The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis Chapter 106: A Cup of Complications

"I’m sothing a bit more complicated than this conversation has ti for," I said calmly, letting the words linger in the warm, velvet air between us. "And I’ll take a cup of tea, if we’re discussing business."

Yan Luo didn’t speak for a mont. He simply stared—languid, amused, calculating. Then he lifted his fingers in a slow wave, as if conducting music only he could hear.

From the shadows, a figure erged.

I hadn’t sensed them, which ant they were either very good... or sothing else entirely. The bodyguard was tall, narrow-eyed, with a silk veil covering the lower half of their face. Silent as wind through paper walls, they stepped forward, placed a delicate porcelain cup into my hand, and disappeared again.

The porcelain was warm against my fingers, smooth and translucent. Steam curled upward like smoke from a spell, carrying with it the scent of jasmine, dried plum, and sothing darker beneath.

Yan Luo tilted his head, studying . "Aren’t you worried I’m going to poison you?"

His voice was playful, but his eyes weren’t. They never left the cup in my hand.

"To be honest," I said, raising the cup delicately to my lips, "I’m more worried about the tea being over-steeped."

I sipped.

And stilled.

It was exquisite.

Warmth blood against my tongue, velvet-smooth. The jasmine was subtle, balanced with an earthy undertone of mountain-grown leaves. There was a trace of honey—not enough to sweeten, just enough to round the edges. It was the kind of tea served to kings. Or thieves who thought they were gods.

"If I were that easy to kill," I added, setting the cup gently on my knee, "I wouldn’t have survived a week in the rear harem. Believe , half those won try harder than any assassin."

Yan Luo laughed—low, rich, satisfied. "That’s fair. Won in the palace are much more dangerous than blades in the dark."

"Exactly," I murmured, swirling the tea once before taking another sip. "Also, this is the best cup of tea I’ve had in a long ti. Where did you get it? And how much would it cost to steal a few tins from your private stash?"

His eyes lit up like foxfire. "It’s from the far east—Qinglan province. Picked only at night, dried in honey-soaked silk. The families that grow it are older than the Emperor’s bloodline. And they don’t sell to just anyone."

"I didn’t ask for a bedti story," I said, dry. "I asked for a price."

Yan Luo leaned back with a slow grin. "Three hundred taels a tin. Two-fifty if I’m still enjoying your company by the ti you leave."

I gave him a look. "So bribery works on you."

"Only when I want to be bribed," he said smoothly. "But unfortunately for you, information costs more than tea."

I t his gaze. "Then na your price."

The shift was imdiate.

The warmth drained from his smile, replaced with sothing sharper. He reached for his own cup, sipped slowly, then set it aside with careful precision. Every movent was a performance—fluid, calculated, ant to disarm.

He leaned forward. "I’ll give you everything you want—troop movents, supply lines, which generals are loyal to which princes, and what’s unraveling in Baiguang."

"And in return?" I asked, setting my tea aside, pulse steady.

"I want you to kill soone for ."

No hesitation.

Just the words, cool and clean like the slice of a blade.

I didn’t flinch. "You have a network of assassins. Why not use one of them?"

He studied as though I’d asked sothing amusing. "Because none of them could walk into a palace and walk out untouched. None of them would be believed if the corpse vanished before morning. And none of them have your kind of... presence."

"That sounds like flattery."

"That sounds like realism," he replied, resting his hand against his jaw. "You don’t have to like it. Just decide if you’re willing to trade blood for knowledge."

I let the silence breathe for a few seconds longer, then replied, "For the record, I still haven’t agreed to anything."

"I never thought you had," he said, reaching behind the throne with an easy grace.

From a lacquered drawer beneath a lion-headed table, he withdrew a red envelope—heavy, wax-sealed, the symbol stamped in gold foil: a fox’s grin.

He set it down on the table between us. "Open it when you’re ready. And decide if you’d like to be paid in information, or in sothing a bit more... tangible."

I didn’t move.

I didn’t touch the envelope.

Instead, I leaned back slightly and crossed one leg over the other. "Let guess. If I refuse, I leave with nothing but the aftertaste of good tea."

He chuckled. "That and the mory of my charming company."

"How generous."

"I am when I want to be."

"And if I take the job?" I asked.

"You’ll have everything you need—maps, schedules, routes. Even nas the Emperor would kill to know." His voice lowered, almost reverent. "You want to understand Baiguang? This is your price."

The air between us shifted.

This was no longer a ga.

It was an offer.

A threat.

A leash.

I reached forward and tapped the envelope once with my finger, letting the red lacquer catch the light. "You do understand, King of Hell, that if I accept this, I’m going to want tea like this delivered monthly. And for free."

Yan Luo grinned. "Of course. I wouldn’t insult your taste."

"You already did," I muttered, standing slowly. "By offering a job before offering your na."

He blinked once. "Yan. Yan Yizhen. But you can keep calling Yan Luo. I rather like how it sounds coming from your mouth."

I didn’t reply.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t look back as I tucked the envelope beneath my sleeve and walked toward the door.

But just before I stepped into the violet-draped corridor, I paused.

"And for the record," I said without turning, "I don’t kill for fun. So this person... they better deserve it."

Behind , Yan Luo’s voice was quiet.

"I assure you, they do. And to reiterate, the mont this man dies, everything you want is yours. Maps. Schedules. Nas. Even the dirt on the northern trade collapse."

"And if I don’t?"

"Then I suggest you enjoy the tea and find your own way through the dark."

I looked down at the envelope... wondering if the tea really was worth it.

"Three hundred taels, you said?"

"Two-fifty if I like you."

"Well," I murmured, turning toward the door, "let’s hope you grow fond of quickly."

And with that, I left the King of Hell in his den of shadows, red envelope tucked beneath one arm and jasmine still blooming on my tongue.

" too, little Storm, too."