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

That evening, just after the third bell, the entire southern court gathered in the inner pavilion. No dancers. No fire displays. Just candles, hot wine, and a single table with my maps spread across it.

Shi Yaozu stood at my left.

The Empress at my right.

Everyone else watched from the shadows.

Even Sun Longzi had shown up—silent as a blade, as he stood unmoving in the doorway, his eyes catching everything. He didn't speak. He didn't sit. He just stood in the doorway and listened.

"I'm not here to charm anyone," I began, my tone even. "This is not a banquet. This is not a celebration. This is simply a warning."

The silence that followed was absolute.

I didn't look at Yaozu.

Didn't need to.

His presence was enough.

I reached for the second scroll—the one with the merchant lists—and unrolled it down the length of the table. The names shimmered in ink.

I let them read.

Let them feel the weight of the silence, of the betrayal spelled out in full strokes and stamps.

And when I spoke again, my voice was low.

"This is what they've built while we were looking north. This is what we ignored while we fought shadows in our own hallways."

I looked up.

"This is the war we have to win."

A few ministers shifted in their seats. Lord Fan's jaw ticked once, but he said nothing. Lord Han's seat remained empty. I hadn't expected him to attend—not so soon after the warning I delivered to his son.

General Wen stepped forward instead. "The merchant lines were never strong in winter," he said. "We assumed that was part of the seasonal lull."

"No," I said flatly. "It wasn't a lull. It was a redirection. Those who didn't fold under coin folded under promises. Baiguang doesn't need to send an army if our own supply lines rot from the inside."

The Empress reached for one of the smaller ledgers and held it up between two fingers. "Three routes cross through noble-owned land. One of them," she added, her gaze flicking to the back rows, "goes directly through Lord Rui's southern orchard estates."

Lord Rui swallowed. "I never saw a caravan."

"No," I said, "but your steward did. Now the only question that my husband has is whether he reported it to you, or not. One is forgivable… all you have to do is give us the head of that steward. The other option is that you just give us your own head and we call it even."

The scrolls in front of me were damning enough, but now came the blow meant to crack the foundation. I reached into the lacquered case beside the wine bowl and retrieved the smaller slip of paper I'd hidden there.

I read it aloud:

"Twenty-three oxen. Seventeen carts. Nine crates of processed ore. Crossed on the seventh morning. Paid in pre-counted coin, stamped with Chixian silver. No inspection demanded."

Lord Rui froze.

"Your steward took the payment," I said. "And passed without question. If he lied to you, then the failure is yours to correct. If he didn't… then I expect you to admit what you sold."

"I—" He glanced around, seeking an ally. None came. "I didn't authorize any—"

"Then be useful now," I snapped. "Purge your estate and replace your men. Or I will."

No one argued.

The Empress leaned forward just enough for her sleeve to brush mine. She didn't speak, but the look she gave me said enough.

They were listening.

Finally.

"This isn't a war of soldiers," I continued. "It's a war of patience. Of rot. They're banking on our refusal to believe we've already been breached. And if we allow this to continue, if we let pride or comfort dictate our response, we lose more than ground—we lose face. Permanently."

A candle guttered in the far corner.

I let the silence stretch again.

Then:

"I am not asking for declarations," I said. "I am not asking for loyalty oaths or empty gestures."

I turned toward the map. One long finger pressed into the south-west corner where the outposts overlapped.

"I am asking for action. Immediate and exact. Close the merchant gates. Restructure the inner checkpoints. Confiscate the silver coins. If you cannot trace the origin, burn it. If you cannot verify the cargo, detain it. No exceptions."

"You want us to restrict trade entirely?" a younger noble asked.

"I want you to cut out the rot," I replied. "If that means starving the court for a week to save the country, then yes."

Yaozu finally spoke, voice calm and even: "The Crown Princess is not asking for suffering. She's asking for discipline. If you can't see the difference, then perhaps you don't belong in the southern court."

That shut them up.

I kept going.

"There is a story being written without us—Baiguang's story. And in it, I am the villain. The reason why my husband declared war. The devourer of their beloved Empress. The snake behind green silk. If you let that version spread without response, then you are feeding it. I won't let that happen. Emperor Mingyu doesn't deserve to have his reputation smeared by a whiney brat that didn't get her way."

I turned then, fully facing them.

"I don't think that I need to say this, but just so there are no misunderstandings. I will not be kidnapped. I will not be disgraced. I will not die for someone else's narrative. I am not your puppet Empress. I am the one holding the blade. Anyone who tries to take me from my bed will get a very unhappy ending. And it won't be a peaceful one."

Even Sun Longzi straightened at that.

The Empress rose from her seat beside me and reached for her cup.

"I told her I would wear red," she said casually. "But perhaps I should say we all will."

I nodded once, the firelight catching on the ink still drying across the maps.

"Let the old stories burn," I said. "Let the new ones start here. And remember, don't think that just because Mingyu isn't here to speak, doesn't mean he doesn't agree. We are of one mind. One body. One goal. Daiyu will be left standing at the end of the day. It's up to you if you want your countries to stand as well."