By the time the sky had fully brightened, the loose soil beside the dry well still held the night's dampness. Chen Wuya stood at the shed doorway, pinching the unopened wax pellet in his hand, his fingertip rubbing back and forth over the seal. Old Wu Tou squatted beside the door, his crutch laid across his knees, his gaze resting on the three people being escorted into the camp.
They knelt in the middle of the open ground, their hands bound behind their backs. The panic of their escape the previous night had vanished from their faces, replaced by a cold, stubborn resolve to hold out to the end. The older man had his eyes closed, as if asleep. The woman kept her head lowered, her hair falling over half her face. Only the youngest captive kept glancing up at Chen Wuya. His lips moved a few times, but he swallowed whatever he was about to say.
"Take them inside." Chen Wuya tucked the wax pellet into his clothes, turned, and walked into the shed.
The shed was small, its four walls built of mud bricks, its floor covered with dry straw. A low table stood in the middle, with a bowl of hot water and a plate of coarse flatbread on it. He sat beside the table, motioned for the three to be brought in, then said to a villager nearby, "Go get some food. Don't let them starve to death in my camp."
The villager hesitated, but obeyed.
Once the food arrived, Chen Wuya personally pushed the bowl in front of the young man. "Eat," he said. "If you don't fill your stomach, how will you listen to me spout twisted logic later?"
The other two did not move. The young man stared at the bowl of hot soup, his Adam's apple bobbing. At last, he reached out and took it.
"You pass messages through wax pellets, secret marks, and routes." Chen Wuya leaned against the wall, his voice unhurried. "But have you ever considered that what truly makes intelligence effective isn't the note—it's 'belief'?"
He paused and looked at the man with his eyes closed. "Last night, you believed I would take the poisonous marsh, so you rushed to report it. Now you don't believe I can pry open your mouths, so you're pretending to be mute. But as long as what I say is absurd enough, you'll start wondering—what if?"
The young man looked up at him, his eyes wavering.
"For example, if I said right now..." Chen Wuya suddenly broke into a smile. "The foreign army withdrew long ago. Every soldier left at the border is actually a scarecrow, dressed in armor and carrying blades and spears, lighting torches at night to frighten people. Would you believe me?"
No one answered.
"Don't believe me?" He shrugged. "But what if I had you go back and write a secret report saying, 'The enemy commander has seen through our plan and laid a net across the sky and earth'? Would your superiors immediately mobilize troops? Would they withdraw their defenses overnight?"
The woman's fingers curled slightly.
"What about the opposite?" He rose and walked to the wall, scratching several marks into it with his fingernail. "What if I wrote, 'The enemy commander has turned our plan against us and lured our main force to Broken Ridge'? Once those eight words got out, would they dare move? Would they be willing to gamble?"
He turned around and stared at her. "You aren't passing on intelligence. You're delivering someone else to their death. As for me, I don't want to sacrifice even one living person."
The young man suddenly spoke. "There's an old fish seller at Donglin Ferry Crossing... He comes once every three days, carrying a shoulder pole. There's a compartment beneath the basket."
The room fell silent.
Chen Wuya said nothing, only nodded.
"There's also a donkey driver at the western-slope mill," the young man continued, his voice trembling. "The black donkey he drives has a notch missing from its left ear. Whenever they make contact, he stuffs the wax pellet into the gap between the donkey's hooves."
Chen Wuya looked at the woman. "You know about these things?"
She was silent for a moment, then nodded lightly.
"Then tell me, if I didn't capture you and let you go back to deliver a message, what would you write?"
She kept her head lowered.
"I'll write it for you." He picked up a piece of charcoal and wrote a line on the wall: "The enemy commander saw through the plan. The ambush failed. There may be a trap. Suspend action for now."
He turned back to her. "Is that what you mean?"
Her shoulders trembled slightly.
"But what if I changed one word?" He wiped away the final word and rewrote it: "...You may already have been compromised. Dispatch assassins at once to eliminate you."
He spoke softly. "Who do you think they'll kill first? You, or the fish seller?"
The woman jerked her head up, a flicker of fear crossing her eyes.
"I'm not asking you to betray them." He sat back down beside the table. "I'm making you see clearly—you don't even know whom you're loyal to. One order can save your life, and it can also take it. The only difference is whether the person writing that order believes you."
The older man finally opened his eyes. "You think a few ghost stories will make us talk? We aren't afraid of death."
"I don't need you to fear death." Chen Wuya shook his head. "I only need you to fear being wrong."
He took the confiscated wax pellet from his sleeve, broke one open in front of them, and read aloud: "Intercept the grain route within three days. Ambush them on the return journey."
He looked at the young man. "This was the order you received yesterday. But if I had you write a new order now—'Suspend action and await further instructions'—would you dare write it?"
The three exchanged glances, their expressions wavering.
"I can guarantee this." Chen Wuya looked them straight in the eye. "As long as you do as I say, I won't pursue what happened before. But if anyone tries to play tricks..."
He glanced at Old Wu Tou.
Old Wu Tou said nothing. He merely brought his crutch down against the ground with a muffled thud.
In the end, the woman nodded.
Chen Wuya handed her paper and brush. Biting her lip, she wrote the new order, sealed it according to the original method, and handed it back to him.
"I'll have someone rebury this wax pellet in the dry well," he said. "Just as before—the time, location, and method won't change. The people above you will still send someone to retrieve it."
The young man asked in a low voice, "Will they notice?"
"No." Chen Wuya smiled. "They've already grown accustomed to 'correct intelligence.' As long as the contents sound reasonable, they'll act on them. Even if that 'reasonableness' comes from me."
He put the wax pellet into a small cloth bag and handed it to Old Wu Tou. "Deliver it to the dry well before midnight. Don't wear the patrol's uniform. Find someone inconspicuous and have him go there as if he were gathering firewood."
Old Wu Tou took the bag and nodded silently.
The interrogation ended, and the three were taken to another shed and locked up. Before leaving, the young man glanced back at Chen Wuya. His lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing.
Chen Wuya walked out of the shed and stood at the edge of the open ground. Morning light spilled across the dirt, where several children were gathered around a pile of stones, playing odd-or-even. He looked toward the cooking tent in the northwest corner. Its curtain had been lifted a crack, and someone was stirring a pot inside.
He did not move or call out to anyone.
Old Wu Tou came over and stood beside him. In a low voice, he said, "There's one last one."
"Mm." Chen Wuya touched the cloth bag inside his clothes. "They think we're guarding against them. In truth, we're waiting for them to reveal themselves."
"What are you planning to do?"
"Nothing." He withdrew his gaze. "Let them keep sending messages. When they realize that every message they desperately sent out has become a death warrant..."
He paused, his voice very soft.
"They'll start suspecting everyone around them."
Old Wu Tou asked no more questions and turned away.
Chen Wuya sat on a stone block beside the open ground, took out the unopened wax pellet, and turned it over in his palm. The wax seal was intact, the mark clear, as if it had never been touched. He lightly scraped open a corner with his fingernail and smelled it. There was nothing unusual.
He wrapped it up again and tucked it back into his clothes.
Footsteps sounded in the distance. A villager approached and said that a fishing boat would dock at Donglin Ferry Crossing today. He nodded without asking anything further.
The sun gradually climbed higher, and the camp returned to its daily bustle. Some people hauled water, others repaired roofs, and wisps of cooking smoke rose into the air. It was as if last night's pursuit, the fighting in the caves, and the interrogation of the captives had all been nothing more than a dream in the night.
But he knew they had not been.
He lowered his head and looked at his hand. There was a tiny split in his fingertip, cut by a blade during last night's struggle. It had not healed yet. The blood had dried, leaving behind a faint red line.
He suddenly recalled the young man's final words: "You knew all along, didn't you? You were waiting for us to show ourselves from the very beginning."
He had not answered then.
He did not need to answer now, either.
Because what he was doing was neither setting a trap nor employing a scheme.
He was merely pushing the other side's logic, bit by bit, to its end.
Until they stepped into the pit they had dug themselves.
He rose and walked toward the shed where the captives were being held. As he passed the cooking tent, its curtain shifted.
His footsteps did not stop, but his right hand slowly slipped into his sleeve and closed around the shard of pottery he carried with him.
The edge of the shard was sharp against his palm, bringing with it a trace of coolness.
He continued forward, his figure passing through the boundary between sunlight and shadow.
A sparrow flew down from the eaves and landed on the stone block where he had been sitting. It pecked at the ground twice, then flapped its wings and flew away.
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