Chapter 250: Negotiations Continue Daily

Dong Xiang did not answer immediately. He walked to the window and looked at the night view of Kundian outside. The city was brightly lit, and in the distance the port's cranes were still operating, while searchlight beams sliced through the night sky.

"Sir Sinei Zhengyi," he suddenly asked, "what do you think of the country Lanfang?"

Sinei Zhengyi was startled: "What do you mean, how?"

"This city, these people, this... vibrant feeling," Dong Xiang said, "as we traveled here we saw more than warships and guns. We saw schools, hospitals, factories, we saw Chinese children laughing as they went to school, we saw workers bustling in newly built residential districts, we saw cargo piled like mountains on the docks."

He turned around: "Chen Feng said it right— they fight not for conquest but to create a world where Chinese can hold their heads high. That world is now being built, right before our eyes."

"The marshal means that..."

"I mean," Dong Xiang walked back to his seat and sat down slowly, "perhaps we were truly wrong. Not the tactics, not the technology, but the direction. For forty years the Cherry Blossom Nation has poured all its effort into 'becoming as strong as the West.' Lanfang, on the other hand, has focused its effort on 'becoming as strong as itself.'"

He looked at Sinei Zhengyi: "The result is now in front of us. The former was defeated, the latter won. And they won not only the war, but the future."

Sinei Zhengyi remained silent for a long time. Outside the window a faint ship horn drifted in, a night‑running cargo vessel entering and leaving the port.

"So," the Prime Minister said softly at last, "we can only accept?"

"It's not acceptance, it's learning," Dong Xiang corrected, "accept failure, learn the lesson, and then... start anew. Sir Sinei Zhengyi, do you still remember the early Meiji Restoration? Back then we were also a weak nation, forced to sign unequal treaties, and the whole country was holding its breath."

He paused, a hint of bleakness in his voice: "The difference is that back then we had time, we had space. Now... we don't. Lanfang won't give us thirty or fifty years to catch up slowly. They are right next to us, and growing stronger."

The room fell silent. From afar the sounds of a market drifted in, as if from another world.

"Tomorrow," Sinei Zhengyi finally said, "I will present a concrete installment plan for reparations, aiming to extend the term to fifteen years. As for navy limitations... see if we can negotiate the total tonnage up to 150,000 tons, with each ship at ten thousand tons."

"Will they agree?"

"I don't know," Sinei Zhengyi said with a wry smile, "but we have to try. Chen Feng said before that marginal clauses are negotiable."

Dong Xiang nodded, then suddenly recalled something: "Over at Shanben..."

"I'll go talk to him," Sinei Zhengyi stood up, "he's the navy's last hope; he can't collapse here."

"Please."

After Sinei Zhengyi left, Dong Xiang picked up his pen again and continued drawing the vague ship. This time he drew it more carefully, outlining a streamlined hull, towering superstructures, massive gun barrels...

When he finished, he wrote a small line beside it: "The ship of the future is not about size or strength, but about novelty."

He set the pen down, gazing at the ship on the paper. As he stared, he suddenly laughed.

The smile was complex, tinged with bitterness, relief, and a hint... of anticipation.

Meanwhile, in the navy base's mess hall, Chen Feng was holding an internal meeting.

"How did today's outcome look?" he asked.

Wang Wenwu spoke first: "Better than expected. Dong Xiang Heihachiro's 'Yellow People Hand in Hand' argument could indeed sway some opinions, but you, President, handled it well—neither a total denial nor a moral hostage."

The Defense Ministry representative continued: "Shanben Kuenbei's reaction was intense, which is a good sign. It shows they've reached their limit; press a bit more and they'll collapse."

"But we must also watch out," Zhou Tieshan warned, "a cornered dog will jump the wall. If pressed too hard, they might truly abandon negotiations and choose 'jade break.' Though militarily we aren't afraid, politically we'd be passive—international opinion would side with the weak."

Chen Feng nodded: "So tomorrow, we can loosen a bit."

"Loosen?" several aides were stunned.

"The reparations installments can be extended from ten to twelve years," Chen Feng said, "as for navy limitations... the tonnage per ship can be relaxed to nine thousand tons, but the total tonnage must stay unchanged. Additionally, we can propose a 'transition period'—within five years, allow the Cherry Blossom Nation to retain three old battleships for training, which must be retired after five years."

Wang Wenwu quickly noted: "Is this a stepping stone for them?"

"Right." Chen Feng walked to the whiteboard, wrote down several keywords, "The art of negotiation isn't sheer hardness; it's about advance and retreat. Today we showed 'advance,' tomorrow we must show 'retreat.' But this 'retreat' must be exchanged for their 'advance' on core issues."

He heavily underlined "Territorial Transfer" and "Reparations Principle": "These two must be nailed down. The rest can serve as bargaining chips."

"What about Dong Xiang Heihachiro?" someone asked, "His speech today, though you brushed it aside, did move some people. If tomorrow he keeps playing the emotional card..."

"Then let him play it," Chen Feng smiled, "Dong Xiang is a clear‑sighted man; he knows that rhetoric can't change the outcome, but he still has to say—why? Because he wants to speak to future generations, to history. He's seeking a more noble reason for his failure, a more dignified explanation for the Cherry Blossom Nation's surrender."

He paused, his tone deepening: "Let him speak. The final voice of an old hero deserves our respect. Moreover... he's right; Yellow people should indeed join hands. Only, it's under our rules."

The meeting lasted another hour, finalizing tomorrow's concrete strategy. After adjournment, Chen Feng walked alone onto the balcony.

Kundian's night was lively. Tourist boats glided on the river, their lanterns reflected in the water, breaking into flickering patches of light. From the old town across the river came faint opera sounds, Chinese performing the glove‑puppet show "Zheng He Sets Sail."

He recalled ten years ago, the first secret trip to Borneo, when the place was still under Dutch control. Chinese dared not publicly speak We need to output lines: English, dared not celebrate the Spring Festival, and even ancestor worship had to be done covertly.

Now? Chinese schools bloom everywhere, We need to output lines: English newspapers are published daily, Chinese chambers of commerce control two‑thirds of the economy. More importantly, the Chinese here can proudly say: I am a Lanfang person.

This is the meaning of war. This is the meaning of negotiation.

In the distance, the hotel where the Cherry Blossom Nation delegation stayed was brightly lit. Chen Feng knew that tonight, those across the water would likely not sleep.

He suddenly recalled Dong Xiang Heihachiro's gaze—those old eyes, besides fatigue and helplessness, held a hint of something else. Curiosity? Appreciation? Or some deeper, border‑transcending understanding?

"Interesting fellow," Chen Feng murmured to himself.

The night wind blew, carrying the scent of tropical blossoms. Tomorrow, the negotiations continue.