The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis
Chapter 39: A Storm About To Hit

Chapter 39: A Storm About To Hit

The bridal chamber was silent.

Too silent.

It wasn’t the silence of comfort or reverence...but rather with indifference.

Zhao Xinying stood at the center of the room like a flower rooted in mud, her silhouette framed by heavy red silk and resentment. Her face was veiled, a long gossamer sheet falling from the golden phoenix crown above her brow. The veil rippled gently as the morning breeze slipped in through the half-open lattice windows.

Beneath it, her eyes were open.

And so was her mind.

Around her, maids fussed like birds in a storm, adjusting the hem of her wedding robe, whispering to one another behind trembling hands. They didn’t speak to her. They didn’t dare. She was no longer human to them—not bride, not noble, not even woman. She was something closer to the mud beneath their feet than a flower at the head of the harem.

And as of right now, she was a ghost bride wearing borrowed silk.

The wedding robe was the same one from the seven before her. Not a stitch altered. Not a pearl replaced. It had been meant for someone else—everyone knew that. But the Crown Prince had made no effort to correct it. No one had.

Instead, they’d pulled it from storage and dropped it on her like a shroud.

They hadn’t even removed the previous bride’s scent.

Incense. Mothballs. Death.

Around her neck, a single addition: a deep green ribbon, tied by her own hands despite the arguments from the maids and the concubine.

They only saw a tattered ribbon that wasn’t worth what they would wipe their faces with, but she knew differently. Right now, this ribbon was the only reason why she was going through with this farce.

It was Zhu Deming’s mark, and this was Zhu Deming’s home.

Maybe not the actual building she was living in, but close enough to know if she was willing to be a part of his world, or if she was just going to burn everything to the ground.

The feeling that Zhu Deming managed to give her was worth holding her hand, despite everything she had gone through. But the moment he disappointed her, the moment all this became too much...

Then all bets were off.

Everyone else might see the ribbon as a silent act of rebellion in the face of a farce. But she looked at it like a shackle, one that she willingly put on herself.

After all, even the Queen of Hell wore a choker from one of her husbands.

To her right, Lady Yuan stood with one hand resting lightly on her pregnant belly, a coy smirk hidden beneath her painted lips. Her robes were bright pink and trimmed with gold, meant to draw attention. Pink... a shade of red... like she was one of the brides today. Lady Yuan didn’t see anything wrong with it. She was the Crown Prince’s favored concubine and had made sure the world knew it.

Standing beside the bride was a calculated insult. After all, it wasn’t proper that a concubine was pregnant before the actual head wife.

But all these subtleties, all these ’insults’ that were done so smoothly, didn’t affect Zhao Xinying at all. In reality, these women looked like dancing clowns, trying to prove their worth, prove their status, when Zhao Xinying just didn’t care.

Because a concubine standing beside her did not make Lady Yuan important.

It only made her convenient.

Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond the silk curtains. The rustling of authority. The taste of fear. Every head turned, every breath hitched, and then the Crown Prince stepped inside.

Zhu Mingyu.

Regal in red and gold, with eyes like knives and a spine carved from contempt. His gaze swept the room before landing on her. The air seemed to still as the maids ducked their heads, not wanting to meet his eyes.

He approached slowly, each step deliberate.

When he finally came to a stop in front of Zhao Xinying, she didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t bow.

Didn’t care.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting against her veil. His voice was low, sharp, and measured. He didn’t want everyone to hear the next part... it was for her ears only.

"You will be the picture-perfect bride. Do you understand me?" he murmured, reaching up to adjust her veil so that it fell better. To anyone else, it would look like a kind gesture, but Zhao Xinying wasn’t fooled.

"And if I don’t?" she asked, her voice soft but rich with disdain. "What would happen if I decide to cause a scene? Would some delicate noble lady faint at the very idea? Are you that delicate, noble lady?"

His lips curved...something between a smirk and a threat.

"If you do," he murmured, "I’ll find everyone you love and kill them in front of you."

The room froze. They might not be able to hear the words coming from his mouth, but they knew the pressure coming off him, knew what would happen if they didn’t fall in line, and quickly.

Even Lady Yuan’s smirk slipped.

But Zhao Xinying didn’t so much as blink. She tilted her head slightly, the green ribbon around her neck catching a ray of sunlight like a whisper of rebellion.

"Huh," she mused, amusement threading through her tone. "If you manage to find those I love and kill them, I might actually respect you."

She leaned in until her veil brushed his mouth, her voice taking on a seductive tone as she let just a touch of lust out. "But tell me, Crown Prince," she said sweetly, "how do you kill a demon and have them stay dead?"

The words were air.

But they struck like thunder.

His eyes narrowed, cursing the veil for blocking his view of her face. He wanted to see if she was kidding, trying to be more than she was, or if she was serious. And because he couldn’t tell just from her voice alone, for the briefest moment—one sharp, silent heartbeat—he was afraid.

But as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

He turned away.

"Carry her to the carriage," he ordered the guards behind her. "We must not miss the auspicious time."

Two guards moved to obey, but before they could touch her, Zhao Xinying stepped forward.

Alone.

No one had to lift her.

She walked under her own power.

Because this wedding may have been a show, a mockery, a power play at her expense... but she’d be damned before she let them carry her like a lamb to slaughter.

Behind her, the green ribbon fluttered like a banner of war.

And the Crown Prince? He followed, silent, his eyes still studying her like she would suddenly become an open book.

Unknowingly to him, what he didn’t know was that he wasn’t escorting a meek, modest female.

He was escorting a storm, and it was about to hit.