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

The spy was young.

Too young, really.

Barely out of his adolescence, with wide eyes and a trembling jaw, he looked more like a pageboy than an infiltrator. But the forged orders in his boot were real enough, and the sealed letter tucked inside his tunic bore the Baiguang crest—complete with the faint blood smear that indicated it had passed through military channels.

Sun Yizhen sighed and leaned back in his chair, the long black tails of his robe draping over the lacquered floor like spilled ink. The interrogation chamber had once been a storeroom, and it still smelled faintly of ginger and rice. Someone had tried to scrub the scent out, but Sun Yizhen preferred it. Something sweet to balance the inevitable rot.

He held a peach in one hand. Polished. Untouched.

The spy coughed weakly from where he was tied to the wooden post, arms stretched above his head, feet barely brushing the floor. Not enough to dislocate, just enough to exhaust.

Yizhen bit into the peach.

Juice ran down his fingers.

The spy flinched at the sound.

"Do you know what I like about peaches?" Yizhen asked conversationally as he looked over at me. "They're delicate. You press too hard, they bruise. Too soft, they rot. But if you get them just right..."

He licked his fingers, slow and unhurried.

"...they're divine."

I just chuckled and shook my head at his antics.

I had to give it to the spy, no matter how young he looked, he held fast to his beliefs. He didn't scream at all. Not when they took his fingernails. Not when Yizhen slid the blade beneath his skin like he was trimming pastry dough.

And certainly not now, hours later, when the tent had grown so quiet I could hear every breath, every heartbeat, every drop of blood hitting the bowl Yizhen had so thoughtfully placed beneath the man's elbow.

"You were trained well," Yizhen conceded, crouching before him. "No doubt Baiguang spent years filling your head with their nonsense. Kingdom and glory. Devotion and sacrifice. All very noble."

The spy's eyes were bloodshot. One had swollen shut, the lid purple and leaking from where it had split earlier. His clothes hung from him in wet rags, torn by lashes and soaked through with cold water and other fluids I didn't care to name. His lips were split. His chin trembled.

Still, he said nothing.

Yizhen sighed.

"They always think silence is strength," he mused aloud. "But silence is a wall, and walls don't bleed truth. They have to be cracked. Shattered."

He stood and looked over at me, brows raised in a silent question.

I nodded once.

Yizhen reached behind him and pulled out a lacquered box. It was long, thin, and red—painted with a delicate lotus pattern that felt entirely too elegant for the horrors inside.

"You ever seen a truth box, little rat?" Yizhen asked the young man, flipping the latch open with a soft click. "No? It's a shame. They're quite beautiful."

Inside were rows of tiny, glinting tools. Hooks. Knives. Twisted iron rods and fine wire. Each piece labeled in old Daiyu script—antique, ceremonial, precise.

The spy shivered.

"That's more like it," Yizhen said brightly, selecting something that looked like a hollow needle. "Now, this one—this little darling—was once used in the old courts to drain poison from a noble's veins. But we discovered something fascinating. If inserted just under the nail bed of the toe, it causes... exquisite discomfort."

He held it up to the firelight.

The man whimpered.

"Not ready yet?" Yizhen murmured. "That's all right. I might not be patient, but my Princess is."

I stepped forward now, my boots silent on the stone. I crouched just beside Yizhen, reaching down to lift the spy's chin with one gloved hand.

"You're going to die here," I told him gently. "Nothing you say will change that. But you could choose how it ends."

He stared at me, dazed.

"Right now, you're a tool," I continued. "An extension of someone else's will. Li Xuejian's little blade. But you know what happens to dull blades?"

I dropped his chin. It thudded against his chest.

"They're discarded. Forgotten. But if you prove yourself useful, if you tell us what we need, then your death can mean something."

Yizhen added, "We'll make it quick. A knife to the throat. Hot wine in your veins. You'll sleep."

The spy coughed, a weak rattle of air and blood. "You... you're monsters."

Yizhen smiled. "No. Monsters wear masks. We took ours off."

The silence that followed was thick.

Then—

"There's a second envoy," the spy croaked, throat raw. "Hidden in the merchant caravan. Headed for Yelan. They plan to ask for an alliance. A three-pronged attack. Baiguang. Yelan. And Chixia."

I didn't move.

Yizhen's hand stilled on the box.

"They're offering territory," the man went on, breath hitching. "Daiyu's southern lands. And me. I was the insurance. If I didn't report back by the end of the week, they'd know you caught me. They'd move faster."

I stood slowly, my eyes locked on the spy's battered face.

"And what were you meant to report?" I asked.

"That Crown Prince Zhu Mingyu is weak," he whispered. "That the woman beside him is an unstable demon. That the Empress is in decline. That Daiyu is ripe for collapse."

Yizhen laughed. "They really don't understand us at all."

"No," I said coldly. "They don't."

I turned toward the flap. "Yizhen."

"Yes, Princess?"

"End him."

The spy jerked upright, panic suddenly flooding his face. "Wait! Wait, I told you! I talked! You said—!"

"I said your death could mean something," I replied without looking back. "And it will."

The flap fell shut behind me as Yizhen hummed a tune and the knife sang once.

Outside, the air was crisp with early frost, and the scent of pine returned.

Shadow met me near the edge of the trees, tail wagging low, ears perked. I knelt beside him, fingers sinking into his thick fur.

Another secret silenced.

Another move made.

Baiguang wanted to call me unstable?

Then let them see how stable I could be when I was angry.