Twisted Logic to Persuade Surrender, Remnants Genuinely Submit

Chen Wuya pushed open the door of the shack. The pottery shard was still cool against his palm. He didn't look at the three people inside and walked straight to the water vat in the corner. He scooped a bowl of clear water and placed it on the table.

The young man stared at the bowl of water, his throat bobbing. The woman lowered her head, twisting the edge of her clothes with her fingers. The older man sat leaning against the wall, his eyelids drooping as if he had fallen asleep again.

"The letter has been buried in the dry well," Chen Wuya said, his voice low. "They will send someone to retrieve it tonight."

No one responded.

"Your written 'postpone the operation' sounds reasonable," he said, leaning against the table. "But do you know what's most absurd? They won't doubt the order itself, only the person delivering it."

The woman's shoulders trembled slightly.

"For example, why would you be the ones advocating for a retreat? Are you afraid of dying? Have you wavered?" Chen Wuya chuckled. "In their eyes, spies are not people, but tools. Tools shouldn't make judgments, only execute. The moment you start thinking for them, you become a liability."

The young man looked up sharply. "What about you? Aren't you using us too?"

"Of course, I'm using you," Chen Wuya nodded. "But the way I use you is by letting you decide for yourselves whether you want to be used."

He paused. "Last night, you wrote a false order because I forced you to. But if I ask you today, 'Do you still want to write it?', and the answer is different, that's the beginning of your allegiance."

The older man opened his eyes. "You think we'll believe you?"

"I don't need you to believe me," Chen Wuya stood up and walked in front of the young man. "I want you to see one thing clearly: the foreign races never give you a choice. If you say you won't deliver the message, your family will die; if you say you want to see the general, you'll be silenced immediately. But me? I can lock you up right now, or I can let you go."

He looked at the three of them. "But you can't go anywhere, can you? The border is heavily guarded, you have hostages in your villages, and there are their informants everywhere outside. Escape? Where would you escape to?"

The young man gritted his teeth, remaining silent.

"I'm not a righteous hero, nor do I care about great causes," Chen Wuya turned and walked towards the door. "I'm just a good-for-nothing expelled from the Academy, surviving on sophistry. But even so, I can carve out a path for myself. What about you? Three years, five years, ten years, always being expendable, only to be discarded when you're used up?"

He opened the door, and sunlight poured in, illuminating the faces of the three.

"At this time tomorrow, I will arrange for you to be separated. Those who deserve to die will die, and those who deserve to stay will stay," he said, then stepped out.

The door closed behind him, and silence filled the room for a long time.

Late at night, as the oil lamp was about to go out, the woman suddenly said in a low voice, "My son... is only six years old."

No one replied.

Her voice trembled. "They're keeping him in a settlement in East Valley, making me bring him a letter once a month, and then they let him have a full meal. If I don't go... they say he's sick, and a few days later, they'll say he died accidentally."

The young man slowly looked up.

"Last winter, my husband fell off a cliff while transporting grain," she clutched the edge of her clothes. "They said the road was slippery with snow, but I know... he was trying to escape. He ran thirty li, but they still caught him."

The young man's fists slowly clenched.

"What about me?" the older man suddenly spoke. "I was originally a centurion in the Scout Camp of the border army. In that battle, the commanding general abandoned the city, and we three hundred men covered the retreat. We were wiped out, and I was captured. They gave me two choices: either die, or work for them. I refused, and the next day, the names of my wife and children appeared on the list of casualties."

He gave a bitter smile. "Not even their bodies were left."

The young man suddenly stood up and paced back and forth in the room. His breathing grew more rapid, and finally, he stopped by the wall and punched the dirt wall.

"I started delivering messages when I was sixteen!" his voice was hoarse. "I thought I was serving the Northern Lands, helping them defend the border! But later I realized, we were harming people! Every piece of intelligence sent out meant a village burned, a civilian captured! But I didn't dare stop... my parents are still back home, and as long as I disobey for one day, they won't have a moment's peace!"

He turned around, his eyes red. "You say we don't want to escape? We dream of it! But where can you escape to? The Jianghu is so vast, who would believe a spy? Who would dare take us in?"

Silence fell in the room.

After an unknown amount of time, the young man walked to the door and knocked hard twice.

"Open the door!" he shouted. "We want to talk!"

Footsteps sounded from outside, and the door was pushed open. Chen Wuya stood in the doorway, still holding half a coarse biscuit, as if he had just finished dinner.

"Speak," he said.

The young man stared at him. "We are willing to pledge allegiance."

Chen Wuya didn't move.

"It's not because we're afraid of dying," the young man's voice deepened. "It's because you're right. We're not subordinates, we're expendable. But you've given us a chance—to choose for ourselves."

The woman stood up. "My son... is still in their hands. But I don't want to work for them anymore. Even if I can't save him in the end, I can't harm another child."

The older man slowly stood up and cupped his fists. "This old man has survived for many years, only to preserve this frail body. Today, I wish to shed my old life and exchange it for a new path."

Chen Wuya looked at them for a long time, then turned and walked out of the room.

The three looked at each other.

A moment later, he returned, carrying three cloth bundles.

"Change into these," he threw the bundles on the ground. "Burn your old clothes."

The young man lowered his head and unfastened his outer robe, revealing a faded short shirt underneath. He took it off, piling it in the corner along with his belt. The woman also removed the dark shawl from her shoulders, revealing the coarse cloth skirt beneath. As the older man took off his boots, he drew a thin blade from a hidden compartment and placed it gently on the ground.

Chen Wuya took the knife and casually stuck it into a crack in the wall.

"Starting tomorrow, you will learn accounting from me," he said. "The camp is short of people to manage things."

The young man was stunned. "Accounting?"

"Did you think pledging allegiance meant charging into battle with swords?" Chen Wuya smiled. "For the refugee camp to survive, someone needs to manage supplies, medicine, and incoming and outgoing goods. You are familiar with their communication routes, which can be used to guard against them."

The woman asked in a low voice, "What if... they discover we haven't sent any messages?"

"They will discover it," Chen Wuya nodded. "But they won't act immediately. They will wait, investigate, and probe. And during this time, it will be our opportunity."

"You taught others how to counter the methods you used to communicate before. Every path you've taken, every meeting point you remember, is now part of the defense line."

The young man suddenly asked, "Will you trust us?"

Chen Wuya looked at him. "Whether I trust you or not isn't important. What's important is that you've made your choice. From this moment on, you are not traitors, nor are you surrendering. You are people of the refugee camp."

As dawn broke, some people had already gathered in the open space.

Chen Wuya led the three out of the shed. Old Wu Tou stood not far away, leaning on his cane, and silently handed them three bowls of rice porridge.

He took one bowl and handed it to the young man.

"This bowl is on me," he said to the people around them.

The crowd fell silent for a moment.

A child stood on tiptoe and asked, "Aren't they bad people?"

Chen Wuya looked down at the child. "They were yesterday. They are not today."

Some people whispered amongst themselves, but no one stepped forward to stop them.

The woman held her bowl, her fingertips trembling slightly. The steam rose, blurring her vision.

The older man took a sip of porridge and suddenly felt a burning in his throat.

Chen Wuya stood in the center of the open space, saying no more. He knew that trust wasn't something that could be built with words alone. But the first step had been taken.

Old Wu Tou walked up to him and said in a low voice, "The fishing boats at Donglin Ferry Crossing docked half an hour ago."

Chen Wuya nodded. "Let's go take a look."

The two walked side by side towards the edge of the camp. As they passed the cooking tent, a corner of the curtain was lifted, and a hand covered in flour quickly retracted.

Chen Wuya's steps didn't falter.

But his right hand quietly slipped into his sleeve, and he once again gripped the piece of pottery.

The edge of the pottery was still sharp, pressing against his palm, sending a familiar coolness.

Ahead, several villagers were discussing the location for a newly dug well. The young man followed behind, pointing at a spot and saying something. The woman walked towards the laundry area with a wooden basin, her steps much steadier than yesterday. The older man stood before the granary, flipping through an old ledger, his brow furrowed.

Chen Wuya stopped.

Old Wu Tou asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. "I just feel that sometimes, crooked logic is more effective than straight logic."

Old Wu Tou didn't smile, merely nodded.

In the distance, a man in ordinary short clothing entered the camp carrying a shoulder pole. The bottom of the baskets showed faint signs of a hidden compartment.

Chen Wuya watched the man and said softly, "Wait for him to come see me on his own."