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

Morning light spilled crooked through the shutters.

It didn't bring a sense of warmth… either through feelings or temperature. Instead, it was just that thin pale cast that makes every stone look sharper than it actually was.

Lin Wei was awake, but he wasn't the same child that was becoming a child again. While he might have been slow to play or slow to smile, he was at least trying to. Now, he was just as fearful as he was when I found him at my house in the mountains.

But that was fine. Right now, he was awake. He was home. And he was in my arms.

And that was enough.

He sat curled against Yan Luo's side on the pallet, one hand still fixed in the man's robe like it was nailed there.

I couldn't help but smile to know that the feared King of Hell was now nothing more than a teddy bear to my son. One that will protect him no matter what.

Oh well, I guess there was worse people for WeiWei to cling to.

At least I could trust the man in the bed.

Shaking my head, I set the tray I was carrying on the low table.

On it had a covered bowl, with steam still managing to escape from the sides. Taking in a deep breath, I could smell the faint smell of honey.

Rice softened with milk, sweet enough to remind him the world hadn't been made only of ropes and dark carts. I hadn't let a servant bring it. I had fetched it myself, because if anyone tried to "improve" it with herbs or powders, I would have cut their hands off at the wrist.

"Come here, WeiWei," I murmured, my voice soft and low.

He glanced at me, then buried his face again in the silk at Yan Luo's collar. His fists spasmed tighter.

"Come on," Yan Luo said quietly. His tone was flat, but his arm shifted just enough to keep the boy balanced. "Your breakfast smells amazing. Don't you want to try it?"

I crouched beside them, the steam from the bowl curling around us like another breath. "Lin Wei."

The name landed. He turned slowly, his eyes cutting to the bowl, then back to me. A crease formed between his brows—the kind children make when memory tells them not to trust even what they want.

"Sweet," I said, lifting the lid. The smell unfurled, honey and rice. "Taste it. It will help. It's the same thing from last night. You liked it then… didn't you?"

His mouth didn't open, but his fingers twitched. Just enough for Yan Luo to loosen his robe. Wei shifted toward me in hesitant movements, like a bird edging along a branch that might snap. He pressed against my shoulder at last, stiff but close.

I steadied the bowl, scooped a spoonful, and held it where he could see. "One bite. That's all I ask."

He swallowed it without sound, and not because he was hungry. He swallowed because I had asked.

The taste hit him a beat later. His eyes flickered up to me before going back down to the bowl. The smallest change—but I saw it. His hand reached, quick and trembling, and clamped the edge of the bowl. He ate again, faster, almost frantic, as though sweetness might vanish if he hesitated.

I let him.

When he slowed, I brushed my palm over his head. My mist seeped through my fingers, faint and white, easing what still throbbed under the skin. His breathing steadied. His shoulders, still rigid, loosened by a degree.

"That's better," I purred, running my fingers through his hair and massaging his head just a bit. "Do you feel better now?"

Lin Wei didn't nod, not at first. Then—just once, small and jerky.

"Good," I told him. "Finish, then rest."

When the bowl was empty, I wrapped him in a cloak and set him back against the pallet. His fists found Yan Luo's sleeve again, as if nothing had changed, and clung until his eyelids sank heavy.

That was when Yaozu stepped in. Shadow rose first, tail flicking once, then lay back down because he already knew who it was.

Yaozu didn't bow, didn't wait for permission. He stepped into the chamber and closed the door with that silence only he carried. His gaze went to the boy first, then to me.

"I have the names," he announced softy, his voice low enough to not reach Lin Wei.

I rose, adjusting my sleeves. "Tell me."

"Captain Hua of the south watch. Ren's clerks and coin. Rope-sellers in the temple quarter. The cart through the riverfront. They tied it neat."

The words landed heavy, no surprise in them—only the shape of truth I had been waiting to cut.

"Hua," I repeated. "He thought he was clever."

Yaozu's mouth barely moved. "He is tied in straw right now. Breathing. For you."

Good. I wanted his voice, not his corpse. "Ren's people?"

"Shoes on wives. Meat in mouths. Coin walking too fast. I'll cut the threads. You'll need to pull the head off if you want it to mean anything."

I smiled, sharp. "Then we'll start with the head."

Yan Luo's eyes flicked to me, dark and unreadable. He didn't interrupt. He knew better.

I crossed to the brazier and fed it a sliver of paper. Flame bit quick, then died. "Baiguang thinks they've tested us. They're wrong. This isn't a test. It's a debt. And I collect debts in blood."

Yaozu inclined his head, approval hidden in the smallest tilt.

I looked back at the pallet. WeiWei was, once again, leaning against Yan Luo, but he never took his eyes off me. I hummed softly, reaching down to stroke his cheeks. "Don't worry, my love," I assured him. "No one will hurt you ever again."

I knew I couldn't keep the promise, I knew that he knew that.

But at the same time, I would do everything I could to make sure that he would be fine.

"Go do what you need to do," muttered the King of Hell, shifting just a bit to make himself comfortable. "I have him."

That was enough for now.

It meant I was free to choose the next body to fall.

"By noon," I said, "I want Ren's accounts stripped bare. His family silenced. Hua will speak before I cut him. And Baiguang will learn this city doesn't sell its roads."

Yaozu's voice was low. "And if they try again?"

I bared my teeth. "Then they'll wish they hadn't. Because my son is home. And now I have time to go hunting."