Chapter 252: Lanfang Guarantees the Sakura Nation

"The fundamental of national security is not how strong the military is, but how many friends one has," Chen Feng stood up and walked to the world map on the wall. "Look, Lanfang has been a nation for ten years; we are allies with Deguo, we trade with Yingguo, we do business with the United States, and we have diplomatic relations with the South Ocean nations. Why? Because we know the world is vast enough to accommodate the development of all countries."

He turned and faced the Sakura Nation delegation: "And the Sakura Nation? In the past forty years you have defeated the Qing Empire, defeated Russia, and then? (content omitted), now you want to challenge Lanfang. You have turned every neighbor into an enemy."

"Even if the military is strong, can it confront all neighbors at once?" Chen Feng asked, his voice echoing in the hall. "No. So you lost, and you lost badly. Why? Because you are on a dead end—a path that builds security on others' insecurity."

He walked back to his seat and sat down: "Now we give the Sakura Nation another road. Lay down the arms race, focus on economic development, and coexist peacefully with neighboring countries. Lanfang can become a partner of the Sakura Nation, not an enemy. The prerequisite is—Sakura Nation must completely abandon expansionist ambitions and settle for being a peaceful country."

Sinei Zhengyi forced a bitter smile: "Well said. But with such a disparity in strength, the so‑called 'partnership' is nothing but a master‑servant relationship."

"That's still better than hostility," Chen Feng said without evasion. "A master‑servant relationship at least lets you survive. Hostility offers only a dead end. Prime Minister, which do you choose?"

The hall fell into dead silence. The hum of the air conditioner's airflow sounded especially harsh.

Shanben Quanbingwei finally could not hold it any longer. He stood up, moved too abruptly, and the chair tipped backward with a "Clang" as it slammed onto the marble floor.

"Enough!" his voice hoarse with emotion, "Enough! President Chen, you are right about everything: the Sakura Nation lost, the Sakura Nation erred, the Sakura Nation took the wrong path! But can you… can you leave us some dignity? We accept the five‑hundred‑million compensation, we accept the naval restrictions, …"

His voice choked: "Can we… perhaps as a lease? Or joint development? Even if… even if in name it remains the Sakura Nation, but in practice controlled by Lanfang, that would be fine… give us a bit of face, give the people an explanation…"

Chen Feng watched Shanben Quanbingwei quietly. The sixty‑three‑year‑old navy minister now looked like a wronged child, his eyes bloodshot, his shoulders trembling.

"Minister Shanben," Chen Feng began, his voice softer than before, "you ask whether we can preserve the Sakura Nation's dignity. Then I ask you—when your fleet bombarded Qing merchant ships, did you give us dignity? When your army suppressed the Chinese uprising, did you give them dignity? When your government treated the people of Cao County as second‑class citizens, did you give them dignity?"

He paused, each word landing like a hammer: "Dignity is not given by others; it is earned by oneself. You spent forty years trampling the dignity of your Asian neighbors underfoot. Now it is your turn to taste that feeling."

Shanben stood frozen, his lips trembling, unable to speak. Tears finally rolled from his eyes—not tears of anger, but tears of utter despair.

Dongxiang Pingbalang rose, walked to Shanben's side, gently placed his hand on the minister's shoulder and helped him sit down. Then the elder turned to Chen Feng and bowed deeply.

"The President's lesson is…" Dongxiang's voice was very calm, "The Sakura Nation's present outcome is the result of past causes. I have nothing more to say." (the rest omitted)

Chen Feng looked at Dongxiang, stared for a long while. Then he nodded: "Agreed. Lanfang is willing to add a clause to the treaty: as long as the Sakura Nation abides by this agreement, Lanfang will guarantee that the Sakura Nation's homeland will not be subject to external attacks." (the editor mentions external attacks, but does not say Lanfang won't attack)

"Thank you." Dongxiang bowed again, then returned to his seat.

The negotiations entered a technical consultation phase. Both sides' assistants began to discuss the clauses point by point; low murmurs, the rustling of papers, and the scratching of pens filled the meeting room.

Yet everyone knew the overall outcome was already decided.

At the same time, in Fukagawa District, Nagasaki City. Seven o'clock in the morning, the sky was so overcast it seemed ready to press down.

Songben Haoer crouched at the alley entrance, watching the opposite "Shan Tian Rice Shop". The shop's door was shut, but already more than fifty people queued at the doorway—men, women, old and young—each holding an empty cloth bag or basket, their eyes vacant as they stared at the closed door.

At the front of the crowd was a woman in her seventies, leaning on a cane, her body hunched like a tiny shrimp. She had been standing for an hour, her legs shaking, but dared not leave—leaving would mean losing her spot.

"Why isn't it open yet…" someone muttered from behind.

"They said it opens at eight, but it didn't open yesterday. The day before, they only sold for half an hour and then put up a 'Sold Out' sign."

"My child hasn't had rice for two days, surviving only on dried sweet potatoes…"

The crowd began to stir. Someone tried knocking on the door, "thump thump thump," the sound harsh on the quiet street.

From inside the shop came the owner's voice: "No rice today! Stop waiting!"

"How can there be no rice!" a middle‑aged man shouted, "I saw a shipment come in yesterday!"

"That was military rations! Can't be sold!"

"To hell with the military rations! People are starving!"

The pounding on the door grew louder. Several youths began shoulder‑bumping the door; the wooden door moaned under the strain.

Songben Haoer watched from the alley entrance, his heart racing. He had come today to buy rice—no, to try his luck. The last of his household's dried sweet potatoes was eaten yesterday; a letter from his wife's rural parents said their supplies were also cut off, urging him to find a way.

What could he do? The ship had sunk, his job was gone, his savings depleted. Apart from stealing or looting, what else was there?

"Bang!"

The door was forced open. The crowd surged in like a broken dam. Songben saw the elderly woman crushed to the ground, her cane flying far away. No one helped her; everyone rushed inside.

Cries and smashing came from the shop. Songben hesitated three seconds, then charged in—not to help the old woman, but into the shop.

Inside was chaos. Rice bags were torn, white rice scattered across the floor; the crowd scrambled, scooping with hands, stuffing into clothes, any container they could find. The owner cowered behind the counter, blood streaming from his head, muttering, "It's over… it's over…"

Songben shoved himself to a half‑open rice bag, frantically stuffing rice into his own cloth bag. His hands trembled; a lot of rice spilled, but he didn't stop. After loading about three to four jin, he turned to leave, only to be knocked down by someone.

It was the middle‑aged man who had just battered the door. His eyes were blood‑shot, looking insane; seeing rice in Songben's bag, he lunged.

"Give it to me! My child will starve to death!"

"I got it first!"