Volume One, Chapter Thirty-Two: The Journey of Learning (II)

The logic instructor reiterated some knowledge from his middle school language classes, yet his examples were so novel that they struck Chang Ke as entirely unheard of. The course explored the relationship between sufficient and necessary conditions, presenting multiple case studies for observation and analysis, especially emphasizing quantitative methods before drawing conclusions regarding these two conditions.

Chang Ke realized that the scope of basic logic far exceeded anything he had previously studied. Should he pursue another profession in the future, perhaps returning to his former trade in business, his analytical perspective and abilities would surely set him apart.

The tactics course compelled Chang Ke, a refined scholar, to revise his usual opinions.

The instructor for tracking and counter-tracking was an unremarkable, slender young man. He displayed a makeup kit to the class, containing not only various foundations for altering skin tone, but also fake beards, wigs, hair dyes, and colored contact lenses.

While the students curiously examined these items, none noticed that the instructor had already left the classroom.

Five minutes later, a middle-aged man with a troubled expression and a limp ascended the platform. The students eyed him suspiciously, gradually recognizing him as their instructor.

“A tracker is unlikely to have met you in person; facial recognition relies mainly on photographs. Your operating guidelines include a rule: apart from the organization’s requirements for archiving, you must never keep personal photos. Additionally, trackers who have interacted with you identify their target not only by appearance but also by posture and movement. Padding your back with a cut piece of stiff cardboard under your coat can alter your physique. Placing a few pebbles inside your shoes will change your gait.”

“As someone being followed, you must frequently alter your walking routes. Treat every reflective surface as a mirror—storefront glass, puddles on the street, motorcycle rearview mirrors, wristwatches, even tin trash cans and stainless-steel door frames—all serve as tools to spot a tracker.”

There was a course on pharmaceuticals, unexpectedly simple. The instructor held up a transparent plastic box containing three capsules.

“The blue one: if you want to stay awake, as if supercharged, for seventy-two hours, take this pill. It will make you feel as energized as if you’d eaten and slept well.” The instructor’s tone was tinged with sadness, suggesting the drug’s effect was unpleasant. “Experiments show that after forty-eight hours of forced sleeplessness, a normal person begins to collapse. Sleeplessness is the most agonizing torture.”

“I’ll need two of those blue ones,” Chang Ke thought.

“The pale green capsule is a fake-death pill. It’s remarkable—within two minutes of ingestion, you’ll experience near-death pain, then your breathing and pulse will pause. ‘Death’ lasts five minutes. Of course, you won’t actually die.” Sensing the students’ apprehension, the instructor reassured, “Think of it like a green traffic light. I’ll arrange for a specialist physician; everyone must try this once.”

The students took turns testing the pill. After biting down, they convulsed violently, frothing at the mouth and spewing food debris. After fifty seconds, the convulsions eased, and ten seconds later, the pulse ceased entirely, plunging the person into deep coma.

Observing students checked—“the corpse’s” pulse and breath had truly stopped.

“After countless… ‘clinical trials,’ this drug is absolutely effective. I’ll repeat: you will wake up, unless, during those five minutes, the enemy kills you by other means.”

The instructor pinched the final capsule between thumb and forefinger—cyanide, for suicide. “No need to test this one,” he said, scanning the students. “But if you ever need it, you’ll be grateful for its existence.

“Remember: never get caught!”

Lock-picking was another technical course. The instructor showed dozens of ordinary locks, the unique feature being their transparent casings; the lock cylinders were fixed in clear plastic molds to let students instantly observe their structure and the unlocking process.

They quickly mastered opening various locks using just two paperclips. Next, they learned to crack combination locks by touch.

Following this was precision demolition. The instructor stressed: the focus of ‘precision demolition’ is not demolition, but ‘precision.’ When using limited explosives to accomplish a task, the critical analysis is of the ‘precision’—the building’s structural foundation—to calculate the destructive force required.

Therefore, they studied concise and efficient courses in structural engineering: foundation depth, concrete quality, and rebar diameter all affected the demolition outcome.

Years later, the floor struck by planes during the American 9/11 attacks was calculated in advance, ensuring the collapse of the entire tower.

In the next session, the instructor would instill the “short plank theory”—standardized products may not be perfect, but their weakest component is unaffected by human emotion.

Using the darkroom lessons they had just learned, the instructor posed a question: “If you use D-76 to develop black-and-white film, which is better—manual or machine processing?”

Many students insisted manual processing was superior; after all, that’s why so many professional photographers prefer their own darkrooms.

“Your reasoning is vague. Professional photographers’ photos serve different purposes from ours—they pursue artistic effect, meaning personalization and a high degree of human intervention. Our photos are for intelligence and evidence; machine processing is already efficient enough.”

“What does this have to do with the short plank theory?”

“You already understand the concept, so I won’t explain further. In the developing process, manual processing can often compensate for exposure flaws or even add artistic adjustments—something machines cannot do. However, if the technician is distracted, say, after fighting with their spouse,” the instructor glanced at the suddenly enlightened students, “there will be human errors that cannot be remedied. Often, someone forgets the timing—maybe miscalculates the chemical mix, or leaves the negative overdeveloped, turning it pure white. Such mistakes could ruin film that cost you your life to obtain. The technician’s state is the process’s short plank. The machine, on the other hand, won’t fail.”

“The short plank theory says a bucket’s capacity is determined by its planks; if one plank is short, the bucket’s capacity is limited by it—the short plank becomes the ‘limiting factor.’”

“To increase the bucket’s capacity, you must replace or lengthen the short plank.”

“In everything you do, first analyze your weaknesses, and understand your opponent’s strengths. The film development example shows that even if we identify the weakest point, unforeseen circumstances can introduce even more uncertain factors—a plank shorter than we anticipated.”

“Most people tend to think optimistically. Your work results may be hard to measure, but risks are both predictable and essential to estimate, because those risks are fatal.” The instructor concluded, “In intelligence analysis, you don’t need to plan for good outcomes, but you must always have contingency plans for the worst-case scenario.”

Chang Ke enjoyed this imaginative teaching style. One moment he was learning balanced analysis in logic, the next he was plunged into Freud’s “Interpretation of Dreams” for psychological analysis. The logic course discussed divergent thinking; the cultural course became a rational narrative. The case studies, especially, allowed him to put himself in the situation and think with empathy.