"Victory does not require truth. Only silence." — Words etched on Moquan's west tower
Rain pooled in boot prints outside the command tent. A wet wind dragged the smell of boiled grain and rusted blood across the camp.
Inside, Huai Shan stared at the map of Longchuan, but his mind was elsewhere.
They'd interrogated thirteen men. Searched every tent. Found nothing.
Xu Liang had stopped speaking except when necessary. Yi Fen patrolled with his cleaver visible at his hip. Qiao had started keeping a list — not of soldiers, but of suspects.
The camp had grown quiet.
Too quiet.
When food arrived late, men muttered. When a horse broke its leg in the dark, three blamed sabotage. No one dared laugh anymore. And at night, no fires were lit — not just for stealth, but because no one wanted to sit in circles with eyes behind their backs.
Huai met with Xu Liang by the horses.
"I trusted them," Huai said, voice low. "All of them. I still do."
Xu Liang ran a hand along his saddle. "Then either you're a fool. Or one of us is."
Huai said nothing.
Xu continued, "The longer this lasts, the more they'll turn on each other. If we don't find the traitor… we'll make one."
On the third night, someone hung a body near the latrines.
No name. Just a rebel soldier with his throat cut and a note pinned to his chest:
"I told them. I'd do it again."
No one knew if it was real or staged.
But it didn't matter.
Now the fear had a face.
Yi Fen called for executions.Qiao demanded tighter watch.Xu Liang stayed silent.
Huai called a halt.
"No revenge," he said. "No public punishments. Not until we know."
"But we don't know," Yi Fen spat. "And every hour we wait, someone else sharpens a knife in the dark!"
Huai nodded slowly. "Then let them. Let them come for me."
And that night, Huai slept alone, with his tent unguarded.
But no blade came.
Only a message — slipped under the canvas on wet paper:
You think you can save them. You can't even save yourself.