The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis-Chapter 374: The Next -

The door slid open without announcement.

Mingyu entered first, steps stripped of sound but not purpose.

He crossed to the low table where tea waited, untouched, and set a packet of sealed letters beside the pot as though delivering groceries, not a dynasty’s obituary.

Xinying looked up from the cup she had been cradling but not drinking.

She had not moved from the couch since the five men left in the morning. She hadn’t needed to. Their return was inevitable, like weather arriving exactly on schedule.

Yaozu followed behind Mingyu, his shoulders squared, and his expression calm in the way river stones stayed calm under storms.

He closed the door with the same care he gave to swords and to her, then moved toward the couch as though expecting to be told to rest and refusing to do so until she ordered it.

Deming came next, scrolls under one arm, edges neat even after corridors and lime dust.

Yizhen slid in behind him, grin already crooked, flipping a coin he hadn’t owned this morning. Longzi entered last, the torch-ring from the yard looped around two fingers, leaving the door for Shadow to nose shut before the hound dropped to the floorboards like a sentry going off duty.

None of them spoke at first.

Mingyu stopped before the couch, looking down at her as if scanning for cracks. She gave him none.

"It’s done?" she asked.

He nodded once. "Baiguang is ash. Northern Winds silent. Her letters"—he touched the sealed packet—"belong to us now."

Xinying set her cup aside. "And her?"

"Dead," Mingyu said simply.

Yaozu folded his arms, gaze never leaving her face, as though waiting for the moment the news might hit harder than she let on. It didn’t.

She breathed out slowly. "Good."

Mingyu reached for the tea but didn’t pour. "Eat first," he said, scanning the room. "All of you. Then sleep if you want it."

Yizhen smirked. "We want food first. Sleep second. Trouble third."

"Not today," Xinying answered, voice even.

That earned the smallest huff of amusement from Yaozu, who finally sat beside her, posture easing now that the news was given and the empire stood steady under their feet again. He reached for the tray, then paused. "You first," he told her.

She picked up a slice of pear and bit. Only then did he take one for himself.

Deming set the rest of his scrolls down on the table, everything from troop movements to tax remissions stacked by priority. "I’ll draft the village notices after we eat."

"You’ll eat after you eat," Xinying returned.

He blinked at her, then gave a small nod as if obeying an imperial decree.

"Deming obeying orders?" Yizhen teased. "Mark the day."

Deming didn’t look up. "Mark the day you finish a report before midnight."

"Midnight is an arbitrary number," Yizhen said, stealing the next slice of peach before anyone else could reach it.

"Arbitrary or not," Xinying said, plucking the following piece straight from the tray before he could take it, "you’ll finish those letters tonight."

He offered a mock bow, eyes bright. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Longzi hadn’t moved from his place near the wall.

He watched her the way he watched sparring fields—measuring, weighing, silent until there was something worth saying. His gaze lingered on her fingers as she sorted the fruit, on the way she stacked Deming’s scrolls into a new order that wasn’t his but would make better sense by afternoon.

Mingyu finally poured the tea. "Drink," he told her. "Then you can tell us what you want done next."

Xinying accepted the cup. "What I want is the five of you to sit. Eat something. You look like you haven’t since yesterday."

Yaozu gave the smallest shrug and obeyed first.

Mingyu sat on her other side without comment.

Deming folded himself down with neat efficiency, setting elbows only where manners allowed.

Yizhen sprawled like chairs were suggestions.

Longzi remained standing until Xinying met his eyes once; then he sat too, back straight, a soldier even here.

"Eat," she ordered, passing the tray toward Deming first.

For once, they all did—five men who had slit throats before noon and burned names out of ledgers, now peeling oranges and tearing bread in a room that felt too quiet for what they had done.

She glanced at each of the men in turn.

The lines at Deming’s eyes had deepened; he hid fatigue behind clean margins.

Yizhen’s humor flickered a shade too bright when he thought no one watched.

Longzi held himself like a man who trusted his body more than the world and had been right too often to stop now.

Yaozu looked steady enough to anchor furniture, yet he hadn’t taken his attention off her for more than a blink.

Mingyu moved as if the room belonged to him only because she did.

"You will all nap," she declared.

Yizhen put a hand to his chest. "Command me."

"You will sleep," she said, her eyes narrowing on him.

Yizhen laughed. "Practical woman."

"She is the practical one in this marriage," Mingyu said, and no one argued.

Yizhen leaned forward, elbows on knees, attention slipping toward her in a way he usually hid beneath sleight-of-hand. "Do you want to see the underworld’s new signal set this week?" he asked, tone light, eyes serious. "You walk with me, no one touches you, and the boys get to boast that they met the Empress and lived."

"I’ll come," she said. "But only if you promise not to let them gamble on whether I’ll kill them or not."

"They will gamble," he admitted. "I will keep the stakes to fruit."

"Fruit," Longzi repeated, skeptical.

"Peaches," Yizhen decided, stealing another and catching Xinying’s wrist when she reached to stop him. He let go first, palms open. "I’ll buy them with my own coin."

"You will buy them with the coin you stole back for us," Deming corrected.

"Is there any other coin?" Yizhen asked brightly.

Longzi spoke without looking up. "Sparring. Tomorrow morning."

Xinying met his gaze. "You and me?"

He nodded. "Your guard learned lazy habits from too much peace. They will copy you if you are sharp."

"I am always sharp," she replied.

He held her eyes a beat longer. "Sharper is better."

"I’ll be there," she agreed.

Yaozu shifted closer, not to interrupt, only to mark the promise. "I’ll watch," he said. It wasn’t a threat to Longzi. It was the statement of a man who planned to count every bruise and decide which ones pleased him.

Mingyu finished his bread and set his cup down. "After the map," he said to Xinying, "you will sleep."

"After the map," she agreed. Then, because she could, she added, "You, too."

"Yes," he said, and meant it because she had asked.

"Left Prime Minister," she continued, turning to Deming, "your desk will wait until you have slept one hour."

"One," he echoed.

"Yizhen," she said, "no letters until you’ve eaten enough to make sense."

"I always make sense," he replied.

"You make trouble," Deming corrected.

"Sense and trouble are cousins," Yizhen argued, cheerful again.

"Longzi," she added, "fix any latch that looks at you wrong."

"It already stopped," he said.

"Good."

She leaned back. The room adjusted around that small motion—men who could topple cities making space for a woman to rest her spine. It felt like the first hour of a year that might behave.

"Tell me the worst problem left," she requested.

"Paperwork," Deming said.

"Bored soldiers," Longzi said at the same time.

"Hungry clerks," Yizhen added.

"Me," Mingyu put in, wry. "I have to listen to all three."

"Then we will feed the clerks, drill the soldiers, and ignore Deming for a whole hour," Xinying decided.

Deming took it in good grace. "Noted."

Yaozu picked up the knife nearest the fruit bowl, weighed it, and set it down again with the handle turned toward her. "If anyone knocks," he said, "I will answer."

"They won’t," Mingyu replied. "They learned."

"They forget," Deming said.

"They learn again," Longzi finished.

They ate. Not fast. Not as men do when they have to run.

They lingered, passing a bowl, stealing from one another’s plates without asking, letting their talk drift into the kind of nonsense that meant the world could afford nonsense again.

Xinying listened, added two lines, cut one plan she didn’t like, and allowed herself to think about sleep without calculating threats on the other side of it.

The latch at the outer screen clicked once—soft, polite. Yaozu’s head turned. Longzi’s fingers found the nearest blade. Yizhen lifted the coin and made it vanish.

Mingyu didn’t rise. "Ignore it," he said. And they did.

The next Chapter started there...with the empire quiet, the five men at her table, and the midday hour of peace settling over the palace like it might dare to stay.