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

The candle burned low, the wax curling along the base like an exhausted sigh. I hadn't slept. The war maps on the table were nearly dry from the ink I'd scrawled across them hours ago—movement routes, potential ambush points, chokeholds near the rice terraces. I'd bled Daiyu's southern terrain dry on parchment. Now I just had to make the rest of them see it.

A chill wind leaked through the corners of the command tent. I ignored it. Shadow snored softly near the far edge, curled into a crescent of dark fur and heat, his ears flicking at even imagined sound.

Yaozu stood at the table's edge, arms folded, watching me with that stillness he wore like armor.

"We should rest," he said.

I didn't answer. My eyes were on the northern corner of the map, where a recent merchant convoy had veered strangely off its usual trade route. It wasn't just wrong—it was stupid. Merchants don't change paths for no reason unless they're trying to avoid being seen. Or unless someone told them where the eyes were.

I tapped the location with the end of my brush. "They knew we'd be watching the supply roads."

He stepped closer. "Then someone's telling them what they want to hear."

I set the brush down. "Or someone's making sure they walk directly into a trap."

The moment hung in silence.

Then Yaozu shifted. "You had a visitor."

"I never have visitors."

"Exactly."

He reached to the side and pulled something from beneath a folded blanket. It wasn't large. Just silk. Black. Delicate. He set it down beside me.

A fan.

Red lacquer ribs, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The cloth was black silk—embroidered with storm clouds. In one corner, faint but deliberate, a single gold dot. Like a mark. Like a signature.

I didn't move. "Where did you find it?"

"In your war trunk," he said. "It was tucked inside the southern map scroll. No seal. No name."

No one had seen them enter. No guards raised alarms. Whoever left it knew how to slip past my defenses—past Yaozu.

I lifted the fan carefully. It was heavy. Not the kind you'd carry on a hot summer day. The ribs were reinforced—metal beneath the lacquer. Could be used as a weapon, if one knew how.

I flicked it open slowly.

The storm cloud design was more detailed inside. Tiny plum blossoms scattered across the upper edge, sewn with red thread so dark it nearly vanished into black. A court fan, but not for a woman. Too heavy. Too sharp.

"Do you recognize it?" I asked.

Yaozu didn't move. "No."

But something in his voice was off.

I studied him. "You do. Or you have suspicions."

He met my gaze. "I've only ever seen one fan like that. It was years ago. Before you came to the capital."

"Who?"

He hesitated.

I waited.

"Sun Yizhen," he said finally. "The bastard son of the Sun house. The one no one speaks of."

I raised a brow. "Yan Luo."

He didn't deny it.

"He's not really the King of Hell, you know that right?" I sighed, wondering where the problem was.

"No," Yaozu murmured. "He's just real enough to leave you that without being caught."

I folded the fan. Held it in both hands.

"Why now?" I asked aloud.

There was no answer.

The flap of the pavilion shifted before Yaozu could respond. We both turned as a voice cut through the cold air.

"You've been awake for too long," Sun Longzi said, stepping in, still dressed in half his armor, dust streaking his boots.

I didn't move. "So have you."

He nodded once. "I came to confirm a shift in merchant routes near the watermills. Two Baiguang wagons changed course again. They're avoiding our checkpoints completely now."

"They're being fed false intel," I said.

He tilted his head. "From us?"

"No. From someone working separately. Someone who wants them confused but not dead."

He caught the faint glint of the fan in my hand.

"What's that?"

I turned it slightly so he could see the design.

Sun Longzi frowned. "That… doesn't belong to any noble house I know."

"It doesn't belong to a house," Yaozu said quietly. "It belongs to a shadow."

Longzi's eyes narrowed. "Someone watching us?"

"Someone watching her," Yaozu corrected. "He's not loyal to the court."

"Then what is he loyal to?" Longzi asked.

Yaozu's voice was almost bitter. "He apparently fixated on a particular female, a different type of a fox. The kind that sets fires and watches which way the smoke blows."

I didn't speak. I was still staring at the fan.

The weight of it.

The intention behind it.

"I don't like being watched," I said softly, my eyes going back to the fan without me wanting them to. I didn't like being watched… right? Even knowing who was doing the watching? Even knowing that somewhere someone had my back that no one else knew about?

"You're not being watched," Yaozu said. "You're being studied. There's a difference."

"And protected," Longzi added, clearly thinking along the same lines that I was.

I looked at him sharply.

He gave a slow nod. "He's feeding Baiguang false directions. You just said it yourself. Whoever this is, they're rearranging the board to favor you. Not the Crown. Not the Empress. You."

That was the part that was supposed to unsettle me. But for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to be upset.

I wasn't used to being someone's purpose, someone's sole focus. Sure, Yaozu made me a priority in his life, but even now, if it came down to me or Mingyu, I don't know who he would pick.

And there was no way in hell I was ever asking him to choose.

I stood slowly, folding the fan closed again.

"I want every report that's come through the last week cross-checked for inconsistencies. Trade permits. Caravan manifests. Names that appear too often."

Yaozu nodded. "Already started."

"Good. Then tell the guards I want a silent perimeter tonight. No interruptions."

Longzi raised a brow. "Expecting someone?"

"No." I paused. "I just want to see who tries."

-------

Later, I sat alone in the dark, the red fan in my lap.

The storm clouds stared up at me like a warning.

Or a promise.

"Who exactly are you protecting me from?" I murmured.

And why does it feel like I'm already inside your trap?