Chapter 249: Whoever

These words cornered Dong Xiang. The elder gave Chen Feng a deep look and said, "Does the president mean that Lanfang wants to lead this country?"

"It's not that she wants to, she already is," Chen Feng said calmly. "It's not a self‑appointed title; it was decided on the battlefield. After the battle of the East Sea, the maritime hegemony of the Far East has changed hands. The current issue isn't who leads whom, but whether the led are willing to accept reality."

He stood up and walked to Dong Xiang—this was his first time leaving his seat today. The two faced each other across the table, one sixty‑seven, the other thirty‑one; one a legend of the old era, the other the rise of the new era.

"Marshal Dong Xiang," Chen Feng's voice lowered but grew clearer, "I respect you. Not because of your rank, not because of your battle record, but because you can sit here today and say these words. That requires courage, wisdom, and a perspective that transcends national positions."

"However," he turned the conversation, "ideals are ideals, reality is reality. I agree with your 'Yellow peoples joining hands.' But before joining hands, rules must be set. And now, the rules must be defined by the victors—this is not my choice, it is the law of history."

He returned to his seat and sat down again: "So let's return to the specific terms. Reparations, territory, naval restrictions—these three are core and cannot be altered. The others, such as the payment schedule for reparations, customs tariffs, and the detailed provisions of most‑favored‑nation treatment, can be negotiated."

Dong Xiang Pingbalang slowly sat back in his chair. He said nothing further, merely closing his eyes slightly as if digesting something, or perhaps mourning something.

Sinei Zhengyi knew that Dong Xiang's attempt had failed. The approach of appealing to racial sentiment and shared ideals could not work. Chen Feng was too clear‑sighted, too realistic; he saw the nature of this negotiation plainly—it was not diplomatic consultation between two equal nations, but the victor's reprimand of the defeated.

"Can we give the Sakura Nation some leeway? Concede a bit?" Sinei asked with difficulty,

"No," Chen Feng cut in directly. "This is war!!!"

Shanben Quanbingwei suddenly stood up; his movement was so abrupt that the chair scraped the floor backward, emitting a harsh screech.

"Then if…" his voice trembled with emotion, "what if we refuse? What if we would rather shatter like jade than accept such humiliation?"

The air in the hall froze instantly. Several officers on Lanfang's side instinctively moved their hands toward their waists—though regulations forbid weapons in the negotiation hall.

Chen Feng stared at Shanben for a long while. Then he smiled, a smile without warmth.

"Minister Shanben, do you know where Zhang Zhen's fleet is currently positioned?"

Shanben was taken aback.

Chen Feng nodded at Wang Wenwu. The latter opened a folder, took out a sea chart, and placed it in the center of the table.

"Four Bismarck‑class battleships: two currently west of Kyushu, one east of Honshu, one in the Tsushima Strait. Twelve submarines are on standby in the main sea lanes of the Sakura Nation. An Omaha‑class cruiser formation is conducting exercises in the waters off Nagasaki."

Chen Feng's finger moved across the chart, and with each point he named a location: "If negotiations break down, I only need to send a telegram. Within twenty‑four hours, Wu Port will endure another round of bombardment. Within forty‑eight hours, the dock facilities of Osaka and Kobe will be destroyed. Within seventy‑two hours, all Sakura merchant ships still at sea will become targets."

He lifted his head, looking at Shanben: "You speak of shattering like jade? Fine. But after the jade shatters, will the elderly and children of the Sakura Nation also shatter? Will the civilians already gaunt with hunger be sacrificed for your 'integrity'?"

Shanben's face turned from flushed red to a ghastly pallor. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

"Sit down, Shanben," Dong Xiang Pingbalang finally opened his eyes, his voice light yet unquestionable.

Shanben stood stiffly for a few seconds, then finally slumped into a seat. He lowered his head, his hands braced on the table, his shoulders trembling slightly.

Sinei Zhengyi closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, only fatigue remained in his gaze: "We… need time to discuss. These conditions exceed our authority."

"Fine." Chen Feng glanced at the clock on the wall. "We'll adjourn today. Resume at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. But I want to remind everyone—"

He paused, then said word for word: "For each day of delay, the Sakura Nation's economy collapses a bit more, the civilians go hungry another day. And our patience is limited."

The negotiations adjourned at three p. m. The Sakura Nation delegation was escorted back to the hotel in silence. Outside the car windows, Kundian's streets bustled with Chinese, Malay and Indian pedestrians; street vendors' cries, bicycle bells, and distant construction pile‑driving sounds blended into a vibrant clamor.

But that clamor mattered to none of them.

Back in his hotel room, Sinei Zhengyi's first action was to send a telegram. The message was brief: "Conditions are extremely harsh; core clauses cannot be relaxed. Requesting instructions for the next step."

Shanben Quanbingwei, in his own room, slowly removed the medals from his chest before a mirror. One, two, three… He arranged them neatly on the table, stared at them for a long time. Finally, he opened a drawer and swept those once‑glorious metal pieces into it.

Dong Xiang Pingbalang's room was the quietest. The elder sat at a desk, spread paper, ground ink, lifted his brush. Yet he did not write a report; he sketched ships—various quick drawings of sailing ships, steamships, ironclads, Dauntless vessels… At the end, a vague ship he had never seen appeared on the paper, resembling a battleship yet something else.

A knock sounded.

"Come in."

It was Sinei Zhengyi who entered. The prime minister's complexion was worse than during the day, dark eye bags, his gait a little unsteady.

"Marshal Dong Xiang," Sinei's voice was hoarse, "Tokyo has replied."

"What did they say?"

Sinei handed over the telegram paper. It contained only one line: "All must prioritize a cease‑fire. Handle as appropriate; necessary concessions may be made."

Dong Xiang read it, then placed the paper gently on the table: "It means… we decide for ourselves, but in any case the peace treaty must be signed."

"Yes." Sinei slumped in his chair. "The cabinet can't hold on any longer. Yesterday Tokyo erupted in a food‑raiding riot; the police shot dead five people. The Ministry of Finance's report says if maritime transport doesn't resume, next month we won't even be able to pay civil servants' salaries."

He covered his face with both hands, his voice leaking through his fingers: "Marshal, we… we truly have no choice, do we?"