Chapter 386: He Adds Money

If we agree, it would be an open trampling of the Entente's tacit understanding, possibly provoking Yingguo's naval sanctions and even military retaliation. If we refuse, Deguo may stop paying the fees, and Sakura Country's finances would immediately fall into trouble.

"Caught between a rock and a hard place…" Saionji muttered to himself.

"Prime Minister," the secretary began cautiously, "shall we convene an emergency cabinet meeting?"

Saionji remained silent for a long while, then finally shook his head: "No, wait a bit first.

"What did Wang Wenwu say over there… what else did he mention?"

"Mr. Wang hinted that President Chen Feng would back the proposal. He also said something odd: 'A contract binds a nation, but a nation is made up of people. As long as the price is right, people's minds can be changed.'"

A suitable price…

Saionji opened his eyes, his gaze sharpening.

"I understand now."

Saionji knelt down, lifted his brush. Fine xuan paper lay before him, ink paste ground evenly on the inkstone. After a long contemplation, he finally wrote:

"To President Chen Feng: The Berlin proposal is noted. This matter contravenes international good faith and may provoke fierce Anglo‑French reaction. Yet Deguo is urgent, and our nation also has fiscal needs. May I ask, President, why should you instruct me?"

A simple question, but it hits the core—what gives you, Chen Feng, the right to make me do this indecent act, and what do I gain in return?

The telegram was sent. Saionji knew that, given the time difference between Dubai and Tokyo, Chen Feng would receive it in the local afternoon, and a reply might not come until the next day.

But only two hours later, the reply arrived.

The secretary practically ran in, holding the freshly translated message, his complexion odd.

"Prime Minister… Lanfang's reply."

Saionji took it; the message contained only three characters:

"He adds money."

The room fell into dead silence. Even the insects chirping outside the paper doors seemed to pause for a moment.

Saionji stared at the three words, first stunned, then his mouth twitched, and finally he couldn't hold back, letting out a short laugh tinged with helplessness and absurdity.

"He adds money… ha ha… what a 'He adds money'!"

The secretary looked at the Prime Minister, puzzled. Saionji laughed for a long while, laughing until tears welled up. He wiped the tears from his eyes, held the page of the message up to the lamp, and examined it repeatedly.

Concise, blunt, with no diplomatic phrasing, no moral preaching. It is the most primitive, bare‑bones trade logic: you think the price is insufficient? Then let him add money. Keep adding until you're satisfied.

Saionji guessed as well; such a disgusting idea must be Chen Feng's 'thought'! He's afraid the Empire's soldiers aren't dying enough!

That's Chen Feng's style. That's how the man who built a nation from nothing over a dozen years views the world.

"Prepare a cabinet meeting," Saionji finally calmed, folding the message carefully and slipping it into his chest. "Notify the Army Minister, Navy Minister, Foreign Minister, and Finance Minister; in an hour we will meet at the Prime Minister's Residence. Top‑secret level."

"Yes!" the secretary took the order and left.

Saionji remained alone in the tatami room. He walked to the edge of the courtyard, gazing at his reflection in the pond. The face in the water appeared aged and weary, his eyes bearing a weight too heavy to articulate.

He recalled many years ago, when he was a young diplomat attending his first international conference. Back then he believed in rules, shared morality, and that nations should follow some noble principle.

But now, at sixty‑seven, as Prime Minister of Sakura Country, the choice before him is: should twenty thousand of his own soldiers don enemy uniforms and, for money, fight alongside former prospective allies?

And that suggestion came from someone twenty years his junior, summarizing all the political calculus in three words.

"He adds money."

How ironic. How real.

A summer night breeze passed, bringing a hint of coolness. Saionji lifted his head, looking toward Tokyo's night sky. Thick clouds obscured the stars.

Tomorrow, the cabinet will make a decision.

And whatever the decision, Sakura Country will take another step forward on an irreversible road.

June 17th, 00:30.

In the underground conference room of the Prime Minister's Residence, smoke curled. Five core cabinet members sat around the long conference table: Prime Minister Saionji Kimiyoshi, Army Minister Oshima Kenichi, Navy Minister Yamamoto Gonbei, Foreign Minister Honno Ichiro, and Finance Minister Wakatsuki Reijiro. The room had no windows; only the chandelier overhead cast a harsh white glare, the walls were thick concrete, and the door was locked from the outside.

"I oppose!" Army Minister Oshima Kenichi slammed his fist onto the table, sending the ashtray bouncing. "This is a disgrace! Empire soldiers wearing enemy uniforms? What kind of decorum is that! Where does the military's honor go?"

The fifty‑five‑year‑old army general's face was a fiery red, his beard trembling. He was a typical Sakura Country soldier, devoted to the Bushido spirit, valuing a soldier's honor above life.

"General Oshima, calm down," Navy Minister Yamamoto Gonbei said relatively evenly, though his eyes were equally grim, "but I also find this proposal improper. The Empire and Yingguo have cooperated for decades, and thus…."

Foreign Minister Honno Ichiro interjected, his tone sharp, "If Sakura Country's soldiers appear on the Western Front in Degjun uniforms, it would be a worldwide declaration that we side with Deguo. Yingguo would retaliate instantly—cutting oil supplies, freezing our assets in London, and possibly deploying the Far‑East fleet to block our sea lanes. Faguo would also sever diplomatic ties. We would be completely isolated in the international community!"

The three ministers' objections were clear and fierce.

Saionji remained silent, looking toward the ever‑silent Finance Minister Wakatsuki Reijiro.

"Wakatsuki, what about the finances?"

Wakatsuki Reijiro adjusted his glasses, a stack of reports spread before him. The financial whiz's complexion was pallid, his eye bags deep, clearly having pulled all‑nighters for several days.

"Prime Minister, gentlemen," his voice a bit hoarse, "let me start with the numbers: Deguo's labor fee payments are currently steady at four million pounds per month, accounting for about eighteen percent of our fiscal revenue. If this money stops, our fiscal deficit this year will swell to 120 million yen, equivalent to…"

He paused, then announced a figure that made everyone gasp: "Equivalent to the Navy's entire annual shipbuilding budget, or the Army's yearly maintenance cost for thirty divisions."

The conference room fell silent for a few seconds.

"We could cut spending…" Oshima Kenichi attempted to rebut, but his voice was no longer firm.

"Cut where?" Wakatsuki retorted, "military spending? The Army and Navy have been squabbling over the budget for years. Civilian spending? Domestic rice prices are already rising; further cuts could spark social unrest. Or raise taxes? The current tax rate already has the business community grumbling."