Chapter 451: The Future of the Chinese in the North

Zhuang Mingli's men gathered Chen Jiageng and the children inside the house in the middle, their eyes watchfully fixed on the opposite Shanben Shiba, after all Shanben Shiba, in both appearance and tone, is Japanese.

Shanben Shiba saw Chen Jiageng remain silent and still kept his patience, "Mr. Chen, whether anyone has taken action or not, whether you go to Myanmar or not, our Commander will do it."

"At the same time our Commander had me tell you something, and that is that the South Sea Chinese are suffering far too much!"

Shanben Shiba's words struck directly at Chen Jiageng's soul.

The rains of Nanyang always fall dense and heavy, much like the unshakable melancholy in the hearts of Chinese who have crossed the seas.

For Chen Jiageng, this land covered with tropical vegetation is both a field of hope and an abyss of blood and tears.

He understands the suffering of South Sea Chinese too well; if not forced to the brink in his homeland, who would willingly abandon wife and children, risk life amid raging waves, and travel thousands of miles to this alien land?

Back then Nanyang seemed to be strewn with gold, but in reality every step was terrifying.

The newly arrived Chinese not only had to face the stifling heat and rampant miasma and malaria, but also struggled to survive within a completely unfamiliar social structure.

Language barriers and divergent customs can at least be smoothed over with time and effort, but the most chilling and desperate aspect is having to contend with the so‑called "locals."

Here, "locals" not only refer to the original owners of the land, but also include those British and Dutch who don the veneer of civilization while wielding sturdy ships and sharp cannons.

In Chen Jiageng's clear and sharp eyes, these colonizers have stripped away the gentleman's façade, revealing only robber's fangs. They tout order and law, yet are the cruelest enforcers of jungle rule.

When Chinese laboriously carve rubber plantations from the wilderness, build bustling shops, and accumulate modest fortunes, greedy eyes inevitably follow.

The British and Dutch never act directly; their favorite trick is "gudong," that is, incitement and provocation.

The colonizers never strike themselves.

Once they set their sights on a Chinese overseas merchant's assets, the colonial authorities covertly tolerate or even direct local thugs, or exploit ethnic tensions to inflame the indigenous populace.

In an instant, riots erupt; neighbors once meek seem to turn into blood‑thirsty beasts, storming Chinese estates, smashing shop signs, looting, killing and setting fires.

Amid the flames leaping to the sky are the Chinese's mournful cries and desperate pleas; countless families are shattered in a single night, generations of hard‑won blood turned to ash.

Yet the most nauseating part lies ahead.

When chaos peaks, Chinese property is plundered clean, lives hang by a thread, those behind the scenes—British and Dutch officials—then put on a pretentious show.

They ride high‑headed big horses, leading a uniformly disciplined army, appearing as mediators under the banners of "maintaining order" and "protecting overseas Chinese."

They harshly suppress "rioters," "investigate" cases with feigned fairness, and even shed crocodile tears in public, condemning barbaric violence.

This is a meticulously staged double act.

The robbers first masquerade as demons, then as deities.

They profit from the chaos, acquiring Chinese assets at low prices, or legally expropriate them under the guise of "protection fees" or "special taxes." And the truly victimized Chinese, after losing their property, must still thank these instigators for their "timely rescue."

This spiritual torment is more intense than physical pain.

Chen Jiageng has witnessed far too many such tragedies.

He saw diligent compatriots bent over in plantations yet gaining no security; he saw shrewd merchants battling the commercial seas for half their lives, yet unable to withstand a colonial decree or a single incitement.

On this land, Chinese are like duckweed; no matter how deep their roots, as soon as colonial greed awakens, they can be uprooted at any moment.

This is not merely a struggle for survival, but a trampling of dignity.

The wind and rain of Nanyang beat the Chinese's garments, while soaking the entire nation's history of humiliation.

Chen Jiageng knows deeply that without unity, self‑strength, awakening the people, and seeking the motherland's powerful backing, the suffering in Nanyang will never end.

Every drop of rain that falls on the red earth mixes with Chinese blood and tears, warning future generations: a weak nation has no diplomacy, the weak have no home.

Only by straightening one's spine can one wrest a sliver of hope in this Nanyang surrounded by tigers and wolves.

This is why the Japanese unit does not simply massacre South Sea Chinese, but instead seeks to capture alive the South Sea Chinese leader Chen Jiageng, because the Japanese, British, and Dutch are all the same.

They treat Chinese as piglets, intending to "fatten them up" before killing!

Chen Jiageng's myriad confusions—how Jiang Anguo, an officer of the Expeditionary Force, got tangled with the Japanese, even though the three opposite speak fluent Huaxia language, their Japanese accents can still be heard.

"You are Japanese; how am I supposed to trust you?" Chen Jiageng walked through the crowd and stood at the front.

Zhuang Mingli tried to pull Mr. Chen back, but it was too late; he stepped forward immediately, blocking Chen Jiageng.

Chen Jiageng still could not believe the Japanese before him were acting for an Expeditionary Force officer; it was absurd and illogical.

Shanben Shiba also knows that the identities of the three of them are indeed hard to believe, "Mr. Chen, can everyone present truly believe?"

Chen Jiageng nodded.

But Shanben Shiba shook his head, "I don't trust you. We are spies; the Commander sent us to carry out a higher‑level mission, to rendezvous with you to Myanmar, which is merely a side episode."

"Our target is not Java Island, nor you. In Tokyo!" Shanben Shiba whispered.

Chen Jiageng's pupils contracted, full of shock.

"Could we have some time to consider? Also, I want to know, if I agree to go north with you to Myanmar, how will you get me there, knowing that the whole of Southeast Asia is after us?" Chen Jiageng said, looking at Shanben Shiba.

"Mr. Chen, you need not consider that. With our current identities, obtaining a ticket to Myanmar is not difficult at all!" Shanben Shiba said confidently.

Shanben Shiba also knew that getting Chen Jiageng to walk directly with the three Japanese was indeed difficult, so he said, "Given that, Mr. Chen, we will give you one night to consider, but no one present may leave this house, and once you agree, they will all head north to Myanmar."

With many people and chatter, Shanben Shiba was unsure whether these people would remember their faces, so either take them all away or leave them all, and not go elsewhere.

Alright, Shanben Shiba, with the two, left the house, watching the people inside from the front and back courtyards.