The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis
Chapter 36: Smart Enough To Live

Chapter 36: Smart Enough To Live

The tea had gone cold.

He hadn’t touched it.

He never did when the palace reeked of schemes.

Zhu Mingyu sat in stillness, alone in the private study of the Crown Prince’s estate. The air inside was heavy, still, sharp with the bitter scent of old ink and unspoken fury. A single oil lamp burned low, casting fractured shadows across the lacquered wood floor, dancing along the shelves of unread scrolls. His court robes, still immaculate, glimmered faintly under the light. Gold-threaded dragons coiled along his sleeves, silent symbols of power no one in the palace believed he actually held.

On the surface, he was a portrait of princely restraint.

Only the teacup betrayed him.

A jagged crack split its porcelain side—clean, sharp, deliberate. Not shattered. Not spilled. Just enough to mark it. A flaw. A warning. A wound no one would ever speak of.

Just like him.

He didn’t pace. He didn’t scream. He didn’t destroy the room as some of his less cultured cousins might have. Emotion was for fools. He had learned that before he even learned to read. His father had made sure of it.

Instead, he sat very still, eyes fixed on the space between two scroll racks. A blank sliver of wall. Nothing. That’s what he wanted from the world: nothing. No whispers. No deaths. No threats dressed in silk and secrets.

But now?

Now he had a wife.

Or would, come sunrise.

Zhao Xinying.

A girl who should have been dead. A daughter of the one minister he hated more than his father. A woman with eyes the court couldn’t look away from—and stories they dared not speak aloud.

He didn’t believe in curses.

But he did believe in traps.

And this one had been sprung with precision.

He knew what the others thought. Seven fiancées dead? Must be cursed. That’s what they whispered behind his back as if they hadn’t all lined up their daughters to be number eight.

But he was not cursed. He was targeted. The question was by whom. And more importantly, why now?

He rose, slowly, the movement sharp and elegant, like a blade leaving its sheath. His hand brushed the table’s edge as he moved toward the window, but his eyes never softened.

He couldn’t allow softness. Not in this house.

Because in this house, everything was a weapon.

The concubines were spies. The servants were spies. The guards reported to his brothers, to his father, and to people he hadn’t even identified yet. Every room in his estate might as well be the throne room, for how closely it was watched. He couldn’t trust a single soul—not even himself on the worst of days.

That was the cost of the title. The burden of being the Crown Prince.

It was a position handed to him not because he was favored, but because he was expendable. A shield. A mask. A convenient lightning rod.

Let the court hate him—so they would never look too closely at Zhu Lianhua.

His little brother. The Emperor’s darling.

The one man the Emperor would actually weep for if he died.

Zhu Mingyu clenched his jaw. His father’s hatred for him had always been quiet, measured. Never open, never loud. But constant. The way he looked through him. The way he smiled whenever Zhu Mingyu failed to impress. The way he handed him the Crown Prince’s seal with the same indifference one might toss a bone to a dog.

It had taken Mingyu years to understand the truth.

The Crown Prince’s title wasn’t an honor.

It was a countdown.

And now, they had given him a wife.

One who had emerged from a trunk in the middle of the court like a ghost. One who didn’t kneel, didn’t bow, didn’t so much as blink when accused of being a fraud. One who had the Emperor smiling.

That alone made her dangerous.

But her bloodline? Her story? The rumors trailing her like smoke?

Unacceptable.

He wouldn’t allow a stranger to dismantle what he had built.

And yet... he couldn’t let her die.

Not yet.

An eighth dead bride would doom him far more effectively than any sword. The ministers would call for his removal. The court would pity him, mock him, then turn on him. No daughter would be offered again. No alliance. No future.

No throne.

He couldn’t allow that.

Which meant she had to live.

At least for now.

He turned from the window and strode to the door.

"Summon Shi Yaozu," he ordered the guard outside, his voice quiet but cold enough to freeze blood. "Tell him to assign someone to her. Someone who doesn’t blink."

The guard bowed sharply and vanished.

Zhu Mingyu walked back to the table and finally picked up the teacup.

It cracked fully in his hand.

He let it drop.

------

The scent of iron and parchment filled the air when the doors opened again.

Zhu Deming stepped inside, silent and expressionless. Still dressed from court, he didn’t bow. He rarely did in private. These two brothers had never played those types of games with each other.

"I heard you’ve been gifted a wife," he said dryly.

Zhu Mingyu didn’t answer as Zhu Deming stepped further into the room, shutting the doors behind him. "You don’t want her."

"She’s mine," Zhu Mingyu reminded coolly. "Someone granted to me by His Majesty, the Emperor."

"That wasn’t what I said."

Silence.

Zhu Deming’s gaze sharpened. "I’ve seen her. Spoken to her."

"Then you’re already compromised."

"I’m offering you an out."

"You think I need one?"

Zhu Deming moved closer, his voice low and calm. "You don’t want her. But I do. Let me take her from your hands. Tomorrow, I’ll be the groom, and you can pretend that you know nothing about it."

Zhu Mingyu stared at him, long and hard. "Is this about her?" he asked, "or is this about me?" he demanded.

"I’m trying to keep her alive," Zhu Deming snapped back. "Something you’ve failed at. Repeatedly."

The words landed like a slap. But Zhu Mingyu only smiled. Sharp and cruel, his next words were meant to flay his second brother to the core.

"You want her?" he asked. "Then you should have spoken up when Imperial Father was getting rid of her. Because now that she is mine, I won’t hand her over to anyone."

"Even if it costs you the throne?" mused Zhu Deming, a smirk on his face like he knew a secret that his older brother didn’t know.

Zhu Mingyu studied him for a moment before turning away.

"I’m not losing the throne to a woman who sleeps in trunks and spits poison behind a smile. And I’m definitely not losing it to you."

Zhu Deming said nothing for a long moment before opening his mouth, "She deserves better than you."

"I’m not saying that she doesn’t. But whatever she deserves, I’m the one who has to deal with her in the end." Zhu Mingyu waved a hand dismissively. "Let her hate me. Let the court watch. Let the Emperor laugh. I’ll keep her alive just long enough to prove I can."

"And after that?"

Zhu Mingyu turned his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to catch the light. "After that," he said softly, "we’ll see if she’s smart enough to stay alive or if she’ll die without knowing why."