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

Chapter 199: Strong Enough



The guards didn't announce me.

They never did when I visited her.

The Empress didn't need fanfare. She didn't need silk shoes or jade hairpins. She didn't even need the throne. She had already outlived it.

I stepped into her chamber quietly, the scent of sweet almond oil and dried plum skin filling the air. The latticed windows were half open, letting in the late afternoon chill. She sat in a low chair near the brazier, cloaked in layers of muted crimson, her hair loose down her back.

She didn't look up.

"I was wondering when you'd come," she said softly, fingers tracing the edge of her tea bowl.

"You knew I would."

"Of course."

I crossed the room, not bothering with formality. I took the cushion opposite hers and sat down, arms resting on my knees. The quiet between us wasn't awkward. It never had been. Silence, like loyalty, only mattered when it was broken.

"I'm going south," I said.

She finally looked at me then.

Her eyes were older than her face—lined with the weight of watching men destroy each other for decades, but still sharp enough to cut glass.

"Alone?"

"Not quite. Yaozu, Shadow. A small strike force."

She nodded once, neither approving nor disapproving. Just taking the information and placing it somewhere precise in her mind.

"They'll whisper about it," she said after a moment. "That you left Mingyu's side. That you chose blood over crown."

"They've been whispering since the moment I refused to kneel."

"Yes," she murmured, lifting her tea. "But now their whispers matter."

I let that settle.

For all the blood we'd spilled, all the alliances forged in poison and trapwire, she was right. Victory could win a war—but it couldn't hold a kingdom. And fear could crown a ruler—but it couldn't keep one.

"We need to talk about what comes next," I said. "After the war."

She studied me carefully. "Are you asking me how to rule?"

"No," I said. "I'm asking how to build something that doesn't rot."

That made her smile.

Not the soft kind. The dangerous kind.

"You've already started," she said. "You just haven't named it yet."

"I don't want it named after me."

"It won't be. Nothing in this world has ever been named after a woman, no matter how much blood she had spilt to ensure the peace."

She set her tea down and reached behind her, pulling out a folded document from beneath the armrest.

"Policies," she said. "Drafts. Alternatives to executions. Land incentives. Trade restructuring. And this—"

She held up a smaller sheet.

"Education."

I blinked. "For whom?"

"Everyone."

I took the paper from her and scanned it. Her handwriting was elegant but efficient—like a sword drawn in clean lines. The proposal was simple: restructure village-level education to include basic counting, writing, and history—not just for the sons of farmers, but daughters too. Even servants.

"People won't like this," I said.

"People rarely like not being superior by birth."

"And Mingyu?"

She waved a hand. "He'll sign it if I hand it to him with the right wax seal."

"And if he doesn't?"

She looked up at me then—something bright flickering beneath the exhaustion.

"Then I'll remind him who raised him to live."

That silenced me.

Not out of fear, but out of something like respect.

The Empress hadn't fought battles like I had. She didn't spill blood with her own hands. But she knew power. She held it in every slow movement, every calculated pause.

We both knew that war could clear the board—but if no one redrew it, the same pieces would return again and again.

I ran my thumb along the edge of the education draft.

"I'll back this," I said. "But I want something added."

"Speak."

"No lessons on obedience."

Her smile widened. "Only survival, then?"

"No," I said. "Choice. Teach them that they have it. Teach them to read, to write, to be able to do math, to understand the world around him. And maybe, just maybe on how to survive. But even that needs to be a choice."

"Even if it's a lie?"

I looked her dead in the eye.

"It's only a lie until it isn't."

The brazier cracked softly. Outside, a bird cried once and vanished into wind.

She reached across the space between us and refilled my tea without asking.

"You're not afraid of what they'll call you?" she asked.

"They already call me a demon."

"And they're not wrong."

"I'm not afraid of being called something," I said. "I'm afraid of becoming what they expect."

She tilted her head. "You think they expect a tyrant?"

"I think they're preparing to follow one."

We sat in silence again, sipping slowly.

Then she said, "Do you remember the first time we met?"

I raised a brow. "It was the day after my wedding with your son. When there was still whispers of me being a bandit's whore."

"You refused to beg."

"Your son was willing to compromise with me, he didn't force the issue of our wedding night. For that, he had my respect."

"And I wanted you to be able to survive the palace."

I smiled faintly. "You got what you wanted."

She returned the smile with something softer now. "And so did you."

There was a knock at the outer door.

One of her maids slipped inside, bowing low.

"The Crown Prince sends word. He's summoned a gathering in the winter garden. He says the moon is full, and the mood demands it."

The Empress rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. He's becoming dramatic."

I stood and passed the documents back to her. "Let him have his moment."

"And what about you?"

"I have soldiers to arm," I said. "And a war to start."

She didn't stand. Just lifted her tea in a quiet toast.

"Don't forget to come back."

"I won't," I said, already moving toward the door. "Not until they finish what we started."

I paused with one hand on the doorframe. "You should know just how hard it is to kill a demon."

The brazier popped behind me. The scent of almond smoke clung to my sleeves.

"Do you regret it?" I continued, wondering about the demon see she made a deal for.

A breath. Not long. Not surprised.

"No," the Empress said. "They sent me here to disappear. I chose to become someone who would never break."

"And now?"

She let the silence stretch again—longer this time. Like she was measuring something only she could see.

"Now," she said, "I choose what I want done. I now understood that I am not stronger with the demon seed inside of me, in fact, I forget about it more often than not. Now I understand that I am strong enough, just as I am."


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