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

The scent hit her before the knock did—rich, savory, layered with spices not native to the palace kitchens. When Zhao Xinying opened the terrace doors, she didn't find a servant or an apologetic eunuch bearing trays.

She found Yan Luo.

He stood under the lantern light with a lacquered black box tucked beneath one arm and a wine gourd slung across the other, his deep red robes whispering against the stone. He looked as composed as ever—until she noticed the faint edge in his smile.

"You brought food?" she asked, arching a brow. "You didn't need to."

"I don't trust the Crown Prince's kitchens," he said flatly. "Not after tonight."

He swept past her without waiting for permission and laid out the box on the small dining table beneath the magnolia tree. One smooth flick of his wrist, and the lid revealed four steaming dishes: duck glazed in plum wine, stir-fried mushrooms and bamboo, crispy tofu with garlic sauce, and a lotus-seed dessert with tiny gold flakes.

The wine gourd was older than her. He uncorked it like it was holy.

"Where did you get all this?"

"My own kitchens," he said. "The ones that haven't been infiltrated by concubines with murder fantasies."

She gave a soft laugh despite herself. "So dramatic."

"I almost lost my appetite watching a man bleed out on your bath tiles," he muttered, pouring her a cup of wine.

"You didn't seem too horrified," she said, sitting across from him.

"I wasn't. I was angry."

He poured his own drink but didn't lift it right away. Instead, he studied her across the table.

"I would've killed him," he said softly. "The assassin. The entire Bloody Knife guild. And the person who paid them."

She blinked, caught off-guard by the sheer weight of his tone.

He wasn't bragging. He wasn't making a threat. He was making a statement.

"You think I couldn't have?" she asked.

"Oh, I know you could have," he said, finally lifting his cup. "But just because you can doesn't mean you should need to."

Her wine stopped at her lips.

There it was again—that infuriating, unsettling gentleness beneath his bite. The kind of care that made her want to lean forward and push him away in the same breath.

"Shi Yaozu would've stopped him if I hadn't," she murmured. "He's out gathering information."

Yan Luo's eyes darkened.

"You let your Shadow leave?"

"He's not a dog on a chain," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"He's your last line of defense."

"I'm my last line."

"That's the problem."

He leaned in then, forearms braced on the table, voice like thunder whispered through silk.

"You're too used to standing alone. Too used to being the knife, the shield, and the general all at once. And yes, you do it well. But it costs you something every time."

She met his gaze without flinching.

"I've handled myself for eleven years."

"I know," he said. "And I hate that."

That surprised her. Enough that she didn't interrupt.

He continued, more slowly now. "You shouldn't have had to. Not alone. Not with that much power and no one to carry the weight beside you."

"You offering?" she asked lightly.

He didn't smile.

"I already am."

The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. But heavy.

She poured more wine to break it, taking a longer sip this time. It burned a little, but in a way that spread warmth instead of pain.

"What would you have done if you got there sooner?" she asked, eyes not on him, but on the flickering lanterns.

"Thrown a blade through his throat. Burned the guild hall. Paid five couriers to deliver pieces of him to the other concubines."

She snorted. "Efficient."

"Effective," he corrected.

She glanced at him then, tilting her head slightly. "Would you really do all that for me?"

"No."

His voice was quiet. Honest.

"I'd do it for me. Because I'd go mad if something happened to you. Because the idea of your body lying cold in a tub of rosewater haunts me more than it should."

She paused.

Then set down her cup.

The sound of it meeting wood was barely audible over the breeze.

"And what would you do to the person who hired the hit?" she asked.

His fingers traced the stem of his own cup, thoughtful.

"I'd wait. Watch. Let them think they were safe. And then I'd remind them why foxes don't hunt in daylight."

Her lips curved. "You'd make them paranoid."

"I'd make them bleed in fear," he corrected. "And I wouldn't even stain my sleeves."

Xinying sat back, folding one leg beneath her. Her damp hair had dried in waves, and a few strands stuck to her temple where the wind teased it loose.

"You're very loyal," she said at last.

"Only to those worth it."

She hummed. "And what makes me worth it?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Maybe it's because you didn't scream," he said simply. "When the assassin came. When the mist rose. When blood hit your skin. You didn't scream." He paused for a second and then continued. "Or maybe it's because everything inside of me screams that you are the one I've been waiting for. Doesn't that sound pathetic?"

"No," she replied with a shake of her head. "It doesn't sound pathetic at all. And about the screaming, I had bigger problems."

"I know. That's why I'm here."

He reached for the duck and served her a portion without asking. Then he handed her the lotus dessert with a small smirk.

"This was supposed to be for after. But you strike me as the kind of woman who eats dessert first just to spite propriety."

She took it with a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Guilty as charged."

They ate in silence again, though it felt different now. Not heavy. Not charged. Just… real.

When the plates were cleared and only the wine remained, Yan Luo stretched slightly, exhaling like a man letting down armor.

"Yaozu shouldn't have left," he said, not for the first time. "Tell me what information you need. I'll get it faster."

"Chixia's movements. Their supply chains. Hidden routes and sea lines."

He nodded once. "I'll have it by tomorrow."

"You're confident."

"I have spies in places your map doesn't name."

She stared at him, then gave a small nod. "Fine. Just make sure you come back in one piece."

He tilted his head, pleased. "So you do worry."

"I worry that your ego will outgrow your head," she said dryly.

He laughed.

As he rose to leave, she didn't stop him. But just as he reached the door, she said quietly:

"Yan Luo."

He looked back.

She didn't smile. She didn't thank him. She only said, "You bring good wine."

He bowed, one hand over his heart.

"And you make survival look divine."

Then he was gone.

And she sat alone, surrounded by warmth, spice, and the faint memory of someone who might actually stay.