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

The south storehouse stank of millet and fear.

Straw muffled the floorboards, a thin layer meant for grain sacks that had instead soaked up sweat and piss. The air was cold enough to bite, but the man tied to the central post was slick with it, his head lolling forward until the rope pulled him upright again.

Captain Hua.

He was smaller than I remembered from the parade ground. Men always are once their sword is taken.

Gaoyu straightened when I entered. He didn't salute; he simply shifted his knife from one hand to the other and let the point drag a lazy circle into the dirt. Yaozu leaned against the far wall, arms folded, eyes like frost. Neither spoke.

They didn't need to.

Hua tried to. His lips cracked when they moved. "Majesty," he croaked, though no crown sat on my head. "I—I sent for leave only because my mother—"

"Your mother will outlive you," I said flatly. "Don't waste her name here."

He swallowed hard, Adam's apple jerking against the rope at his throat. His eyes darted past me, toward Gaoyu, toward Yaozu, anywhere but at me. That was his second mistake.

"Look at me."

He did, though his gaze trembled on the way up.

"You let a coffin pass your gate," I said. No preamble. No courtesy. "You watched men carry a bier with no rites, no incense, no offerings. And you let it through."

"I—there was sickness, Majesty. They told me it was—"

"Don't." The word was quiet, but it landed sharper than Gaoyu's knife ever could. "You knew what it was. You looked away because coin bought your sight. How much?"

His mouth opened, closed. He sagged against the rope.

I stepped closer, boots grinding frost into straw. My shadow fell across him, long in the lamplight. "Tell me how much my son's life is worth in your ledger, Captain. How many strings of cash equal the breath of a child?"

Tears streaked the grime on his cheeks. "It wasn't meant—he wasn't meant to—"

Gaoyu snorted. "They never mean it. Until the knife's already in."

I ignored him. My eyes stayed on Hua. "You will tell me who gave you the order. You will give me names. If you lie, I will know. If you hesitate, I will assume silence is confession and I will put your tongue on the floor beside you."

He whimpered, tried to twist his wrists, found no slack.

"My lady—" he began.

"Do not call me that," I cut in. "Do not try to wrap me in silk when you handed my child to Baiguang in straw."

His breath hitched. "Ren," he said at last. "Ren's clerks came. They said it was grain shipment, marked for temple charity. They gave me coin for my men, told me no one would question if I looked away."

"Temple charity." My laugh was low and humorless. "And you believed Baiguang cares for temples?"

He shook his head too quickly, rope burning his neck. "I—I knew it was wrong, Majesty. But the money—my men—they haven't seen their stipends in months. I thought—"

"You thought you could feed your soldiers with the bones of a child," I said. "Tell me, did they choke on it?"

He sobbed, head bowing until rope jerked it back again.

I crouched, lowering myself until my eyes were level with his. "Listen to me. I don't care about your hunger. I don't care about your excuses. You had a choice between loyalty and coin, and you chose coin. Now you will give me every name that shared in it. Every clerk, every soldier, every mule driver who touched that coffin. Or I will end your line here and let your mother light incense over ashes she will not recognize."

He shook, tears spilling, breath coming fast. "Three clerks," he stammered. "Ren's nephews—Liang and Zhou. They brought the sacks of grain to cover the weight. A rope-seller in the temple quarter—Chen. He cut the cords himself, gave me the rest to burn. And two men from the north road, not Daiyu. Foreign accents. They watched while the cart crossed."

"Names," I pressed. "Full names."

He gave them, tripping over syllables, voice cracking. I memorized each one.

When he faltered, Yaozu's voice cut in from the wall, low and precise. "He's holding one back."

Hua jerked, eyes wide. "No—I've told—"

Yaozu pushed off the wall, came closer, gaze pinning him. "Your shoulders give you away. You flinched when you said Ren's name. There's another above him. Speak it."

Hua's mouth worked soundlessly. His eyes darted to me, pleading.

I leaned in, close enough that he could feel the chill in my breath. "Speak. Or I will carve the silence out of you myself."

His voice broke. "Minister of Rites," he whispered. "Lord Han. He… he told me there would be protection if questions came. He said the Emperor needed distractions, that Baiguang's coin was cleaner than court politics."

The room went still. Even Gaoyu stopped moving his knife.

I straightened, fury settling cold in my chest. Not hot. Not wild. Cold and exact. "Han," I repeated. "The man who bows deepest at altars. The one who argued for more incense while we planned war."

Yaozu's eyes narrowed. "I'll confirm it."

"No," I said. "Leave him to me."

Hua sagged, the confession wrung out of him. He looked relieved, as if speaking the name had lightened his chains. Fool. He did not understand that truth can weigh more than lies.

I turned to Gaoyu. "Keep him alive. Feed him water. Not enough to wash. Just enough to keep him breathing. He will live until Ren's head rolls, and he will watch until the Minister who bought him burns."

Gaoyu grinned, sharp as his blade. "With pleasure."

Hua whimpered, but no one listened.

I stepped back, boots crunching frost. The air smelled of straw and rot. Behind me, rope creaked as Hua sagged again.

At the door, I paused. "Captain Hua," I said without turning. "You wanted coin. I will pay you in memory instead. Every day you breathe, you will remember that you sold a road for silver and I turned it into your shroud."

Silence answered me.

Outside, the cold air was cleaner, sharper. I breathed it in, steady. The ministers thought gossip was the weapon. They were wrong. Truth was sharper, and now I carried it like a blade.

The south storehouse closed behind me with a hollow thud.

Ren would fall. Han would follow.

And Baiguang would learn that my son wasn't my weakness… it was my reverse scale.