Chapter 247: Is the Interest Too Low?

"How much longer until they arrive?" he asked.

Wang Wenwu stood nearby, glanced at his pocket watch: "According to the schedule, they should have left the hotel already. Fifteen minutes by car, plus security checks, so we expect to enter the venue at seven o'clock sharp."

"How are the emotions?"

"Based on the hotel staff's report," Zhou Tieshan opened his notebook, "Si Nei Zhengyi woke at four a. m. in the temple, paced the room until dawn. Shan Ben Quanbingwei spent a full half‑hour arranging his uniform—though he now wears a civilian uniform, he insists on the Navy Minister's badge. Dong Xiang Pingbalang… was the calmest, rose at five, and practiced tai chi on the balcony for half an hour."

Chen Feng nodded and turned his gaze to the opposite riverbank. There lay the old city district of Kun Dian, its Dutch‑colonial buildings lined up in rows, red tiles and white walls, starkly contrasting with the brand‑new Lanfang architecture on this side of the river.

"Ten years ago," he said suddenly, "when I first came to Kun Dian, it was still a dilapidated little town. The Dutch Governor's Office was crumbling, the docks were piled with trash, and Chinese laborers either toiled in tin mines or were exploited in rubber plantations."

He took a sip of coffee, his tone steady: "Now look, the new city district is planned more neatly than Singapore, the port's throughput is twenty times what it was back then, and Chinese children learn Lanfang Mandarin and history at school. That's why we fight—not to conquer anyone, but to give overseas Chinese a world where they can stand upright and live."

Wang Wenwu replied softly: "So today's negotiations are not just ending a war, but also establishing the order of this new world."

"Right." Chen Feng turned and walked toward the conference room doors. "Let's go meet our… guests."

The conference center's main hall stood twelve meters high, its dome painted with a Borneo tropical rainforest mural—vines entwined, exotic flowers and herbs, and a hornbill spreading its wings over the canopy. Yet the atmosphere inside now was the opposite of the mural.

An eight‑meter‑long mahogany table spanned the center of the hall, its surface covered with deep‑blue velvet. On the north side of the table were fifteen high‑back chairs, each back carved with the Lanfang national emblem—a Zheng He treasure ship surrounded by stars. The south side also held fifteen chairs, but their design was plain, without carvings.

More striking were the flags. Behind the north side, a three‑meter‑high Lanfang flag hung from the ceiling, glittering in the light. Behind the south side hung a Sakura flag, only half the size of the Lanfang flag and positioned lower—an effect Wang Wenwu had carefully calculated.

Chen Feng sat in the middle, Wang Wenwu to his left, and the Defense Ministry representative on his right. The other aides took their seats in order. No one spoke, only the faint rustle of turning pages and occasional coughs.

At exactly seven o'clock, the heavy oak doors of the hall were pushed open.

Si Nei Zhengyi was the first to enter. He wore a black suit, a dark‑gray tie, and carried a black briefcase. The sixty‑three‑year‑old prime minister's steps were a little unsteady, but his back was perfectly straight. He paused at the doorway, scanned the hall's arrangement, lingered a few seconds on the two flags, and his complexion turned noticeably paler.

Shan Ben Quanbingwei followed closely. He chose the deep‑blue uniform of the Navy Minister, with all his medals pinned to his chest—the Russo‑Japanese War service medal, the First‑Class Order of the Rising Sun, and the Gold Rooster Medal. Wearing medals in such a setting was a silent proclamation: we have had glory.

Finally came Dong Xiang Pingbalang.

The elder wore no uniform, only a plain dark‑blue kimono, a black feathered overcoat, and a wooden staff hung from his hand. As he entered, several young aides on the Lanfang side involuntarily sat up straight—Dong Xiang Pingbalang's name carries legendary weight in the navy.

The three men walked to the south side of the long table. Si Nei sat in the middle, Shan Ben on the left, Dong Xiang on the right. The aides also took their seats in turn.

The hall fell silent. Seven chimes rang from the clock tower across the river, the reverberation echoing beneath the dome.

After the last chime faded, Chen Feng spoke slowly: "Prime Minister Si Nei, Minister Shan Ben, Marshal Dong Xiang, welcome to Borneo."

His voice was calm, spoken in Lanfang Mandarin, and the translator beside him began to render the original in real time.

Si Nei Zhengyi nodded slightly: "Thank President Chen for the reception. It is an honor for us to hold talks in such… magnificent surroundings."

A faint bitterness lingered in his words.

"Then, let us begin." Chen Feng made no small talk, opened the folder before him, and said, "To save time, the Lanfang side has prepared a draft peace treaty. Before formal discussion, I would like everyone to review it."

Wang Wenwu signaled the staff. Three thick documents were placed before the Sakura Republic delegation, each printed in Chinese, Japanese and English, with a gold‑embossed title on the cover: 'Draft Peace Treaty between the Republic of Lanfang and the Japanese Empire.'

Si Nei Zhengyi took the document, his hand trembling slightly. He opened to the first page, read only a few lines, and his complexion changed.

Shan Ben Quanbingwei's reaction was more immediate. When he reached the third page, he snapped his head up: "This… this is impossible!"

Dong Xiang Pingbalang turned the pages slowly, one by one, his face showing no expression, only the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed deeper.

Chen Feng and the others read through— or rather, read until they could no longer continue— before speaking: "Is there a problem, Minister Shan Ben?"