The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis-Chapter 370: In The Midday Sun

Chains clinked once when Deming forced the Jackal to his knees in the yard.

There were no crowds around them to witness the punishment. No herald to list the crimes the Jackal had been convicted of.

Instead, there was only the five men surrounding the Jackal on his knees.

The high walls of the back yard of the palace weren’t high enough to keep the midday sun out, but they were high enough to keep secrets and kills in.

Fall was just settling into the bones of the palace and the people of Daiyu. The mornings were cold, but the sun was still strong enough that the Jackal felt the heat punishing down on him, like even the sun was against him.

Yaozu dropped to one knee, looped iron through floor rings, and checked both locks with the half-turn that owned wrists without drawing blood.

Longzi filled the exit with a blade and a posture that closed arguments, while Yizhen leaned against a post, shook ash from a slip of paper, and slid it away inside his sleeve.

"North caches are gone," Yizhen reported, his eyes bright. "Kiln road cracked open. Quay clerk very agreeable once the ledgers left a chill on his fingers."

The Jackal lifted his chin, mouth red at the corner. "You think killing me kills weather. But winter will aways come. And people will always die."

Mingyu didn’t look at him. He watched Yaozu’s hands finish the second cuff, watched Deming tug the chain once, watched Longzi confirm the hinge on the yard door. He lifted a finger toward Yizhen.

"Pilot?" Mingyu prompted.

"On the run," Yizhen returned. "Three names already falling off. I’ll have the one his mother used by dinner time."

"I’d prefer earlier," Mingyu answered, his face impassive.

"And I would prefer to still be in bed with my wife. We don’t always get what we prefer, Your Majesty," replied Yizhen narrowing his eyes. The men were two sides of the same coin. But one ruled in the light while the other ruled in the dark.

But Yizhen would not submit to the light.

No unless Xinying was already standing in it.

Mingyu studied Yizhen’s face for a moment before nodding his head. "Thank you," he said at last, dispersing some of the tension from the other men.

Yizhen nodded his head, accepting the words for what they were. Neither man would submit to the other, but they could work for a common goal.

Breaking the silence, Deming stepped back and planted a boot at the spine. "No speeches," he reminded the prisoner.

The Jackal grinned. "You’re afraid of words."

"No. I’m simply bored by them," Deming corrected.

Yaozu rose, wiped his palm once against his sleeve, and let his fingers rest near steel. "Last inventory," he prompted, tone even. "Any doors we haven’t closed?"

The Jackal rolled one shoulder against iron and offered nothing.

A breath later he offered everything because the pressure at the cuff kissed a tendon that taught honesty. "Frost Gate. Back room at the brick yard. A girl who bites coins to test them. A priest who files numbers under prayers."

"Which priest," Yizhen prodded, his humor fading to focus.

"West ward. Lazy eyes. Very clean fingernails. He thinks God likes tidy books."

"God can share," Yizhen remarked, already flicking two fingers toward a runner under the lintel.

The runner moved. Two more appeared from the gloom, hands out, receiving tokens and routes. Longzi tilted his blade a fraction to clear space; they slipped around him without scuffing dirt.

The Jackal watched them go with a short laugh. "You think quick feet buy you a climate."

"We bought the calendar," Longzi replied, untroubled.

Mingyu lifted his hand a hair. "Baiguang remnants," he prompted.

"Three clusters," Yizhen returned, brisk now. "Tea guild house by the east canal; they share floors with a tailor who hates your reforms only slightly less than he hates badly cut cuffs. House over a noodle shop near the river stairs; their knives are good at meat, less good at uprisings. And a silversmith’s attic, south wall—he thinks his dead prince can come back as long as the upstairs window stays unlatched."

"Latch it," Mingyu instructed.

"Already latched," replied Yizhen, rolling his eyes. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Deming checked the chain at the ankle, quarter-turn, crisp click. "Stop counting tricks," he advised the prisoner. "You used them."

The Jackal worked his jaw and spat red into the dirt. "You didn’t even ask me why."

"Why feeds ghosts," Yaozu returned.

"Why bores me," Yizhen added, voice dry.

"Why never kept a wall standing," Longzi concluded.

Mingyu flicked two knuckles against the ledger the yard kept for this ring.

The page lay ready; a name waited to be written in whatever ink was convenient. "Northern Winds," he measured. "Founder in custody. Routes seized. Lieutenants—"

"Two dead," Deming supplied. "Four missing. Three pretending to be honest men until dinner."

"They won’t eat dinner," Yizhen promised, cheerful again.

The Jackal lifted his face toward the sky he couldn’t see. "Keep me," he urged, tone almost conversational. "I do work none of your courtiers can dirty their hands with."

"Courtiers shovel," Mingyu replied. "They just learned how."

The yard door ticked once. A runner slid inside and lifted a small parcel wrapped in oiled cloth. Yaozu took it, unwrapped, and held up a leather roll with thin tools tucked into loops.

"Pilot’s kit," the runner reported between breaths. "Found at the shrine’s back step, exactly where you guessed he’d panic."

"Good," Yizhen approved. "He’s sloppy when he’s afraid."

"Everyone is," Deming put in.

The Jackal’s grin thinned. "You’ll lose her anyway."

Mingyu looked at him then—one bland glance that carried nothing anyone could use. "No."

"She bleeds," the Jackal pressed. "Everyone bleeds."

"She is not everyone. And even if she was, she would still bleed less than you tonight," Yizhen reminded, mild as tea.

Shadow padded to the ring’s edge and lowered onto his forelegs with his chin on his paws. His eyes didn’t blink.

The Jackal kept his own eyes on Mingyu and spoke as if the beast didn’t exist. "You can lock doors. You can weld hinges. But the fire still finds cracks."

"Fire belongs to her," Longzi returned, almost amused. "As does life and death."

Yaozu tilted his head toward the wall, listening. "Two runners at the bathhouse," he relayed. "Our matron cooperating. Names already coming."

"Fold them," Mingyu instructed.

"Folded."

"Underworld stew," Yizhen translated with a smile. "It feeds well."

Deming loosened his stance a breath and tightened it again, habit checking habit. "Time," he prompted.

"Finish it," Mingyu agreed.