The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis
Chapter 117: Here To Outlive It

Chapter 117: Here To Outlive It

The tea had long gone cold.

Not that I noticed. The tension between us had simmered far hotter than any porcelain cup could hold. And still, Consort Yi smiled across from me—tight-lipped, bone-deep, the kind of smile a snake might flash before striking.

"An alliance with you would be mutually beneficial," she said, tapping the rim of her teacup with one polished nail. "There is no reason we should be at odds."

I leaned back in my chair, fingers laced loosely in my lap. "You’re right. There’s no reason... unless, of course, one of us believes the other is disposable."

Her smile widened. "I don’t believe that at all."

"But you’ve considered it," I pointed out. No woman like the Imperial Consort Yi, who had survived the harem for so long was a vegetarian, and I wasn’t willing to be her next meal.

A flicker in her gaze. Subtle. Controlled. But it was there.

I didn’t blame her. Women like her weren’t trained for alliances—they were raised to smile through poison and plot from shadows. It wasn’t her fault I’d been forged in something sharper.

"This palace," I murmured, "teaches people how to fight without ever drawing blood. How to bury a knife in silk and call it etiquette. But I’m not from this palace."

"No," she agreed, setting her teacup aside. "You’re something else. Something wild."

"I’m free," I corrected, standing slowly. "And you’re mistaking me for someone who wants your war."

Consort Yi’s expression didn’t shift, but her hand moved beneath the table again—another scroll, another trap, another way to pretend she still had power.

"Don’t be so quick to dismiss what I’m offering," she said. "You don’t have allies in the capital. You only have fear. That runs out eventually."

"I don’t need allies," I said softly, turning to face the garden beyond the open pavilion doors. "I have something better."

"And what’s that?"

My bare feet stepped off the wooden ledge and onto the stone path. The garden had been perfectly pruned—every branch clipped into submission, every bloom selected for beauty over scent. It was too clean. Too cultivated.

Just like the palace.

I knelt, pressing two fingers to the ground.

The air shifted.

A whisper of warmth ran beneath my skin, and I let it rise. Let it stretch.

The first flower to die was a white chrysanthemum near the edge of the path. Its petals browned, curled in on themselves, and dropped in a quiet shudder. The next was a lotus in the pond. Then a row of peonies.

No wind stirred.

No fire touched the stems.

But one by one, everything around me withered.

The grass yellowed. The trees shed leaves that rotted before they touched the ground. Even the birds had gone silent.

Behind me, I heard Consort Yi rise, the rustle of her silk sleeves stiff with alarm.

"Stop," she breathed.

I stood.

Turned.

The garden was still again, stripped bare. Colorless. Hollow.

"You think I don’t have allies," I said calmly, "but I do. You just can’t see them. And fear?" I took a step closer, watching her flinch. "Fear doesn’t run out. It multiplies."

"You—"

"Are giving you a warning," I interrupted, brushing the dirt from my fingers. "Stay out of my way. Let your son fight his own battles, and grieve your brother in peace. But if you try to use me as a weapon for your family’s ambitions..."

I tilted my head, letting my voice soften.

"...then I’ll remind you that the scariest things in this world don’t need to raise their voice to be heard."

The air remained thick with death. Not enough to harm her. Just enough to leave a memory.

A shadow moved at the far end of the path.

Not a servant. Not a guard.

A woman in robes of dark blue and white approached, flanked by two handmaidens with downcast eyes and quiet steps. Her hair was bound high in gold pins, her face lined with years of court—but her presence was anything but frail.

The Empress Dowager.

My spine straightened instinctively.

"Impressive," she said, stepping past the ruined garden as if it were no more disruptive than an overturned teacup. "You’ve always had a flair for theatrics, Consort Yi. But I see now... the performance wasn’t yours."

Consort Yi lowered herself into a bow. "Mother Empress. I didn’t realize—"

"I know," she cut in. "You rarely realize until it’s too late."

Her eyes shifted to me.

Cool. Calculating.

"You are Zhao Xinying."

"I am."

"No family name. No patronage. No dowry." She looked me over. "And yet, here you stand, killing a garden without lifting a blade and commanding the attention of the court without lifting your skirts. Fascinating."

I offered the barest bow. "I didn’t realize I had earned Your Majesty’s interest."

"You haven’t," she said. "But you’ve earned my concern."

She stepped closer, peering down into my face. "The last woman to disrupt this palace so thoroughly was my husband’s concubine. She ended up buried with him."

I smiled faintly. "Then I’ll be sure to outlive them both."

Her handmaidens stiffened, but the Imperial Consort Yi did not move.

The Empress Dowager didn’t blink. "You misunderstand me, child. This palace is not a place of mercy. It is a machine. It grinds down anything that does not serve its purpose. So tell me... what is your purpose?"

"Truth be told, I’m still deciding," I replied. "But I imagine it will be something loud."

The older woman studied me for a long moment, then turned away.

"Be careful what songs you sing," she said. "Even birds with lovely voices are caged when they fly too high."

She swept from the garden with the grace of someone who knew every eye in the empire watched her—watched us.

I didn’t follow.

Consort Yi remained frozen until her mother-in-law vanished from sight. Only then did she speak, her voice brittle.

"You’ve made an enemy of the Empress Dowager."

"No," I said, glancing at the dead garden. "I think I just gave her a reason to be cautious."

Without another word, I turned and walked back toward the Crown Prince’s manor, the scent of plum blossoms and decay still clinging to my skin like old perfume.

Let them watch.

Let them whisper.

I wasn’t here to survive the court.

I was here to outlive it.