moved. Two predators dressed as men, standing in a room too small for both.

"You’re not just here to deliver trophies," Yan Luo finally said. "What does the Crown Prince want now?"

Yaozu took a slow breath. "Eastern troop movement. Grain supply from the North. Merchant route corruption. He suspects the Ministry is lying and needs an outside source."

Yan Luo arched a brow. "And I’m supposed to open my ledgers and bow?"

"You’d be paid," Yaozu said, tone clipped. "And it’s a separate request from Xinying’s. She doesn’t even know I’m asking."

Yan Luo’s expression shifted at that—eyes narrowing, calculating. "Interesting. Keeping secrets from her already?"

"I keep her safe," Yaozu replied. "That’s not the same thing."

"She doesn’t need your protection," Yan Luo said. "What she needs is someone who won’t flinch when she becomes what she was meant to be."

"I don’t flinch," Yaozu said, his voice low. "I stand beside her, no matter what she becomes. And trust me, I’ve seen exactly what hides under her skin."

Yan Luo rose from his chair in a single, fluid motion. He moved like smoke, like sin, like the last thought a man had before dying.

"Then tell the Crown Prince this," he said, voice no longer warm. "He’ll get his reports. But I want something from him in return. A favor that I can cash in whenever and wherever I deem fit. And he cannot say no, no matter what. He is also to keep his grubby little paws off his wife. If he tries to use her, if he tries to drag her back into his palace games and politics—he won’t have to worry about foreign war."

Yaozu didn’t step back. "She’s not his to use."

"No," Yan Luo said, smile slow and poisonous. "She’s mine."

Yaozu scoffed at the absolute confidence in the other man’s voice. "You wish."

The silence that followed was made of razors.

They stared at each other—two different kinds of killers. One born in the shadows. The other forged in gold and blood.

Eventually, Yaozu turned.

Without another word, he walked out, the door whispering shut behind him.

Yan Luo waited until the silence settled. Then he finally reached for the silk and pulled it back.

The Minister of Punishments stared up at him, mouth open, eyes wide with the kind of shock only the betrayed could wear.

Yan Luo poured himself another cup of wine and raised it toward the fire.

"To the Witch," he said quietly. "And the empire she’ll burn."

Then he dropped the head into the flames and drank deeply.