The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis-Chapter 366: The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

The Jackal left Bai Yuyan with her cup half full and crossed the courtyards at a pace that whispered just how confident he was in the palace.

Even servants who had been there for years didn’t know the landscape nearly as well as he did. This wasn’t the first time he had made the palace his home, and it wouldn’t be the last.

The knife rode his wrist where a vein beat the truth of his heart.

One door, two turns, roofline, lattice.

He did not think about failure; he rehearsed the moment in his head over and over again, making sure that he wouldn’t miss the crucial blow. He had heard the rumors about the Witch Empress, and he knew that he probably wouldn’t get a second chance at killing her.

Each scenario played out in his head like a move. A knife to her throat, a pillow stealing away her breathes and moans as she died, a knife plunging into her heart. There were many factors about the method to end her life, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that he would steal her last bit of air.

When a patrol of guards came from around a corner, the Jackal froze for two heartbeats of silence. The moment they were gone, he continued on his path, a proof that emperors were only men, and the palace was only as safe as those who believed in those things.

He cleared the last parapet and slipped through the servant shutter without touching wood. The corridor gave him a breath of cool and the faint salt of brazier ash.

Two night-lamps held small steady flames along the wall, their soft light creating more shadows for the monsters to hide in.

With a slight smile on his face, the Jackal let their light fall behind him and went for the inner door.

Yuyan’s plan wrapped his spine like armor: drop a body, vanish, leave chaos to do her work. It was simple enough to please him.

Killing the Witch would make Yuyan grateful. It would make him useful again in a city that had learned his name and started pronouncing it like a threat.

He eased the latch with a touch that never learned to hurry.

Inside, quiet held. He crossed the main receiving hall as if he had paid for it himself before going behind the privacy screen and reached for the bedcurtain, pulling it aside fast.

Yaozu’s palm lifted from the coverlet the distance of a coin.

Mingyu’s eyes were open.

But the Jackal didn’t catch those fine details.

Instead, he caught motion, angle, a shift that belonged to men who did not sleep like civilians, and then he caught the fact that a massive demon wolf’s head had risen at the footboard and was looking directly at him.

Ignoring the potential threats, the Jackal was too focused on his mission to stop now. Switching the angle of his knife, he went for the throat of the Witch anyway.

His blade went under silk with the confidence of a habit.

A forearm intercepted his wrist with no sound.

Another hand trapped his elbow and folded it against him without giving him any pain to use.

The blanket was tossed back; the emperor sat up in one motion, and Yaozu came up with him like a second blade.

The knife in the Jackal’s hand clattered against his own knuckles as his hold was forcefully changed.

He tried to rip free before the lock finished closing.

However, Longzi was already out of the corner shadow, his shoulders squared, taking three flat steps to place himself between the intruder and the door.

Deming slid off a wardrobe edge and angled his chest toward the window.

Yizhen pushed an empty cup toward the edge of a low table with a single fingertip and watched it stop exactly where he wanted it.

"Third attempt," Mingyu measured, voice without weight.

"Third correction," the Jackal threw back, keeping his mouth loose for air.

Yaozu’s grip never tightened; it simply existed at the precise angle that owned the Jackal’s bones.

Shadow flowed to the floor without a growl. The animal did not bark. It did not posture. Its eyes traveled from the Jackal’s face to his wrists to the edges of his boots as if reading a ledger.

The blade under his wrist tried one last shallow struggle. Mingyu took it with two fingers and dropped it into his own palm like a coin. Silver flashed, then stilled.

"You came all by yourself," Yizhen observed, his tone almost bored. "I was beginning to think you outsourced all your pride."

"And all your courage," Longzi clipped, not moving his eyes from the door.

"If you prefer an audience—" the Jackal teased, pulse too quick to hide.

"Any audience is too much for your obituary," Deming cut in.

He pivoted his hips a fraction to change leverage and earned nothing.

The emperor’s forearm over his own felt like a beam laid across a trap. Yaozu’s hand near his wrist carried the exact pressure that made mistakes impossible.

He used the breath he had left. "A sleeping woman’s throat is not a difficult problem," he offered, watching Xinying, who had not moved so much as an inch. "You’ve built a dynasty in a bed and forgotten doors exist."

Xinying let out a long yawn as she looked at him like a problem that was already solved. "I sleep just fine, thank you very much," she returned.

He flicked his gaze over the room again and recalculated.

Only two in the bed. Three in shadow. A dog with too much discipline to waste breath.

He had two pellets under his tongue and a shard hidden in his left boot seam. The shard bought space; the pellet bought a room to choke on the poisonous smoke it released.

He dropped the shard first.

Glass kissed his palm, then the tendon in Mingyu’s forearm.

The emperor did not flinch.

Yaozu’s hold shifted a hair’s breadth and collapsed the angle.

The shard skittered across a nail and lost its purchase. He swung his shoulder low for the window.

Deming stepped into the line and turned his body the way trees turn wind.

The Jackal’s shoulder met a redirect and glanced off. He rolled through the spill, found a knee, pressed up into a tripod to spring into freedom.