The night was still, but the air inside the mill canteen was like a pot of boiling oil, about to be ignited by a single spark.
The root of the dispute lies in two parallel records on the newly established "misplaced area" notice board.
One report stated, "The windows of Mill No. 3 were left open overnight, causing a small amount of grain to become damp." Another report stated, "The West District Patrol discovered an injured person, but due to a route dispute, their arrival at the medical point was delayed by 15 minutes."
"To equate forgetting to close the window with delaying a rescue? What kind of logic is that!" A man with a severed arm and bandaged arms slammed his fist on the table, making the porridge in the earthenware bowl rattle. "My brother is still lying there, all because of that damned fifteen minutes! What did he lose by forgetting to close the window? A few pounds of grain?"
Across from him, a clerk in charge of mill records blushed: "Rules are rules! Isn't the purpose of the Mistake Zone to record all 'mistakes' so that we can be vigilant? Does that mean small mistakes aren't mistakes?"
"Bullshit! If minor mistakes and life-threatening mistakes are considered equal, then who will care about matters of life and death in the future?"
"You're confusing us! We..."
The debate quickly spread, filling the entire cafeteria with a buzz, splitting into two distinct factions.
Anger, confusion, and stubbornness were intertwined on people's faces. The perseverance honed by struggling to survive in the wasteland had now become sharp blades piercing each other.
In the corner, Lin Yi quietly drank his porridge, as if the noise outside had nothing to do with him.
His eyes were calm as a deep pool, reflecting the excited faces of the people in them.
He was listening, watching, and using an invisible scale to weigh the chaos that was re-emerging on this land.
The next morning, before dawn, Lin Yi led several strong men, carrying shovels and pickaxes, toward the abandoned open space behind the mill.
That place was once a wartime assembly point, but now only half a broken wall and overgrown weeds remain.
"Boss, what are we doing here?" someone asked, puzzled.
Lin Yi didn't answer, but instead stomped his heel on the ground and pointed to a slightly raised mound: "Dig."
The pickaxe broke through the hard frozen soil, producing a dull thud.
The dirt flew everywhere, and more than an hour later, a crisp metallic clang rang out.
Everyone perked up and carefully dug away the surrounding soil, revealing an ancient bronze hue in the morning light.
It was a huge fragment of a bronze bell, large enough for one person to hug, with irregular cracks at the edges, clearly shattered in a violent explosion.
The bell is covered with dark green patina and solidified grime, with the ancient cloud and thunder patterns faintly visible beneath the rust.
This was once a warning bell in the old days, used to rally the people and resist foreign enemies.
Lin Yi had his men lift the heavy fragment together and transport it back to the center of the mill.
He personally wiped away the mud and dirt with clean water and linen, revealing the weathered bronze color.
He didn't try to repair it; he simply placed it securely in the most prominent position in the mill.
As everyone was drawn to this sudden action, Lin Yi's voice echoed through the empty mill: "From today onward, this will be our bell. Anyone who feels there is something of great importance that could affect everyone, whether right or wrong, good or bad, can come here and ring it three times. When the bell rings, everyone will gather to discuss it."
The crowd fell silent, their gazes filled with complex emotions as they looked at the broken bell that would never again resound.
On the afternoon of the first day the new rules were established, three dull "clang, clang, clang" sounds came from the mill.
The sound wasn't loud, but it was like three pebbles, precisely thrown into the heart of everyone.
People quickly gathered around and discovered that the person ringing the bell was a teenager, his face flushed, pointing at an elderly craftsman with white hair: "Grandpa Li insists on using the ancient method to smoke the grain, saying that it will preserve it for longer. But... but some of the grain is smoked too much and is inedible! This is also a waste, isn't it wrong?"
The old craftsman held his pipe in his hand, his eyelids drooping, and remained silent.
Discussions immediately broke out among the crowd.
"The child is right. Food is so precious, how can we let it get scorched?"
"How can you not trust Old Li's skills? He's doing this for everyone's good; a little burnt is better than everything being ruined!"
"But if it burns, it's a waste!"
The seeds of an argument were sown again.
Lin Yi waved his hand, signaling everyone to be quiet.
He made no ruling, but calmly said to the old craftsman, "Old Li, please, in front of everyone, smoke it again. And please, young man and all those who have doubts, come and taste the so-called 'burnt grain'."
The old craftsman nodded, silently set up the incense burner, and skillfully began to operate it.
Soon, a unique aroma, a blend of smoke and grain fragrance, filled the air.
When a small bag of smoked grains was poured out, it was indeed visible that some grains were significantly darker than the others.
Skeptics picked up a few grains of "burnt grain" and put them in their mouths with some skepticism.
Some people frowned as soon as they started chewing, while others, after savoring the taste, had a look of sudden realization in their eyes.
The taste was indeed burnt and bitter, but after the bitterness came a strange sweetness, as well as a rich, smoky flavor that evoked distant memories.
Just as everyone was preparing to debate again with varying expressions, Lin Yi suddenly spoke up. His voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears: "I only have one question. Back then, when we were guarding the first batch of grain planted on Wangmai Plain, who among you ate grain that didn't have the smell of cooking?"
The entire mill fell silent instantly.
A deathly silence.
For everyone who lived through that period, this sentence deeply resonated in their memories.
During wartime, in order to prevent food from becoming infested with insects and rotting, all stored grain had to be heavily smoked, and every bite of food carried an intense, pungent smell of smoke and burnt grain.
That's the taste of survival.
The boy lowered his head, and the complaining young people fell silent.
They finally understood that in the old craftsman's heart, that taste represented not "mistakes," but "safety."
Outside the crowd, Chu Yao could clearly sense that a new concept called "value relativity" was quietly spreading deep into the consciousness of this group, like the first ripples on the water.
Right and wrong are no longer absolute.
The next day, Lin Yi took out a simple pottery urn and placed it next to the bronze bell.
He proposed a new evaluation method called "Dual Soil Evaluation".
“For any disputed matter that cannot be resolved,” Lin Yi pointed to the earthenware urn, “take two handfuls of soil from the site of the incident. One handful should be taken from where the parties involved stood; the other from where the bystanders gathered. Mix the two handfuls of soil into this urn, stir with water, and let it sit overnight. If the soil and water separate into distinct layers the next day, it indicates a lack of understanding and a gap in perception, and the matter should be postponed. If the soil and water blend together seamlessly, it indicates that a consensus has been reached, and the matter can be decided accordingly.”
This almost witchcraft-like suggestion was strangely accepted by everyone.
Perhaps the shock of yesterday's "burnt grain" incident has made them begin to believe that some things cannot be explained in simple terms.
The first issue to be subject to "dual evaluation" was the matter of smoked grain.
The boy took a handful of soil from where he was standing, and the old craftsman also took a handful from beside the incense burner.
Two handfuls of soil were thrown into the jar and stirred up.
The next morning, everyone gathered around the urn and saw that the mud and water in the urn were separated into two layers. Although the water on the top layer was turbid, the mud on the bottom layer was clearly divided into two different colors with a clear boundary.
The discussion yielded no results.
No one was frustrated; instead, there was a strange sense of calm.
Since the "land" owner says it's not ready yet, arguing won't help.
On the third day, when they took soil to put into the urn again, the situation changed subtly.
After one night, although the soil at the bottom of the urn still showed two colors, the boundary had begun to blur and in some places they had blended slightly.
The crowd spontaneously started a new round of discussion, this time without accusations, only deliberation.
Ultimately, a compromise was proposed: the old craftsman's traditional method could be preserved, but the grains smoked using this method must be stored separately and marked with special labels, and those who need to travel for a long time or store the grains should be given priority to collect them.
As soon as the plan was proposed, everyone nodded in approval.
Just then, Ivan's intermittent whispers, which only Lin Yi could hear, came from the depths of the earth: "It... is fleeing... It is afraid... afraid of the birth of the 'common definition'."
Before he finished speaking, Lin Yi felt a very slight tremor beneath his feet. The source was right beneath that huge fragment of the bronze bell!
His pupils contracted, and he immediately ordered someone to move the bronze bell away.
The heavy bronze bell was pried open, revealing the incredibly compacted earth beneath it.
In the center of that land, half a dark iron monument was buried!
The iron stele, inscribed with cold and sharp words, is a fragment of an iron rule stele from the "scavenger" era.
The writing on it has become faded and mottled due to the erosion of time, but the most important sentence is still clearly legible: "Anyone who disobeys the order shall be considered an enemy."
A chilling aura emanated from those simple six words, sending a shiver down the spines of the young onlookers.
That was a black-and-white, iron-fisted rule of the past, brooking no argument and requiring no thought.
Someone instinctively shouted, "Smash it!"
"No," Lin Yi stopped him.
He did not destroy the broken stele, nor did he rebury it. Instead, he had it carefully dug out and placed next to the pottery urn used for evaluation.
Two completely different sets of rules stand side by side.
One is cold and absolute, the other is warm and inclusive.
Lin Yi stroked the cold engravings on the iron monument and said to everyone, "It once thought of all the answers for us. Now, let's try to give ourselves the answers."
That night, the moonlight was like water.
A young man who had once been a member of the "scavenger" team and was a staunch believer in the ironclad rules knelt silently before the pottery urn and the iron monument.
He pulled a well-worn "Badge of Order" from his pocket, a testament to his past glory and faith.
He looked at it for a long time, and finally, with a stone, he slowly ground the badge into a metallic powder. Then, he solemnly sprinkled the powder into the soil of the evaluation urn.
The following day's evaluation focused on "whether children should be allowed to participate in night patrols within designated areas."
This is a more complex problem involving many factors such as emotions and safety.
When the earthenware urn, containing the two soil samples and the powder from the badge, was examined the next day, everyone held their breath.
Inside the jar, the soil and water were completely integrated, without any separation, just like a bowl of thick rice soup.
Consensus reached.
The final decision was quickly written on the record board: "Children may participate in night patrols, but they must be led by an adult, in groups of three, equipped with lights, and the patrol time shall not exceed one hour."
That evening, Lin Yi wrote the first line of summary text on the brand-new sheepskin record board with charcoal: "Rules are born from the soil, not bestowed by heaven."
That night, Lin Yi had a strange dream.
He dreamt that the silent fragment of the bronze bell suddenly rang out on its own, its sound no longer dull but clear and melodious, resounding far and wide, as if it could reach the ends of the earth.
He awoke with a start, his heart pounding, a strong premonition driving him to rush toward the mill.
Pushing open the door, moonlight streamed down from the skylight at the top of the mill, illuminating the bronze bell precisely.
Faint patterns of light actually appeared on the surface of the clock!
It wasn't any supernatural force, but rather the grease and sweat left behind by countless different hands—powerful, old, and young—as they tapped, stroked, argued, and pondered over countless days and nights.
Under the moonlight, these marks connected with each other, forming a circular pattern on the surface of the clock, resembling an inscription.
Lin Yi stepped forward and stretched out his hand, trembling.
As my fingertips touched the light patterns, a warm feeling, a sense of collective will and identity, flowed through my skin.
He understood the meaning behind the inscription.
That was a single sentence, a contract etched by everyone's actions: "We say, we mean it."
At that very moment, Ivan's deep, drum-like voice resounded from the depths of the earth, striking Lin Yi's soul seven times in a row.
“Node 85... Activation confirmed... Begin walking.”
Lin Yi stroked the warm inscription and murmured to himself, as if answering Ivan, or as if telling himself: "Unit 85... one last question is still missing."
Since that night, group decision-making has become smoother than ever before.
Whether it's the allocation of resources, the rotation of sentries, or even more complicated private disputes, as long as the bronze bell and the pottery urn are used for evaluation, a consensus can always be reached quickly.
Things that used to require days of arguing to settle can now often be settled in half a day.
In the mill, the heated debates gradually subsided, replaced by an efficient and harmonious hum.
However, Chu Yao keenly noticed that the young man who had been the first to stand up and question the old craftsman, in the most recent evaluation on water purification, although he was frowning, hesitated for a moment after everyone else raised their hands, and then silently raised his own hand as well.
The entire decision-making process was as perfect as a smooth piece of music, without a single discordant note.
And those once most precious, jarring dissenting voices have, unknowingly, quietly vanished into this perfect harmony.
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