A Conversation Between Cousins

Dancing in shackles was not pleasant.

But compared with mutual destruction,

dancing in shackles was not entirely unacceptable.

The principle was similar to windows and roofs. When you proposed opening a window, the others in the room would refuse. But when you proposed tearing off the roof, they would agree to let you open the window. It could be seen as a compromise born of moderation and special circumstances.

That was precisely the game Han Fei was playing.

If you killed me, then you had to gamble on whether I could catch you in the act. If you won, you would naturally be safe and sound. But if you lost, you would die without a burial ground. By then, Zhang Kaidi and the others would step forward. In fact, they would not even need to testify personally. Simply spreading the evidence would mean cutting yourself off from the world.

If you did not kill me, then you could only contend with me within the rules of the game. If you won, there was nothing more to say—I died. But if you lost, I could convict you and ride the momentum to kill you.

A life for a life.

The wager was that you would not dare trade yours for mine.

And the most shameless part of this move was that, even if you clearly knew I treasured my own life, that my life was certainly priceless in my own eyes, and that I was plainly betting you would not dare follow through, my life would inevitably have a price in your eyes. You would not place my life above your own. In anyone's eyes, their own life was priceless. No one would trade something priceless for something with a price, especially when the exchange involved risk. If luck turned against