Section Fifty-Nine: A Hair’s Breadth

Gariveil despised the assignment Wang Luo had given him, fabricating tales to prettify himself. It was absurd, pointless, and worthless.

In the end, victory would still be decided on the battlefield. Such propaganda might win over some Han soldiers, but their grievances were not so deep as to have brought heaven and earth down upon them; they would not defect over this alone.

The soldiers at the ferry camp were in a hard place, and morale was low. But Han reinforcements were nearly there as well, or so the officers under Zhang Da had been proclaiming all along. In such circumstances, all they needed to do was hold the camp for a short while and wait for relief to arrive.

Of course, none of that concerned him. This task required no fighting, did not demand results, and the contribution points were substantial. The price for three days of solo propaganda was six hundred points. There was no reason to hesitate. Get it done at once—the equipment redeemed with those points would be real enough.

And so the four members of the Shadow Team followed the current Revolutionary Army captain seeking merit, formerly a Han Army officer and now General Song, to the Han camp at the ferry, where they began their work of telling stories in many different encampments.

Those stories proved wildly popular with the enemy soldiers. When Gariveil spoke, soldiers from several nearby tents even came running over, especially after he added the parts about the Revolutionary Army supporting displaced commoners, redistributing fields, and handing out land.

Then, on the second day, when Wang Luo’s main force arrived and set its camp not far from the Han position at the ferry, Gariveil saw many soldiers in that camp whispering to one another in every corner.

They were wavering. Because of the stories spreading through the camp, because of the pressure from the enemy lines across from them, and because of the many letters that had suddenly appeared from nowhere, letters written by the soldiers’ families at the ferry. In them were assurances of safety, reports of having returned home, received land, and seen the wicked punished, along with pleas for their children to come home or join the Revolutionary Army.

“People always believe what they want to believe.”

Before they set out, Wang Luo had said this to anyone who objected. Now Gariveil roughly understood what he meant.

Could they really take this place without a fight?

He turned his eyes toward the local commander, Zhang Da.

As a nobleman whose home had been stripped of both property and land, surely he would burn with a deep and bitter hatred, surely he would decide to fight the Revolutionary Army across the river to the death...

But who would follow him? A small handful of the most loyal retainers? A few other noble youths? Let alone suppress the unrest—at this point, seeing the soldiers whispering among themselves, he did not even dare try to control them.

Once the soldiers reached an agreement, they could swallow the rest without effort.

Then the whole army could cross the river and avoid the Han reinforcements here. After that, once they and the Yellow Turban main force had fought their life-and-death battle, they could emerge to clean up the remnants. That must be Wang Luo’s plan...

Perhaps he had a chance? Perhaps he could complete a mission to induce three thousand Han soldiers to surrender?

Just as Gariveil was thinking this, growing excited and planning to try that night, the camp gates suddenly opened.

A column of Han cavalry rode in single file, carrying several banners marked with the character for Lu. Behind them came several hundred Han infantry, fully armored and in perfect order.

“By order of Northern Army Commander-in-Chief Lu Zhi!” cried the cavalry leader at the head, a short, fat man raising the command aloft. Gariveil thought he looked vaguely familiar.

It was him—Gru. Former spearhead captain of the Porcupine Team, traitor to the White Shark Team, and current deputy commander of the Wuzhou Team.

---

“There is a troublesome matter now.”

Facing Zhou Suyan, Wang Luo spoke with clear eyes, a composed expression, and a candid air.

“My guess is that your former teammates, the people from Wuzhou, intend to use you for their own purposes.”

“What do they intend to do?” Zhou Suyan asked, smoothing her hair and looking at him.

“Stir up doubt between us... something like that. It seems they have misunderstood our relationship and think we’re like ordinary men and women— that you’ve fallen in love with me, and I with you. Something of that sort.”

“A misunderstanding? Then what are we, exactly?”

“In any case, they plan to exploit it,” Wang Luo said. “Spread rumors and such, saying you’ve been passing information to them.”

“I haven’t,” she said.

“Once a rumor begins to spread, whether or not you actually did anything becomes irrelevant. You must understand, human beings are creatures inclined to believe what they wish to believe; moreover, they remember especially well the information they find interesting.”

“I don’t understand,” she said bluntly.

“What I mean is,” Wang Luo took a deep breath, “there is a contract holder who has defected. I will refer to him here as A. A says that you have been relaying intelligence to the enemy.”

“Then, if we ignore it, A can go around saying you are a traitor, and then use that to spread our intelligence to the enemy.”

“You wouldn’t believe that.”

“But if the loss of intelligence causes the team to suffer blows and lose personnel, the soldiers will begin to believe it. That is what is called a psychological breach.” Wang Luo raised one finger and pointed at her. “I’ve used this tactic before, so I know it well.”

“The more strictly military discipline is enforced, the deeper the seed will be buried in the soldiers’ hearts. Once an accident or a defeat occurs, they will blame you, and blame me for not dealing with you in time.”

“You mean I should leave for a while first?”

---

“That way, they can try another tactic... the following description is only an example, not necessarily exactly what they will do.”

“Place women near me, have them deliberately get injured to draw my attention; have them ‘accidentally’ fall into my arms, things like that.”

“Meanwhile, arrange for you to witness it.”

“Create an illusion for you, make you heartbroken, tempt you to take revenge on me, and cooperate with them.”

Wang Luo spread his hands. “When this report reached me, I smelled it—the scent of the strategy I know best. Though... planting seeds of doubt among people who trust one another is, for someone like me whose style is open and direct, a very effective way to attack.”

“I still don’t really understand,” she said. “So what do you plan to do?”

“I have a few ideas, but before that, there are a few questions I need to ask you.”

“Ask.”

“How is your luck?”

Zhou Suyan thought for a moment.

The smile on her face—the smile that had been there because, even if she did not understand, she could still feel the importance he placed on her—faded away. “It has never been good.”

“Can you tell whether someone bears you hostility or goodwill?”

She shook her head again.

Wang Luo fell into thought.

“Actually, what I just said may be overthinking it on my part—there may be no conspiracy at all, only coincidence, accident, chance.”

“But if my judgment is correct, then this will instead be the best opportunity.”

“Counter-strategy: the art of discovering an enemy’s plan and striking back in a targeted way. In game terms, it’s a skill that is guaranteed to hit and guaranteed to crit.”

“Psychological breach? Suspicion? By then, none of that will matter. Crush it all back with victory. Still, the key to everything lies in your cooperation, your ability, your intelligence... and your luck.”