Chapter 239: Emergency Proposal for Immediate Initiation of Unconditional Cease‑fire Negotiations

The cargo ship began to tilt rapidly, its stern lifting high, the propeller turning futilely in the air. In less than ten minutes it vanished from the sea surface, leaving only a massive vortex and spreading oil slick at its former position.

"Huaihe is lowering its lifeboats," Chen Qiming reported, "so far we have found survivors... twelve people."

"Record the results," Zhang Zhen said evenly, "one 7,000‑ton cargo ship sunk. Total tonnage accumulated 805,000 tons. Notify Dubai."

"Understood."

Zhang Zhen gave the now‑calming sea one last glance, then turned toward the chart room. More targets remained to be dealt with, more routes to block. This "dull blade cutting flesh" act must continue.

Each time the blade falls, Japan draws another step closer to collapse.

Tokyo Naval Ministry Underground Operations Room

Shanben Quanbingei stared at the loss statistics chart on the wall, his red pencil broken three times. On the graph, the bars representing merchant‑ship tonnage looked like felled trees, each month shorter than the last. The newest data bar reached only half of the 1.6‑million‑ton baseline, with a glaring figure beside it: 798,000.

"The actual loss may be greater," Army Orders Chief Dao tian Fan Ta Lang whispered, "some small vessels sank without any report, and others barely made it back, but the time and money needed for repairs... amount to a total loss."

The room was thick with tobacco and despair. Six senior officers sat around a long table, each spread before them different documents—logistics dispatches, port‑repair plans, crew compensation lists... yet none offered a solution.

"How many sank today?" Shanben asked, his voice hoarse.

"Five have been confirmed, totaling 28,000 tons," Operations Chief Lingmu Guan Tai Lang flipped through the freshly received telegram, "'North Sea Maru' was sunk by a submarine in the Tsushima Strait, 'Second Spring Day Maru' was hit by a battleship west of Kyushu, 'Sanyo Maru', 'Omi Maru', and 'Iyo Maru' disappeared on coastal routes, likely also submarine attacks."

"Missing..." Shanben repeated the word with a wry smile, "what a 'missing'. The families of those crew members can't even wait for the bodies."

Dao tian hesitated, then spoke, "Minister, over in Switzerland... still no response?"

"Yes," Shanben pulled a telegram from his briefcase, "received this morning, Lanfang's third 'procedural delay' reply. They say they need time for 'internal coordination' and 'legal review'."

"Bullshit!" a young staff officer couldn't help exclaiming, "they just want to drag us to death!"

"Exactly, they just want to drag us to death," Shanben calmly admitted, "but what can we do? Our battleships can't leave port, and if they do it's a death sentence. Submarines? The few old subs left can't even evade the sonar of Lanfang's destroyers."

Lingmu Guan Tai Lang clenched his fist, "Didn't the army say they'd mobilize three million volunteers? Send them! Let them swim out to sea and fight Lanfang's battleships!"

"Lingmu," Shanben gave him a weary glance, "such hot‑blooded talk won't solve anything."

He rose and walked to the map of Japan on the wall. Red circles marked every port that had been bombarded, dense and speckled like a pox‑covered skin.

"Repair progress at Wu Port?"

"Dock No. 3 is a total loss; Docks 1 and 2 need at least six months to regain basic function," Dao tian reported, "Yokosuka is slightly better, but the main dry docks are destroyed, now only able to service destroyer‑size vessels. Sasebo... essentially paralyzed."

"What about food reserves?"

The question silenced everyone. Finally, the liaison officer Se Ze from the Ministry of Finance answered in a low voice, "The rice reserves of the major cities, under the current rationing, can sustain... forty‑five days. But if sea transport remains cut off and foreign grain clouds don't arrive, that figure will drop to thirty days."

"Thirty days," Shanben closed his eyes, "so in a month, Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya and other major cities will start to starve."

"In fact..." Se Ze's voice dropped further, "the slums already have sporadic food‑raiding incidents. Yesterday a rice shop in Fukagawa was smashed; police opened fire and killed two people. The news was suppressed, but... it won't stay suppressed long."

The room was deathly silent, only the low hum of the ventilation fan.

Shanben opened his eyes again, only resolve left in them: "Dao tian, prepare a document for me."

"Understood."

"I intend to advise Your Majesty..." he paused, each word painfully uttered, "to accept any conditions Lanfang might propose and to cease hostilities immediately."

"Minister!" several people rose at once.

"Let me finish," Shanben raised his hand to stop them, "I know what this means—huge reparations, naval restrictions, perhaps even territorial cession. But if we keep fighting, what's the outcome? Millions starving, the state collapsing completely, the empire... perishing."

He walked to the window; the basement window was tiny, showing only a sliver of sky. Today Tokyo was overcast, clouds hanging low as if to crush the city.

"The navy has already lost," Shanben's voice was soft, yet each word struck the listeners' hearts, "we've lost not just four Kongou‑class ships, not just 800,000 tons of merchant vessels. What we lost is Japan's standing as a modern nation. Lanfang's naval battle showed us: the times have changed, and we haven't kept up."

He turned, looking at the subordinates who had followed him for years, "Gentlemen, perhaps our generation is doomed to be history's sinners. But at least... we must keep Japan alive. As long as the state endures, as long as the people endure, there is a future. If the state disappears, honor and dignity become empty words."

Dao tian Fan Ta Lang's eyes reddened. The veteran in his forties who had lived through the Russo‑Japanese War now choked like a child, "Minister... we... we owe an apology to those fallen brothers..."

"It's not only the fallen brothers we apologize to," Shanben looked out the window, "we've let down every citizen who trusted the navy, the parents who sent their sons to be sailors, and... this nation."

He returned to the desk, picked up a pen, and wrote the title on the blank document: "Emergency Proposal for Immediate Initiation of Unconditional Cease‑fire Negotiations."

Nagasaki Port Dock Area

At dusk, rain began to fall. Not a downpour, but a fine, icy autumn rain that pattered on the tiles with a rustle, then ran down the eaves, forming murky little streams on the stone‑paved road.

Matsumoto Koji crouched behind a stack of cargo at the dock, a tattered burlap sack draped over him, his eyes fixed on Warehouse No. 3 a short distance away. Two police officers guarded the entrance, but both huddled under the eaves to avoid the rain, peeking out now and then before retreating.

He hadn't had a proper meal in three days. The ship sank, his job vanished, savings evaporated as prices surged. His wife took their two children back to her hometown; he stayed in Nagasaki hoping for work, but the port was crippled, factories idle, even laborers—hundreds vying for a single job.

"Damn..." he muttered, not sure whether he was cursing Lanfang, the government, or this cursed fate.

His stomach growled again. He recalled the dried sweet potatoes from Taiwan stored in the warehouse, originally a strategic reserve, but now... damn strategic reserves, people are starving to death.

The rain intensified, the sky turned completely black. The two officers swapped shifts; the newcomer grumbled about the weather before retreating into the guard post. Opportunity arrived.