Chapter 254: Army Shooting the Navy Incident

His voice rose higher and higher, finally almost a shout: "Do you even know that this country is about to collapse! Because the Navy lost! Because you don't dare to fight to the death! Because you're still kneeling and begging for mercy!"

The izakaya fell silent. The other patrons turned to look, and the owner shrank behind the counter, his face ashen.

The Navy Lieutenant Commander's face flushed red: "Captain Takeda, watch your words! The defeat in the war is due to multiple factors, not solely the Navy's fault! Moreover, the negotiations now are for …"

"For what? For survival?" Takeda cut him off, sneering, "The Army dares to die, the Navy clings to life. That's the difference!"

He stepped back, his right hand sliding toward his holster. The motion was slow, as if giving the other side time to react.

The Navy officers rose. The Lieutenant Commander barked, "What are you trying to do? This is a public place!"

"I want you to remember," Takeda said, "some sins cannot be washed away by signing a treaty. Some debts must be repaid with blood."

He drew his gun.

The gunfire cracked through the izakaya, deafening. The first shot hit the Lieutenant Commander's chest; he fell backward, toppling the table. The clatter of broken cups and plates mingled with a woman's scream.

The second shot struck the Major's shoulder; the Major let out a howl and collapsed.

The third shot… never left the barrel. The other patrons lunged, seized Takeda's gun, and pinned him to the floor.

Takeda made no resistance, only laughed, a wild, manic laugh: "See? This is the Navy! Too cowardly to even resist! Just lying there waiting to die! Hahaha…"

His laughter faded into the wail of sirens.

In the izakaya, the Lieutenant Commander lay in a pool of blood, eyes still open, staring at the ceiling. Blood spread beneath him, mingling with spilled sake, red and white interwoven like an abstract painting.

The Major clutched his shoulder, his face pallid, murmuring, "Crazy… all crazy…"

Yes, all are crazy. When hunger spreads, when hope is shattered, when dignity is trampled, people go mad.

And a nation gone mad is ten thousand times more terrifying than a single mad person.

Kun Dian, 11 p. m. The negotiation's second‑day meeting adjourned at 6 p. m., with a final consultation scheduled for tomorrow morning.

Si Nei Zhengyi returned to his hotel room and collapsed onto the sofa without even taking off his clothes. He was so exhausted that even breathing felt laborious.

A frantic knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

Entering was a Ministry of Foreign Affairs official attached to the delegation, his face pale, holding a telegram: "Prime Minister, Tokyo urgent telegram… top secret."

Si Nei took the telegram. After a single glance, he felt the world spin.

The telegram, sent by the Cabinet, described today's events in the most concise wording:

"Mass grain‑theft riots erupted in Nagasaki, Osaka, Hiroshima, Yokohama and other cities; police opened fire to suppress them, confirming thirty‑seven deaths and over two hundred injuries so far. In Tokyo, an Army officer shot a Navy officer, one dead and one seriously wounded. Social order is on the brink of collapse; anti‑government slogans have appeared in many places. The Cabinet urgently resolves: regardless of conditions, the peace treaty must be signed tomorrow, restoring maritime transport as the top priority."

The final line struck like a hammer on his heart: "The populace has reached the limit of endurance."

Si Nei clutched the telegram, his hand trembling violently, the paper rustling. He closed his eyes, but the darkness before him filled with images—crowds looting grain, police firing, fallen bodies, and… rice stained with blood.

"Prime Minister…" the official whispered, "Should we notify Minister Yamamoto and Marshal Dong Xiang?"

"Notify them." Si Nei opened his eyes, his gaze already a dead gray, "Let them… come."

Ten minutes later, the three met in Si Nei's room. Yamamoto read the telegram, then smashed his fist against the wall, a dull thud. Dong Xiang, after reading, silently folded the telegram and placed it back on the table.

"Thirty‑seven lives…" Yamamoto's voice was hoarse, "because of hunger… because of our incompetence…"

"Not all because of hunger." Dong Xiang said slowly, "It's despair. The people see no hope, so they go mad."

Si Nei lifted his head, looking at the two: "Tomorrow… we must sign. Whatever the terms, we must sign. If we delay further, a revolution will erupt at home. Then it won't be dozens who die, but tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands."

"But the treaty…" Yamamoto began to say.

"There is no 'but'." Si Nei cut him off, his voice weary yet firm, "Yamamoto‑kun, I know what you want to say. Dignity, the future, the Navy's spark… but all that can only be discussed if the nation still exists. If the nation collapses, everything is lost."

He stood and walked to the window. Outside, Kun Dian's night was beautiful; riverboats still plied the water, their lights reflected and shattered into countless flickering gold flakes.

"What a beautiful city." Si Nei murmured, "Ten years ago this was a Dutch colony. Now it is one of Yazhou's most prosperous cities. Why? Because the Lanhua people won and built their own nation."

He turned, looking at Yamamoto and Dong Xiang: "Sakura Nation has lost now, but as long as the nation endures, as long as people live, there is still a chance. Maybe ten years, maybe twenty, maybe longer… but we must first survive to that point."

The room fell silent for a long while. In the distance a faint bell tolled; it was midnight.

"I understand." Yamamoto finally said, his voice so light it was barely audible, "Tomorrow… I will sign the treaty."

Dong Xiang nodded: "I will as well. Though this may be the most humiliating line of my life, … for the Sakura Nation to survive, it is worth it."

Si Nei bowed deeply: "Thank you both. This sin we shall bear together."

The knock sounded again. This time a hotel servant entered—a young man from Lanfang, carrying a tray with three steaming bowls of noodle soup.

"President Chen ordered this," the servant said politely, "He said you have been negotiating hard, have some night‑time snack."

The three looked at the three bowls. The noodles were thin and white, the broth clear, topped with a few leaves of greens and two slices of char siu. Simple food, yet at that moment it seemed like something luxurious.

Because they knew that in the Sakura Nation, many people could not even get a bowl of clear noodle soup.

"Please convey our thanks to the President," Si Nei said.

After the servant left, none of them lifted their chopsticks. The steam rose, blurring their vision.

Dong Xiang suddenly laughed, a bleak smile: "Chen Feng is… reminding us. Telling us that after peace, even a bowl of noodles is precious."

He lifted a bowl and ate slowly, chewing each mouthful carefully.

Si Nei and Yamamoto also lifted their bowls. The noodles were fragrant, the broth fresh, but every bite tasted of bitterness.

Because they knew that this bowl was bought with thirty‑seven lives, with the nation's dignity, with the Navy's future.

Yet they had to eat it. Because tomorrow they still had to sign that treaty.

Because only by signing could the Sakura Nation survive.

So that more people could have a hot bowl of noodles.