Traps in the Game
The nights at the Eternal Flame Academy had lost their purity. The darkness no longer promised peace, but instead became the uncertainty of whispers and doubts. Inside the reformist trio's office lit only by a single oil lamp, the air was stuffy and heavy, laden with the scent of cold tea and the bitterness of silent destruction. In the middle of the table, an official report was laid out, its thick paper and pompous letterhead like a treaty. It was the conclusion of Colonel Ji Jin's investigation, a masterpiece of humiliation written in the slippery language of bureaucracy. Words like "regrettable procedural negligence" and "mild reprimand" jumped off the page, a transparent attempt to bury the assassination attempt beneath a mountain of paperwork.
Hu Yanzhen could no longer sit still. He paced back and forth across the creaking wooden floor, each step a burst of pent-up energy. His long, restless shadow danced a liar across the wall, like a tiger trapped in a cage too small. "They weren't even pretending," he growled, his voice a low growl that vibrated in his chest. "They looked us in the eye and lied. They meant that they were trying to kill one of us. They meant you harm, Xiang Xiang."
He Xiang, who sat frozen by the window, didn't turn around. Her face was fixed on the darkness outside, on the trees silhouetted in pitch black beneath the starless sky. Her shoulder, bandaged beneath her uniform, still ached—a constant reminder of the sensation of falling, of the thread of life almost snapping. "Anger will only drain our energy, Yanzhen," he said, his voice barely audible, as calm as the surface of a lake before a storm. "They control the narrative. And right now, their narrative is that we are emotional, paranoid newcomers."
"Then we have to tear up their narrative and rewrite it with their own blood," Hu Yanzhen retorted, her fist clenched at her side.
"Or," a quiet voice broke the tense silence, "we create a stage and force them to rewrite the narrative for us."
Lee Junshan, who had been sitting motionless in the shadows, leaned into the halo of the lamp. His eyes, usually as calm as a deep lake, now had a sharp, cold glint like shards of winter ice. "We've been playing defensively for too long, responding to their every move. It's time we changed the game."
He paused, letting the expectant silence build between them. "Think about it," he continued. "We're trying to find a poisonous snake in a pitch-black room. If we search for it with our hands, scouring every corner, we'll just be creating propaganda, scaring it deeper into hiding, and possibly killing it in the process."
The metaphor was so vivid, so chilling, that Hu Yanzhen stopped pacing.
"No," Lee Junshan said, his eyes fixed on his two companions. "We're not looking for it. We're playing it. We have to play the flute to a tune it can't resist, and force the snake out of hiding to dance in the middle of the room, where our lamplight can shine on it."
"What do you mean by that riddle, Junshan?" Hu Yanzhen asked, his impatience beginning to mix with curiosity.
"I recommend a military exercise," Lee Junshan explained. "But not just any exercise. A Trial of Fire. The most complex and psychologically stressful large-scale war simulation ever conducted in this academy. The entire hillside will become a battlefield. The cadets will be divided into two opposing forces, Red and Blue. They will be given conflicting objectives, very limited resources, and tactical freedom to achieve victory."
"That sounds like a typical war game," Hu Yanzhen said, a little disappointed.
"On the surface, yes," Lee Junshan measured, a cold, thin smile touching his lips. "But beneath the surface, within the structure of the game, we will introduce 'gray' elements. We will select a few cadets from both sides and give them secret missions as double agents. We will spread false intelligence to both commanders, creating distrust and paranoia. We will design scenarios where disclosure is not just a possibility, but a necessity for survival."
The plan unfolded between them, ingenious in its cruel logic. Using the entire cadet corps as a giant laboratory to isolate a single deadly variable.
"We will create a high-pressure cauldron," Lee Junshan continued, his voice now barely above a whisper. "Our enemy agent—Gao Ming, or whatever his real name is—is a professional. He is too disciplined to make mistakes in the ordinary course of things. But in the chaos we create, under the pressure of completing his real mission while trapped in our fake one, he will be forced to act. He will use his unusual skills, try to contact his superiors, or commit an act of real sabotage, thinking it will be masked by the chaos of the simulation. And that is when… when he thinks he is safest in the chaos… we will catch him."
He Xiang was the first to break the stunned silence, his voice heavy with genuine concern. "Junshan, this is ethically dangerous. We will be asking these young men to betray each other, to suspect their tentmates. What will we teach them about friendship, about the honor of a soldier?"
"We will teach them the bitter truth," Lee Junshan replied, his tone softening as he looked at He Xiang. "The truth that on a real battlefield, betrayal is real. That the enemy does not always wear a different uniform. It is better for them to learn the pain of betrayal here, where the bullets are hollow and the knives are blunt, than out there, where the first mistake is the last." He paused, his eyes on the bandage on He Xiang's shoulder. "This is not just about catching her. This is about making sure there are no more 'accidents' like yours. This is the only way to protect them all… by showing them the wolves that live among them."
Hu Yanzhen, who had been silent, now grinned widely. The fire had returned to her eyes. This was the kind of action she understood, the active hunt. "A trap within a game. I like that," she said enthusiastically. "So, when do we start?"
Of course, the plan did not go so smoothly. In a cold confrontation in his office the next day, Colonel Ji Jin rejected it outright. "Preposterous!" he snapped, his face red. "This is radical, unprecedented, and extremely dangerous! You will instigate a rebellion among the cadets just to satisfy your conspiracy theories!"
"That is precisely the point, Colonel," Lee Junshan replied with piercing calm. "To see who will rebel, and for whom they will rebel."
Ji Jin was about to launch into a series of academy regulations when Lee Junshan deliberately placed a sealed leather folder on his neat desk. "That," Lee Junshan said, "is a direct order from the office of the Minister of Defense, personally approved by General Zhang this morning. This exercise, codenamed 'Trial of Fire,' will be conducted next week. With or without your full cooperation. The choice, as always, is yours, Colonel."
The color drained from Ji Jin's face. He had been outmaneuvered, his authority bypassed in the most public and humiliating manner possible. He stared at the folder as if it were a venomous snake. With a stiff movement, he nodded, his eyes burning with undisguised hatred. "Do as you wish," he hissed. "But if even one cadet is seriously injured, know that his blood is on the three of you."
The announcement of the Trial of Fire in the main hall sent shockwaves through the cadet corps. The atmosphere was a strange mixture of exuberant excitement and deep nervousness. This was no longer just a training exercise; this was a legend in the making. Jin Wuyou, with his usual arrogance, immediately declared himself a natural commander and boasted of how he would crush his opponent. Lin Fengqing, though his face showed anxiety, clenched his fists at his sides; this was his chance to prove that courage knows no size or gender. Wu Renjie, the enigma, stood there silently, his analytical eyes scanning every face, absorbing every word, as if he were cracking a complex code.
Hu Yanzhen paid no attention to any of them. Ever since Lee Junshan had begun speaking, his eyes had been fixed on a single spot in the crowd—on the plain and forgettable face of Gao Ming. He studied the cadet with the intensity of a hunter who had found his prey. During most of the announcement, Gao Ming showed the same reactions as everyone else: a little confusion, a little interest.
The plan unfolded between them, clever in its logic allowed by the rules of the game," and "an element of betrayal," Hu Yanzhen saw it.
It was not something dramatic. It was something far more terrifying in its subtlety. For a split second, as the world around him filled with whispers and murmurs, Gao Ming's face went completely still. His mask of indifference cracked. The corners of his lips turned down slightly, his usually dull eyes narrowed in cold, deadly focus, and there was a flash of savage, predatory anticipation in them. It was not the excitement of a cadet about to play war. It was the recognition of a professional hearing familiar terms—a call to return to his true craft.
The flash was gone as quickly as it came, replaced again by a look of blank boredom. But Hu Yanzhen had seen it. His eyes met Lee Junshan's from across the room. A cold, unspoken understanding passed between them.
The trap had been set. The flute had been blown. And somewhere in the crowd, a snake had raised its head, ready to dance.
****to be continued chapter 10
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