The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis-Chapter 345: Six As One

They reached the palace before dawn, when the air was still cold, holding its breath between night and morning.

Torches lined the inner court, their flames thin and restless under the wind. Shadows clung to the eaves like they knew they were living on borrowed time.

Yaozu stood waiting near the Emperor’s private wing, arms loose at his sides, but there was nothing relaxed about the man who’d carved his name into silence itself.

"The cellars are ready," he reported softly, eyes flicking to the torn edge of Xinying’s sleeve, the faint smear of someone else’s blood across Yizhen’s jaw. "Two lived long enough to be useful. The third didn’t."

Xinying barely slowed as they passed him, voice cool as a winter stream. "Two will talk. They always do."

Yizhen didn’t disagree. He only followed her through the outer halls like he owned them—which, in his way, he did.

The doors to the imperial chambers opened before they reached them.

Mingyu was inside, his hair unbound, and his robe tied only once at the waist like a man who had abandoned sleep long before they returned. Deming leaned against the far window, his arms crossed in front of him, his jaw set like he’d been carved there to hold the whole room steady if it cracked.

No one spoke at first.

Then Mingyu’s eyes found Yizhen’s. "Assassins," he said simply, voice quiet enough to make the word worse. "You took our wife out for a date, and ended up kidnapped by assassins."

Yizhen poured himself a cup of wine that he didn’t drink. "Not local ones, if that is any consolation. Besides, we knew they were there long before they tried anything. Or did you really think that I am an easy person to catch off guard."

That made Deming look up sharply. "This isn’t about you. Do what you want on your own. Our issue is the fact that you brought our wife into it."

Mingyu continued to study Yizhen, his brow furrowing. "Foreign coin?" Mingyu asked, like the concept was completely foreign to him. Who in their right mind would take the Empress, knowing what she could do to them? Were they idiots?

"Foreign hands to be exact," Yizhen corrected with a shrug. "But I can only assume that the coin used is the least of our worries."

He finally sat, his long limbs folding into the chair like a man wearing ease on purpose. "They moved clean. Too clean for Daiyu. Someone brought them in."

"That is the only reasonable situation," scoffed Yaozu, going over to stand behind Xinying. "Everyone in Daiyu knows what Xinying looks like."

Xinying leaned back against Yaozu’s thighs as she sat in front of a low table. Her fingers brushed the wood once, absently, before she spoke. "Then someone thinks they can buy the underworld."

Yizhen’s mouth tipped, humorless. "Or dethrone it."

Mingyu leaned back slowly, watching him the way emperors do when they are counting the difference between problems and insults. "And they failed."

"For now," Yizhen said. "They didn’t come to kill. They came to measure the throne’s pulse."

Deming’s voice entered the room like a drawn blade. "Meaning they’ll come again."

No one contradicted him.

Xinying set both palms flat on the table. "Then we find out who paid them before they grow teeth they don’t deserve."

Mingyu poured his own cup but didn’t lift it. "You’ll have help."

Yizhen didn’t even look up. "I don’t meddle in your court. Don’t meddle in my underworld."

Mingyu’s smile carried no warmth. "The moment you let them touch my wife, you dragged all of us into it. Don’t be too proud to use every player on the board."

That earned him Yizhen’s eyes at last, sharp enough to cut the air between them. "We’ll handle it," he said softly.

Mingyu held the stare like a man holding a line in a storm. "Then handle it fast, and don’t let anything happen to Xinying again."

The wine went cold between them before Yaozu interrupted the silence in the room, his fingers absently running through Xinying’s hair.

"Two of them are awake enough to be useful," he reminded, voice like dry leaves. "They’ll start talking before the next bell if someone asks the right way."

Yizhen rose, slow and smooth, all that indolent grace hiding violence under the skin. "Then let’s go ask."

Xinying’s voice cut through before he took a step. "Not yet."

Four men turned toward her at once.

She didn’t raise her tone. She didn’t have to. "We do this as one," she said simply. "Not the throne here, the underworld there, the guard somewhere else. We end this before it begins, and we do it together."

Yizhen’s eyes softened for a fraction, the kind of softness only she ever pulled from him.

Mingyu reached for his cloak. "Then let’s begin."

But no one moved yet.

Because this was more than an interrogation. More than punishment.

It was the first time since the wedding, since the throne, since the southern desert swallowed Zhao Hengyuan whole, that every man in this room realized the lines between them weren’t borders anymore.

Deming crossed to the table and set down the comb he had carved days ago, the one Xinying still wore. The small phoenix glinted where lamplight caught it. Her fingers brushed it once, deliberate, before she looked up at all of them.

"We finish this clean," she said. "No panic in the streets. No whispers in the court. When this is over, Daiyu will believe the world simply... steadied."

"And the underworld?" Yizhen asked.

She turned to him, eyes sharp enough to remind him why he’d followed her through fire before he ever touched her hand. "The underworld will remember who its king answers to."

Mingyu’s mouth curved at that, quiet and dangerous. Deming almost smiled. Yaozu didn’t bother hiding his.

For a moment, the only sound was the wind worrying at the shutters before Deming closed it out with one push of his palm.

"Tomorrow," Mingyu said finally, the word dropping like a hammer into water. "Tonight we plan. At first bell, they talk."

Xinying nodded once.

The weight in the room shifted, not lighter, just... decided.

Long after the others left to make ready, Mingyu stayed. He reached for her wrist before she passed, his thumb brushing the faint mark left there hours ago by a rope that hadn’t survived the night.

"You should rest," he said quietly.

She looked at him with that small, dangerous smile he half feared and wholly loved. "Let them try to touch what’s mine again first."

He didn’t argue.

Neither did Yizhen when he stepped back inside long enough to set a blade on the table and meet her eyes like he was making a promise instead of offering a weapon.

By the time the torches along the cellar stairs were lit, the decision was already made.

Tomorrow, the assassins would learn what happened when you mistook the moon for something gentle.