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

The scent of sandalwood hung heavy in the air, curling around the pillars of Yan Luo's private lounge like a whisper that had overstayed its welcome. Smoke drifted in lazy rings from the censer near the window, untouched. The silver wine set on the lacquered table remained unopened.

And the man who usually lounged across embroidered divans, all silken robes and cat-like smiles, was nowhere to be seen.

In his place sat something colder. Sharper.

Yan Luo—King of the Capital's underworld, master of brothels, black markets, and broken men—was seated behind a massive obsidian desk carved with foxes, his figure clad in unrelenting black. The only decoration was the silver-stitched fox coiled elegantly on his inner sleeve, its eyes glinting like it had just scented blood.

He didn't look up when the door opened.

"I said I was busy," he snapped, pen gliding across parchment in a precise, elegant scrawl. "If it isn't a fire, a riot, or an emperor bleeding out, it can wait."

The man who entered did not flinch. He simply bowed once, low and firm.

"You told us to alert you if anything involved the Crown Princess."

That was enough to still the ink.

Yan Luo didn't raise his head, but his grip on the brush tightened. "Well?" he demanded, his voice low and flat.

The guard straightened. "This morning, a contract was accepted by the Bloody Knife Guild. Anonymous payment. The target is Zhao Xinying."

Yan Luo looked up.

It wasn't rage that twisted his features. It was something older. Something raw. The expression of a creature that didn't bark when threatened—it bit.

"When?"

The man swallowed. "The strike was scheduled for the evening. Which… would be any time now."

The desk didn't break when Yan Luo slammed his hand down—but it groaned under the force of his strike.

"Who accepted it?"

"We don't know yet. I came the moment the head of the guild sent me the assassination list for the day."

Yan Luo was already on his feet.

"If a single hair on her head is harmed," he said slowly, voice coiling like smoke through teeth, "I will bury every member of the Bloody Knife in a ditch lined with ash. I will salt the floor of their guild and sell their children into cleaning brothels. Do I make myself clear?"

The man bowed. "Crystal."

Yan Luo didn't wait for acknowledgment.

He was already moving.

-----

He didn't go by carriage.

He didn't need to.

The shadows of the capital bent to him like silk caught in wind. Guards turned their heads unknowingly. Gates that would've taken hours to open parted like paper. He didn't use the front entrance of the Crown Prince's manor.

He slipped through the side.

Passed the gardens.

Scaled the terrace wall in a movement so fluid it looked like a breath of air—and then he was inside.

The inner chambers were quiet.

Too quiet.

He didn't bother knocking.

The moment his boots hit the polished wood of her corridor, the temperature dropped.

There was no sign of servants. No voices.

Just the faint trickle of water from the bath.

And then something else.

A scream cut through the air, but it was impossible to tell if it was male or female.

He sprinted forward, praying to the gods he hadn't spoken to in years that Xinying was safe. He couldn't have anything less.

----

The doors to the bathing room were already half open. Steam curled from within, thick and scented with rose petals and mint. The air was warm. Soft. Like a place of comfort.

But in the center of it—

Chaos.

Zhao Xinying stood at the edge of the bath, wrapped in nothing but a pure white towel that clung to her like ivy. Her skin was damp, gleaming. Her long black hair dripped down her spine like oil across porcelain.

At her feet, a man thrashed on the ground. His blood pouring out of him and staining the floor.

He wasn't dying.

Not yet.

He was screaming.

A knife was lodged in his thigh, but it was the black mist curling around his mouth that caused the sound—one that gurgled and cracked as blood began to run from the corners of his eyes.

Yan Luo froze.

Not out of shock.

Out of awe.

Xinying turned her head slowly, meeting his eyes without a shred of fear. Her expression was blank. Calm. Regal.

"Yan Luo," she greeted.

He blinked once.

There was blood on her fingertips. Water dripping from her collarbone. And a naked assassin dying at her feet.

This was not a woman who needed saving.

But gods, he had never wanted to shield something more.

"I came to stop this," he said roughly. "But it seems I was late."

"Only a little," she replied.

The assassin twitched once more—then went still.

The mist faded.

Yan Luo stepped forward, eyes still fixed on her. "Who sent him?"

She knelt gracefully, towel never shifting, and reached into the man's robe. A tiny scroll case, the size of her palm, slipped free from his sash.

She held it up.

"I was about to find out."

He took it from her, their fingers brushing.

The scroll wasn't sealed in wax. It was sealed in blood.

He unrolled it slowly.

Just two lines.

"Prove your worth. If she dies, we talk again."

–B

Yan Luo's mouth flattened into a line.

"That doesn't tell us anything," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing on the script.

Xinying, however, didn't blink.

"I was wondering which one would move first," she sighed. "Lady Bai, if I'm not mistaken. Lady Yuan asked to see her earlier today. I'm sure that this was a response to having to learn how to weed."

Yan Luo stared at her, then down at the corpse. "Do you want me to clean this up?"

She turned away, stepping toward her dressing screen. "Let it rot for a bit. Maybe the others will take the hint."

He swallowed.

There was nothing seductive in the moment. Nothing flirtatious. And yet he was burning. From the inside out.

"Zhao Xinying," he said softly.

She paused.

"You're naked," he said.

She glanced over her shoulder. "So?"

"I'm trying very hard not to have that matter."

Her lips twitched.

He turned away just as she disappeared behind the screen, though the image of her—wet, powerful, blood-streaked—was branded into his memory now, like scripture etched in fire.

"I'll handle the Bloody Knife," he said to the wall. "It's one of the guilds under me. They should have known better than to even look in your direction."

"Are you sure?" came her voice, half-muffled by fabric. "I don't want to make things hard for you. After all, the assassin was only doing what he was paid to do. The guild isn't the problem, the people using it is. I won't tell you how to run your business but leave the assassin with me. I'll have Yaozu make sure that he delivers it to Lady Bai's courtyard. Let her see exactly what her money bought."

He turned slightly. "That's a dangerous message."

"Hardly," she scoffed. "It's a message he's had to deliver a few times now."

Silence.

Then: "Will you be staying for dinner?"

He smiled.

And when he answered, his voice was velvet and smoke.

"Of course. I'll bring the wine."