The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis Chapter 105: The Devil You Don’t Know

Yan Luo didn’t move for a long ti. Just studied —unblinking, unreadable, like a man deciding whether the thing in front of him was art, poison, or both.

Then slowly, he exhaled. "A storm," he murmured. "That’s new."

He reached up and unhooked the gold chain from his ear, tossing it idly onto a nearby tray. His robe had already slipped halfway down his chest, and he made no effort to fix it. Instead, he moved back toward his throne-chair, dropping into it like a predator relaxing into the tall grass.

"Tell , storm," he drawled, draping one leg over the side again, fingers idly tapping his knee. "What kind of disaster are you hoping to bring today? Flood? Famine? Fire?"

"I’m here for information."

"Boring."

"And leverage."

"Better." His eyes lit up like a fox that had just caught scent of blood.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin resting on his knuckles. "You co for information about Baiguang, yes? That cold wasteland where whispers go to die. Everyone wants to know what’s happening up there. The Crown Prince. The generals. Even the Emperor’s private dogs. But they don’t walk in here." His voice dropped. "They don’t bleed my girls and declare themselves storms."

"I didn’t declare it," I said. "You asked a question. I gave the answer. And just for clarification purposes, I didn’t bleed your girls. She touched sothing that I told her not to. It’s not my fault that she didn’t listen to my words. Tell , King of Hell, would you let soone go who disregarded your order, who disrespected sothing that belonged to you?"

Yan Luo laughed again—soft and breathy this ti, like he was genuinely enjoying himself. "You’re right," he agreed. "I expect my words to be obeyed, just like you do. You’re quick, you’re decisive, and I like that. Tell —was that pretty shadow of yours always this quiet? Was he the one my girl shouldn’t have touched?"

I didn’t turn, but I felt Yaozu shift slightly behind .

"He talks when I need him to," I replied. "And yes, he is mine."

"Mm." Yan Luo let his eyes flick toward Yaozu, a slow, assessing drag. "The Crown Prince’s dog is being claid by the Crown Princess. Tell , Witch, does your husband know you’ve claid him man?"

"He does," I assured him, a smirk on my face. "And he isn’t the only one that I’ve claid. Should I give you a list for future reference? That way, you and yours can keep your hands off of what is mine," I purred, my eyes narrowing. I hated that he called Yaozu a dog. I would have to do sothing about it.

Later, after he gives what I want and need.

"So you’re not just a storm. You’re a collector of storms," chuckled Yan Luo. "I wish that I was a fly on the wall when it cos to how your husband reacts to you. I have trouble seeing the calm and pristine Crown Prince letting his wife sleep with other n."

"I don’t collect anything," I said. "The people beside choose to stay... my husband included."

He smiled. "Then you must be worth staying for."

For a mont, the silence stretched.

Then, with theatrical grace, he stood again—this ti slower, circling like a fla around a candle wick.

"You know," he said conversationally, "I’ve been called many things. A demon. A liar. A king. A whore. A god." He leaned in close enough that I could sll the wine on his breath, rich and dark. "But never ’not the King of Hell.’ That’s a new one."

"Get used to it."

Yan Luo grinned. "Is that what this is, then? You’ve co to humble ?"

"No," I said, eting his gaze without blinking. "I’ve co to understand you. And then decide if you’re worth keeping alive."

That made him still.

For the first ti since I entered the room, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t grin. Just looked at like a man seeing sothing dangerous beneath the surface of still water.

Then, slowly, his lips curled upward again. "Gods, you are fun."

He moved to pour another drink, but this ti he poured two—offering one without comnt.

I didn’t take it.

He set it beside anyway.

"You don’t trust ," he mused.

"I don’t need to."

Yan Luo took a sip from his own glass, then leaned back against the table, one foot braced against the floor, the other leg crossed. His robe parted slightly with the movent, exposing more of the intricate tattoos on his side—dragons wrapped in smoke, knives hidden in roses.

"I heard a story once," he said, "about a little girl who wandered into the forest and ca out with teeth made of silver and a voice that killed. They said she bargained with sothing ancient. That she sold her soul not to survive—but to win. Was that you?"

"Probably not," I said. "My teeth are still normal."

"Pity," he said with a wink. "I like sharp won."

His flirtation wasn’t serious—it was a test. Every word was asured. Every smile a blade. He was watching the sa way I was watching him: trying to map out the rules of a ga neither of us fully understood.

He tilted his head. "You want answers about Baiguang. I might have so. But I’ll need sothing in return."

"What?"

"A reason to trust you."

"I’m not asking for trust. I’m offering survival."

Yan Luo’s brow arched. "That sounds like a threat."

"It’s a fact. War is coming. The Crown Prince wants alliances. The Emperor wants scapegoats. And people like you... people who thrive in shadows..." I let the words trail off, then added softly, "You’ll be the first to burn when they need soone to bla."

His expression didn’t change.

But the candlelight behind him did. Just a flicker.

A twitch of power beneath velvet skin.

I didn’t smile. I didn’t blink. I let the weight of my words settle like dust on an altar.

He finally set his glass down. "Alright," he said. "You’ve got my attention. But before I hand you anything, I need to know sothing first."

He stepped forward again, close enough that the fabric of his robe brushed against mine. His voice lowered to a whisper.

"Who are you really, Zhao Xinying? Not the witch. Not the killer. Not the storm." His eyes searched mine, no longer playful. "What do you want?"

I didn’t answer him.

Not because I didn’t know.

But because I wasn’t ready to tell him.

Not yet.