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

I had only stepped one foot across the threshold when I heard the low, honey-dipped laughter of a courtesan echo through the painted halls.

The Purple Lotus hadn't changed since the last time I had been there. Not that I had thought it would. The air still smelled of jasmine oil and secrets so strong that I had to wrinkle my nose. Music floated faintly in the background—delicate guqin notes wrapped around the sound of laughter and whispered deals. A place where pleasure and power met behind paper walls. But beneath the silk and incense, I could still feel it: the weight of something dangerous. Something feral, leashed only by gold chains and Yan Luo's hand.

Or at least I assumed that he was holding the leash.

A girl in lavender silk approached me with a bow so deep it nearly touched the floor. Her smile was forced. Too bright. "Honored guest. This one is to escort you to the upper chambers."

Of course she wouldn't use my name. Not here. The Purple Lotus didn't announce its monsters.

I nodded once. She turned on her heel and led the way, her slippers making no sound on the dark lacquered floors. I followed in silence, ignoring the curious glances that trailed me from every hallway, every curtained alcove. They remembered me.

Good.

The last time I came here, I'd left behind blood on silk and silence in the air. Not a single girl had died. Not a single scream had left the walls. But those who watched knew what had been done—and who had done it.

It just when to show just how well Yan Luo trained his people. They remembered things fast and didn't need to be reminded a second time.

The girl paused at a curtained archway, pulling back the beaded strands to reveal a private stairwell tucked into the side of the brothel. No guards. No servants. Just shadows and the steady thrum of a place that never truly slept.

"Lord Yan is waiting for you upstairs," she said, still not meeting my gaze. Her eyes lingered on the ribbon around my throat before she bowed and vanished.

I climbed the stairs alone.

At the top, I found him waiting—just as he always did. Slouched sideways across a velvet couch with a silver cup in one hand, a fan in the other, and a smirk that could peel paint off palace walls.

"Crown Princess Zhao Xinying," Yan Luo drawled, voice warm with amusement. "I see you made use of the girls from the Flower House I sent you. Congratulations on a job well done."

I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. "I did," I replied. "But don't think I'm going to thank you for sending them. It was your decision to kill the man."

"But you did it so spectacularly," he said, setting his cup aside and stretching like a cat in the sun. "And not even a single one of my girls died. I really have to commend you on that."

I moved past him to the low table near the window, ignoring the spread of sweetmeats and documents already waiting. "You look like you just murdered someone."

"I did," he chuckled under his breath, checking his sleeves as if to make sure that there was no blood splatter on them.

"Did you have fun?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

"That depends." He tilted his head. "Are you here to scold me or use me?"

"Neither," I smiled. "I'm here to collect."

That wiped the grin off his face, but only for a heartbeat.

He rose from the couch, his robes sweeping around him like shadows stitched from silk. "Then let's talk business."

The room was already sealed, curtains drawn tight and incense masking the scent of anyone who might've passed through earlier. It wasn't his main receiving room—too far removed from the center of the brothel. But that was intentional. Yizhen, Yan Luo, didn't make the same mistake twice. And I'd already proven more than once that closed doors didn't mean safety.

He sat across from me and slid a scroll across the table.

"Your Crown Prince asked for leverage. I offer something better: foresight."

I unrolled the scroll. It was hand-painted, deceptively beautiful, the colors soft and faded like an heirloom. But tucked into each mountain fold, each tree limb, were marks in pale ink—routes, alliances, coded symbols only someone trained in patterns would see.

"A map?" I asked.

"A trade web," he corrected. "Four regional supply routes. Hidden transport lines. Who moves what, when, and where they hide the bodies if they need to."

I didn't thank him.

Next came a sealed packet, pressed with wax shaped like a lotus bloom.

"Supply shortages in the south," he said. "Rice is being hoarded. The people are starving. Two governors are quietly preparing to defect if they don't get relief."

"And the north?" I asked.

His smile returned, slower this time. Measured.

"Now that's where things get interesting." He poured himself another cup of wine but didn't drink. "There's a woman in the north. Crown Princess of Baiguang. Not born to the role, but close enough. She arrived five years ago with no family, no history. But within a year, they were calling her the Northern Saint."

I arched a brow.

"She seems to know what's going to happen before it does," Yan Luo continued. "Accidents she avoids, trade deals she predicts. She's built roads, schools, and even prevented a plague from spreading by ordering village quarantine before the first symptom even appeared."

"Lucky guesses," I purred, holding back my scoff. There was no such thing as lucky guesses, only preplanning, or already knowing.

"People don't believe in luck when they're hungry. They believe in gods. And right now, they think she's one of them."

He reached beneath the table and pulled out something small: a carved jade seal no larger than my thumb. A fox sat on top of it, its tail wrapped around the base, eyes painted with a single stroke of red.

"If you need me," he said, placing it in my palm, "break this."

I turned it over in my hand. Cool. Heavy. Real.

"And what happens if I do?"

He smiled again, this time with teeth. "Then the fox runs."

I didn't ask what that meant. I'd seen what his network could do when unleashed.

"I don't trust you," I said.

"You don't have to," he replied. "Trust is for children and men in love. We're neither."

I tucked the seal into my sleeve. "Thank you."

He blinked. "Did you just—"

"I said thank you," I repeated, standing. "Don't make me regret it."

"Oh, but I live to be regrettable," he called after me.

I didn't look back.

As I descended the staircase, the sound of the brothel rose up around me—laughter, music, the creak of floorboards beneath practiced steps. I moved through it like a ghost, the ribbon around my neck fluttering with each stride.

The war was coming. Alliances were shifting.

And the fox had just been let out of the cage.