Chapter 40 · The Fire Gathers, the Mind Stills — Strategy Returns to Its Roots
Section 1 · Gathering Flame, Returning to Roots
The night over Luojiao City had not yet fully lifted. Mist drifted silently between stone bricks and rusted metal like weary old soldiers.
In a back warehouse of a ruined building, Jason stood before an improvised war table, left hand tapping rhythmically at its edge as if counting something unseen. He said nothing, but his gaze remained fixed on the projector's blurry topographic map — Iron Valley Core.
Zhao Mingxuan placed a pot of cheap coffee in front of him. He didn't leave immediately, instead standing quietly nearby, subtly shielding the lower-right corner of the map where faction markers were listed.
"Lisa and Wells swept the northern perimeter three times," he began evenly. "Crowd density around Fogfight Arena has spiked recently — probably an underground challenge match. Wager volume has doubled from last week. 'Fire' terminology is already seeping into gambler conversations."
Jason paused slightly, then looked up without comment.
Maria leaned against a steel cabinet, fingers tracing a black-and-white photograph — a group of armored miners standing before a collapsed pit, their eyes iron-hard.
"Steel Gate's recent weapon orders bypassed standard black-market pipelines," she murmured, voice soft as falling snow. "Someone's fitting them with proximity mines — not civilian defense… more like preparation for a hard fight."
Jason didn't respond. Instead, he said quietly:
"That mine was declared 'no further extraction value' by the Empire three years ago."
Zhao smiled faintly.
"But they clearly don't agree. Or maybe they care less about what it can yield than who gets to claim it."
A glint passed through Jason's eyes. He didn't say We should strike them, nor did he ask Who do we contact first?
He simply asked:
"ARGUS, finished integrating outer data?"
A string of pale blue text flickered across the cracked terminal beside the table:
[ARGUS Feedback: Current regional fear index +7%, fire meme node activity 34%, 'Meme Relay' identity ambiguity rate 46%.]
Zhao read the report and muttered:
"The fire's moving faster than we are."
Maria added dryly:
"And more accurately."
Jason offered no reply. He zoomed the projection in slowly, locking the focus on the intersection between West Iron Mine No.7 and the Old Gambling District Core, centered precisely on a ruined bridge.
"They converge here," he said.
"Not a battlefield. Not a market. An exchange."
He straightened, scanning the room.
"We're not choosing an enemy. We're creating the division between them."
He tapped the table once.
"Lisa, Wells — tomorrow, deploy listening nodes around Fogfight Arena. Infiltrate the betting lines using ARGUS low-frequency modules."
"Minxuan, you lead your men to conduct a small deal with the personnel of the Steel Gate Battalion... But don't trade goods, just exchange information."
"Maria, cut into Lianyuan Commune's supply chain. See if we can delay their weapons arrival by two days."
No cheers, no oaths. Only a precise sequence beginning to unfold.
Fuxi whispered softly within his mind:
[䷣ Earth Conceals Fire: A blade kept sheathed still shines. Advance one step, retreat three. The deeper the flame burns, the quieter it becomes.]
Jason closed his eyes and nodded.
"They'll come looking for us."
"Just… not yet."
He set down his cup, watching the projected wasteland terrain brighten gradually, like a temple not yet built.
Outside, the wind stirred. Inside the tavern, someone shouted:
"Tonight's arena battle — champion returns! Odds 5-to-1!"
Zhao picked up his hat, pausing at the door.
"It's starting?"
Jason smiled faintly.
"We're just… opening the first gust of wind."
Far off, the city still slept beneath the peeling night sky, while somewhere deep in the ruins, an ancient structure — fire-like in nature — had already begun rooting itself in silence.
Section 2 · Gambles in the Dark, Fire Without Sound
Outside the gambling den, neon lights bled into dust-laden air, casting broken rays across the night.
Lisa Peng moved smoothly through the crowd, hood drawn low, a packet of roasted beans casually in hand. Nearby, Wells approached in disguise — half-drunk mercenary, leaning forward like he belonged.
"Place your bets! Tonight, 'Mountain Fist' Blake faces a challenger — the undefeated champion returns! Bet 1-to-1!"
"You new here, kid? Put down two hundred scrap credits — double if you win!"
The crowd roared. Air thickened like steam, sweat mingling with greed.
Lisa said nothing, only pinched her wrist lightly. A flash of light blinked under her sleeve.
[ARGUS Prompt: Listening zone deployed, semantic filters active. Keywords activated: 'fire', 'white', 'blaze', 'double', 'node'.]
She scanned the stands casually, marking five listening points mentally — forming a counter-spiral infiltration array, filtering speech amidst the noise.
"You really think this place will give us anything?" Wells asked lowly.
"No," Lisa replied, eyes locked on a gray-clad man in the corner. "They'll tell us themselves."
The man sat unmoving at the table, speaking only in hushed tones to those nearby.
"….They all feared those lunatics who were burning down houses. Heard their new slogan is 'Don't wait for salvation — be the fire yourself.'"
"Is that real?"
"My cousin's cousin works near Lianyuan. Said someone spray-painted that line on their block wall… three days later, the commune depot exploded."
[Keyword sync: "Fire is in the heart" × "Self-ignition" — Meme correlation 72%]
[Target exhibits fire-meme spreader behavior pattern × Recommend surveillance]
Lisa narrowed her eyes.
"We never wrote that line. But they're repeating it."
Wells shrugged.
"Isn't that the charm of your strategy? Even you start to believe it."
"Not belief," she corrected, dropping the bean bag. "It's loss of trust control. That's why this place is perfect for the next move."
Wells glanced at her.
"You sure about using the 'Gambling Structure Trigger'?"
Lisa nodded.
"A gambler only tells the truth when they bet their life. And when the odds shift — that's when you see the outside hand."
—
A roar echoed from the high platform above.
"'Mountain Fist' Blake — ten wins straight! Who dares challenge tonight?!"
Wild screams erupted. Someone blew a whistle. Bets poured in.
Lisa gave a faint smile.
"Wells. Go sign up."
"You?" He blinked. "Are you insane?"
"You're a gambler. You're a fighter. They need someone who looks like they could turn the tide."
She paused.
"Lose — you're just some out-of-town nuisance. Win — you become their future threat."
"What we're doing isn't fighting," she said.
"It's planting a choice."
—
Minutes later, Wells stood at the ring's edge, cloak dropped, scars visible on his left shoulder, coldness in his eyes.
The announcer bellowed:
"New challenger — calls himself 'Blackline Drifter'! Odds 5-to-1!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd. No one truly believed.
Lisa stood motionless, watching the odds board flicker.
She knew — from this moment on, this wasn't a brawl.
It was a system-level confrontation.
What the gamblers bet — was faith in the current order.
What Jason's team bet — was whether one man could shake the boss's judgment.
And if Jason were here, he'd say:
"It's not about winning. It's about making them believe — winning no longer follows the old rules."
Section 3 · Gamblers and Fire — Who Shows First?
Under blinding lights, the ring stood empty except for the scent of rust and blood.
Wells stood atop the makeshift stage of welded scrap, eyes lowered as if contemplating not a fight, but a performance.
Across from him, "Mountain Fist" Blake grinned — drunk, arrogant, nearly religious in his confidence.
"Hey, 'Blackline Drifter' — what brings you here? Let me add another ten-win streak?"
Wells exhaled slowly. ARGUS hummed in his earpiece:
[ARGUS Sync: Peripheral emotional volatility rising × Fire meme topic linkage 35% × Among 15 core gamblers, 3 show meme chain propagation traits.]
He knew — this wasn't just a boxing match.
This was a localized mobilization trial — a psychological resonance experiment framed as combat.
He peeled back his bandage, revealing a half-charred note taped to his palm — handed to him by Lisa right before entering. One line written:
"Who dares to say they are not fire?"
He lifted his head, lips curling slightly.
The gong hadn't rung, but Blake charged like a bull, aiming for his ribs.
But the punch missed.
Wells slid right, drove an elbow into Blake's shoulder, used the momentum to slip low — snake-like.
Blake staggered back three steps.
Silence.
Then — eruption.
"He's actually hitting back!"
"This guy's not here to die — he's here to kill!"
The odds board flashed wildly.
[Threat Index: Opponent Blake anger level +21% × Betting volume increase 15% × "Anti-structure bettors" doubled]
[Strategy Alert: If potential victor emerges, gambling structure destabilizes. Risk of external interference.]
Lisa pulled her hat lower, whispering:
"Turning the tide isn't about victory — it's about making people afraid to bet at all."
On stage, Wells avoided finishing moves. He chose the "nerve-strike style" — targeting joints, avoiding fatal damage, yet building pain and uncertainty.
This wasn't meant to defeat — it was meant to make the opponent realize — this wasn't a fair fight.
—
Blake roared, finally slamming a fist onto the iron stage, shaking the ground.
"Who the hell are you?!"
Wells didn't answer. He stepped into the spotlight, removed his mask — a faded scar running from brow to cheekbone, almost smiling.
"You guess."
Laughter filled the hall — but no one laughed too loudly.
Because now they were asking:
"Could this guy be part of the 'Fire Seed' crew?"
"Wait — isn't that the same tactic described in the 'Spark Manifesto'?"
Fuxi whispered into Jason's ear (remote sync module):
[䷴ Wind Over Mountain: Stillness begins with movement. Belief stirs beneath the surface.]
Jason said nothing. He watched from the second floor of the ruined building.
Lisa's eyes sharpened.
"It's started."
—
The final clash came in Round Six. Wells deliberately avoided lethal blows, flipping Blake off the stage.
The host hesitated.
The crowd screamed:
"He won! He won!"
But no one rushed the podium.
Because Wells stood motionless — waiting.
The gambling house owner didn't appear.
Behind the curtain, wary eyes locked onto him.
A voice murmured:
"Check his background."
—
A gray-cloaked gambler muttered below:
"Is he fire? Or was he chosen by fire?"
Lisa heard it. She smiled faintly.
[Keyword Activated × Spontaneous meme generation triggered × "Fire is the gamble of self" philosophical curve engaged.]
She turned away, lights still flashing behind her.
"We lit the match."
"The rest… they poured the oil themselves."
—
Fuxi signaled Jason:
[System Node Captured × Fogfight Arena forms first psychological meme hotspot × First "Trust Structure Crack" generated.]
Jason whispered:
"The next step — is to let them come find us."
Section 4 · Hidden Cracks Behind the Curtain
"Who is he?"
Behind the black curtains, three electronic lanterns swayed among rusted steel beams. Inside the hidden control chamber of the gambling den, five agents stood at different coordinates, light cutting across their masks.
The central figure tapped the screen, frame-by-frame reviewing Wells' punches, dodges, footwork, and eye contact.
"He's definitely not a normal fighter," he said coolly. "His strikes target neural clusters. He's been trained systematically."
A younger male agent hesitated:
"TRACE?"
The masked man scoffed.
"If he were TRACE, they wouldn't test the waters like this."
He paused, focusing on the enlarged lip-read phrase:
"You guess."
"Fire Seed never says who they are. They make you wonder."
Another voice chimed in:
"So you'll ban him?"
The masked man shook his head.
"No. On the contrary — I want him to stay."
There was a pause.
"The gambling den survives not just on wagers — but on winnability."
"If you can't beat him, morale breaks."
"But if you ban him, morale breaks too — because they'll think you're afraid."
At the bottom of the screen, a line flickered:
"You cannot suppress fire — only learn to dance with it."
The masked man took a slow breath.
"Contact him. Offer a temporary rank in our outer-circle fighters."
"And tell him…"
He paused.
"There may be a chance to meet the Boss."
What he didn't say — was that the Boss might not even exist.
But they needed to manufacture presence, to observe who reacted.
—
Meanwhile, on the other side of Luojiao City, near an old container station, two Lianyuan logistics officers frowned before an empty warehouse.
"They promised delivery last night," one muttered.
The other flipped through his comm logs.
"No signal. Like the entire transport route vanished."
Nearby, a woman in sunglasses walked past calmly, her trench coat hiding an encrypted dispatch order coded by ARGUS.
Lisa's voice came through the channel:
"Supply delay initiated. Three hub closures completed. ARGUS simulation signals online."
Jason's voice returned:
"Monitor Lianyuan leadership reactions. Don't spook them."
"Our goal isn't to panic them." His tone was low.
"It's to make them believe someone else is targeting them."
—
Back in the tavern's backroom, Zhao Mingxuan laid a freshly-drawn "Fire Propagation Node Map" on the table.
"After today's match, keyword frequency around Fogfight Arena rose by 28%. More importantly…" He hesitated.
"This wasn't us pushing it."
Jason studied the chart for several seconds, then said softly:
"They've started lighting fires on their own."
Fuxi whispered again:
[䷩ Mountain Over Lake: Small losses bring greater gain. Shape emerges without action. The game plays the player.]
Jason murmured:
"Next step — create a collision."
"Between two factions who don't even know each other."
"We sit in the middle… and watch who jumps first to scream 'fire'."
—
Night deepened. Lights stayed on in the gambling den's backstage.
Wells sat in the temporary locker area, turning the torn memo in his hands.
A knock came. A clean-cut female assistant entered, smiling:
"You've been selected for the inner circle matches next week. The Boss would like to get to know you."
"The Boss?"
She nodded.
"There are flames worth watching alone."
Wells smiled faintly, folding the paper and tucking it inside.
"I look forward to meeting him."
But he knew — whoever the Boss was, they were already a step behind.
They wanted to know who he was.
But he had already decided — to make them ask the wrong question.
Section 5 · Blaming Fire, Letting Others Burn
Southwest of the ruins, near the mining district border, a wrecked ore truck sat abandoned, cargo bay empty save for a few rusted detonation fragments.
"These crystal chips were supposed to be delivered to Fogfight Arena for prize pool funding," Zhao said, tossing a chip pouch onto the table. "But the vehicle met an accident — along a route mysteriously leaked, and conveniently on Steel Gate territory."
Lisa frowned.
"You sure it wasn't Steel Gate themselves?"
Jason didn't answer. He checked the ARGUS feed:
[Monitoring Report: Fogfight Arena chatter heatwords "Mine Bandits" × "Supply Cut" × "Suspected Fire Insider" ↑ 23%]
[Keyword Cross-Matrix Generated: Steel Gate = Fire Source Suspect Probability 46%]
"They're already doubting," Jason said softly.
Maria smirked from the shadows.
"We don't need them to trust each other. Just to point fingers."
She flipped a map.
"See this? Prize pool frozen, Steel Gate suddenly increased security — doesn't that sound like provocation?"
Jason's eyes narrowed.
"It doesn't sound like provocation."
"It sounds like an excuse."
—
Inside Fogfight Arena's command chamber, a rare executive meeting convened.
"If the prize pool is frozen and tonight's second round explodes, we can't pay out," the deputy growled.
One officer muttered:
"I received intel — Steel Gate members have been spreading 'Fire Seed rhetoric'. Talking about 'White Fire Frontlines'."
The deputy froze.
"If you can say it, you know they'd dare do it."
Another voice piped up nervously:
"What if… they're trying to force us to make a mistake?"
Silence fell.
—
ARGUS fed the data to Jason's view:
[Fogfight internal doubt index reached critical threshold — 31%]
Fuxi whispered:
[䷷ Fire Over Water: To act risks collapse. To hold risks chaos. Control lies not in force, but in perception.]
Jason stood, issuing a single command:
"We go to Steel Gate's outskirts."
Zhao hesitated.
"Now? They're on edge."
"All the better," Jason said calmly.
"The more alert they are — the more they fear being accused."
"We won't deny it."
"We'll just… offer concern."
—
Under the night sky, four figures cloaked in coats moved through broken alleys, approaching Steel Gate's outer posts.
Two guards raised rifles.
"Identification?"
Zhao held up a forged badge.
"We're neutral freighters. We're not delivering goods tonight — just a message."
"What message?"
Jason stepped forward, voice calm:
"They say you're Fire."
Air stilled for half a second. Gun barrels shifted slightly.
Jason smiled.
"But I don't believe it."
"Because if you were — you'd be reacting more strongly."
Without waiting, he turned and walked away, leaving one final line:
"Maybe others still will."
The two guards exchanged glances, tension rising.
—
Back at base, Zhao asked quietly:
"You weren't afraid they'd act rashly?"
Jason answered, calm as ever:
"They're not afraid of being called Fire."
"They're afraid of not knowing how to prove they aren't."