The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis Chapter 139: Worse Than It Is

The Bai family carriage rolled to a slow, creaking stop before the estate of the Left Pri Minister. The courtyard gates, lacquered red and trimd in gold leaf, opened without delay. No one wanted to be caught waiting when Minister Bai was in one of his moods.

He didn’t step down imdiately.

Inside the carriage, Zhao iling sat silent and stiff, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her chin raised like a martyr who hadn’t been chosen. Her hair was slightly disheveled—unacceptable by noble standards—and her lower lip had a faint bite mark where she’d chewed it raw during the ride.

"You will not speak unless spoken to," Minister Bai said coolly. "Your father’s patience is thinner than mine."

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t argue either.

Minister Bai stepped down first, his boots striking the stone with all the solemnity of a man about to deliver a funeral announcent. His face was lined with exhaustion and frustration, though the latter was already hardening into sothing colder—sothing calculating.

The Left Pri Minister t him just inside the entrance, robes pristine, brow furrowed.

"Minister Bai," he greeted. "We heard you were on your way. The servants are preparing the garden hall for tea—"

"This isn’t a social call," Bai cut in. His eyes flicked past the Pri Minister’s shoulder, noting the waiting servants, the decorum, the polished civility.

All of it felt too clean. Too safe.

He leaned in, voice low. "The Crown Prince is no longer pretending to be a dog without teeth."

The Pri Minister’s eyes narrowed.

"He’s choosing sides now. Making moves. Sending won back to their fathers and putting heads on pillows." Bai gave a slow, pointed smile. "Tomorrow, at court, we’re going to have to remind him what it ans to go against us."

"You think he’s ready for open war?"

"He doesn’t have to be. He’s already winning. But we’ll clip his wings before he learns how to fly."

A muscle in the Pri Minister’s jaw twitched, but he nodded. "I’ll speak with the other Ministers. We’ll be ready."

Behind them, Zhao iling finally descended, her slippers barely touching the stone as she swept toward the inner courtyard. A servant trailed after her, but she paid the girl no mind. Her head was held high, but the rage in her eyes betrayed her.

Inside the won’s quarters, her mother—Madam Zhao—stood by a carved sandalwood table arranging combs. When she turned and saw her daughter, her expression didn’t shift imdiately. There was no gasp, no running embrace, only a long, thoughtful look as if assessing whether iling was salvageable.

"You were gone for quite so ti," Madam Zhao said mildly. "I honestly thought you wouldn’t stay there this long."

iling, in return, exploded.

"They humiliated !" she snarled. "That bitch humiliated ! The Crown Prince cast out like garbage. My own sister! That monster, that—"

"Lower your voice."

But iling didn’t.

"She walked into that manor like it belonged to her. She poisoned , turned the other concubines against , killed Lady Yuan’s child—"

"That was never proven," Madam Zhao said calmly.

"She put a skull in Lady Bai’s bed! And now she gets to sit in that courtyard with her herbs and her veils while the rest of us—"

"I said lower your voice."

This ti, Madam Zhao’s words cut with precision. Not angry. Just sharp.

iling faltered.

Her mother stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair behind iling’s ear with clinical detachnt. "You lost control. That’s why you failed."

"She’s a demon."

"No," Madam Zhao corrected. "She’s smarter than you. And smarter won win. Do you know why?"

iling stared at her.

"Because stupid won fight other won. Smart ones use n to do it for them."

"But the Crown Prince—"

"Is no longer neutral," her mother said. "But there are still n who can be bent. Twisted. Used."

She guided iling gently to sit on a cushion near the low table, pouring a cup of floral tea with the grace of a woman who had spent her entire life surviving the capital.

"We’ll let your father and the Third Prince deal with Xinying."

iling’s eyes glittered. "How?"

Madam Zhao didn’t answer imdiately. She set the teacup down and studied her daughter’s face. There were no bruises, no welts. Not yet.

"How much pain can you withstand?" she asked softly.

iling blinked. "What?"

"I said—how much pain can you really withstand? If it ant having her on her knees. At your rcy. If it ant making her life in the palace untenable."

iling’s voice dropped to a whisper. "To have Xinying crawl before ? I can withstand anything. But no one will want if I have scars."

That was the concern, wasn’t it? Beauty. Purity. Even in pain, iling still clung to the illusion of perfection. No noble son would marry a concubine with a ruined face.

Her mother’s smile was small. Chilling.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart. I know a way to make it look a lot worse than it is."

iling’s breath caught.

"You’ll need to keep silent," Madam Zhao said, rising to retrieve a narrow lacquered box from behind the screen. "Just until everything is over. Then I want you to cry, loud enough for the entire household to hear. Then you’ll cry until your throat is raw and let your father and the Third Prince do the rest."

She set the box down on the table and unlatched it.

Inside lay a fine silver needle.

Not long. Not thick. But sharp.

iling stared at it.

"You’ll bruise. Just enough. The doctor will say you were attacked a week ago, that your sister did it. That the Crown Prince’s manor is no longer safe for you."

Her mother stroked the girl’s hair like one might soothe a prized hunting hound before loosing it.

"Tomorrow, when you show your injuries at court... the ga will change."

"And if she denies it?" iling asked, eyes wide and heart pounding.

"She will. But that’s the beauty of it," her mother replied. "The truth no longer matters. The Crown Prince married a woman who maims her rivals. He will have to choose between protecting her... or keeping the court."

iling shuddered. But her hands, when she reached out, didn’t tremble.

She took the needle.

And sowhere far off, a servant in the hallway paused, hearing the first scream tear through the Pri Minister’s estate.

It was followed by silence.

And then the clink of porcelain as Madam Zhao calmly poured another cup of tea.