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

The tea room that the servant led the Crown Prince of Baiguang to wasn't warm.

Then again, it was never meant to be warm.

One thing that I had learned in this life, especially once I married Mingyu was that there were a thousand different ways to say 'fuck off' without actually saying the words.

Take the tea room, for example. It was narrow and sparce, its wood-paneled walls were stained dark, with no scrolls or decorations to soften the lines. A low table sat at the center, polished to an almost unnatural sheen that seem too cold to touch without getting frostbite.

No cushions had been placed on the floor. They had been piled off to a corner so that people could see them, but no maid or servant moved to distribute them. Only the bare platform remained, as if the room was always prepared for someone to come—and to quickly leave.

A single iron brazier smoldered in the corner, giving off more smoke than heat, perfuming the air with the faint scent of ash and bitter tea leaves. The cold draft from the open hallway whispered beneath the doorframe, stirring the loose threads of the reed mats but doing nothing to warm the bones.

Like it said, this room was a physical representation of "fuck off" and I couldn't hide the smile on my face when I saw it.

I didn't offer him a cushion, and yet, he happily sat down anyway on the guest side of the table.

Across the low table, Li Xuejian folded his legs with practiced ease. He didn't reach for the tea. Didn't comment on the cold. He just watched me.

Shadow lay curled at my side, his bulk stretched across the stone floor like a barricade.

Shi Yaozu stood behind me, his hands clasped behind his back. He hadn't spoken since we left the courtyard. But I didn't need him to. His silence was enough.

The Empress entered last.

She didn't greet him.

She didn't need to.

When she took her seat beside me, her rings clicked once against the table, a signal only I could interpret as: 'This is your game. I'll play it only if needed'.

I reached for the iron kettle, poured the tea without ceremony. The amber liquid hissed against the ceramic.

One cup for me.

One cup for him.

I didn't hand it to him.

I let it sit.

Steam rose slowly, curling in thin wisps toward the high ceiling. Between us, silence settled like ash.

Xuejian finally reached for the cup.

His fingers didn't shake.

"You poisoned your own border," he said, voice quiet, not accusing.

"I reminded the world what happens when they forget where the mountain ends," I replied.

His gaze flicked toward the rim of his cup. "And what of the innocents?"

"You think innocence is a shield?" I took a sip, the bitterness grounding. "Tell that to the villagers your men used as scouts. The women sold to soldiers. The children left in the snow."

Something passed through his eyes. Not guilt. Not regret.

Just…calculation.

"You want me to apologize," he said.

I raised an eyebrow, scoffing softly. "I want nothing from you."

"Not even peace?"

"No," I said. "I want silence. I want the sound of your war drums to stop echoing through my valleys. I want no more excuses. No more messengers. I want stillness."

He stared at me a long moment, then took a slow sip of tea.

"I thought you'd be louder," he said.

"I was," I murmured. "Now I don't need to be."

He set the cup down. "You didn't have to kill them all."

"I didn't," I said flatly. "Some ran faster than the mist."

His jaw twitched once.

Yaozu shifted behind me, barely perceptible.

The Empress exhaled. "You didn't come all this way for philosophy, Crown Prince."

"No," Xuejian said. "I came because this is the only table left that hasn't been flipped."

"And what do you think you'll find here?" I asked.

His eyes met mine directly. "A woman who understands that winning a war means more than surviving it. Someone who knows what happens after the field goes quiet."

I tilted my head. "You think this is over?"

"I think you could end it," he said. "With a single sentence. A single agreement. A single nod."

"And what do you offer in return?" I asked.

"My retreat. From your southern edge. From the Yelan ridge. From all contested zones."

"And your price?"

"Access. Trade. Observation. I want to send a handful of scholars and record-keepers into Daiyu. Supervised, of course. But I want to understand the structure that let you do what you've done."

Yaozu stepped forward slightly. "You want spies."

"No," Xuejian said, not looking at him. "I want data."

The Empress's voice was dry. "You want to pick our bones clean before you bury us."

"I want to avoid burying anyone else at all."

I studied him.

There was something strange about the way he spoke. Not the words themselves, but the shape they took in the air. He didn't sound like a man desperate to preserve his nation. He sounded like a man trying to uncover a god's recipe.

"You're curious," I said slowly.

He didn't deny it.

"I saw the way your mist moved," he said. "It didn't kill you. Didn't kill Daiyu. Only us. You don't have a weapon. You are one."

My silence was its own answer.

He looked at his tea again, then spoke so quietly only I could hear him: "And what happens when they come from the west?"

The Empress's brow furrowed. "Speak plainly."

Xuejian didn't look at her.

He looked at me.

"When Yelan crumbles, when Daiyu rebuilds, when you—Witch of the Mountain—become the story mothers use to frighten their sons… Do you think they won't come for you then?"

"Let them," I said.

He smiled faintly. "Then I hope you'll remember this conversation."

I drained my cup.

He didn't move.

The silence that followed was not uneasy. It was respectful.

Eventually, the Empress stood. "You will be granted one night's stay within the outer fortress. You will not roam. You will not speak to our generals. And you will not leave any messages behind."

"I understand."

She left the room.

Yaozu lingered.

And Li Xuejian looked at me again. "I came to understand."

"And?"

He tilted his head.

"You're not a monster," he said. "You're something worse."

I stood slowly, thinking over his words. "Something worse," I echoed, my head cocked to the side. "I guess that depends on how you view the world, I guess."

"I agree," he nodded. "Everyone is a monster in someone else's story. But you are someone who seemed to have learned how to be one out of necessity rather from desire."

I didn't reply.

I didn't need to.

Shadow rose with me, his bulk brushing my leg.

I didn't look back as I walked out.

The coals behind me were almost out.

Almost.