Chapter 425: No Acknowledgment, No Knowledge, No Responsibility

He steps closer, lowers his voice: "Prime Minister, do you think we are willing to make this decision? Watching the Empire's soldiers don Deguo uniforms to die—does that sit well with my heart? But there is no way! This is the only way! Using two hundred thousand lives to buy the Empire thirty years of survival space! The account must be calculated this way!"

Xiyuan Si closes his eyes. How could he not know the Empire's predicament? How could he not know the treasury's emptiness, the industry's backwardness, the crisis of great powers watching? Yet he always believed that a country, a nation, has certain bottom lines that cannot be crossed. Once crossed, then it can continue to cross!

"Yingguo give twenty‑four hours." He slowly opens his eyes, his voice exhausted to the extreme, "How does the Army Ministry intend to respond?"

Da Dao remains silent for a few seconds, then pulls a paper from the inner pocket of his uniform: "This is the draft reply drafted by the General Staff Headquarters."

Xiyuan Si takes it and reads quickly. The more he reads, the paler his face becomes.

The core meaning of the draft is simple: denial.

"After investigation, this involves some retired soldiers and private actions of civilian merchants; the Empire government was not aware in advance, nor does it acknowledge. The Empire government always adheres to the spirit of the Anglo‑Japanese Alliance, maintaining neutrality in the European war. The so‑called 'eight divisions' is pure rumor; the Empire's active army forces are stationed in the homeland and colonies, with no troops sent to Europe to fight…"

Xiyuan Si reads to the end, his hand trembling so much he can barely hold the paper.

"We... abandon them?" His voice is so light it is almost unheard, "Those two hundred thousand, sent by the Empire to Europe to fight, and now you say 'unaware', 'denial'? Call them 'personal actions'?"

"This is the only choice, Prime Minister." Da Dao's voice also lowers, with a barely perceptible tremor, "If we admit it, we will break completely with Yingguo. If we deny, there is still room to maneuver. Yingguo needs our ports to counter Deguo's Far‑East fleet, needs us in Yazhou to balance Russia and the United States. As long as we bite hard and deny, they will eventually have to accept reality."

"What about those two hundred thousand soldiers? Their honor?"

"After the war ends, if any of them survive and return…" Da Dao looks away, "They can be placed secretly. Given new identities, sufficient compensation. As for honor… Prime Minister, in the face of the nation's survival, personal honor is secondary."

Xiyuan Si stares at Da Dao, at this military man from the Iwamura domain, the core figure of the Army Ministry's hardline faction. He suddenly feels a deep sorrow—not for Da Dao, but for the nation. When did the Empire's decision‑makers become like this? For practical interests, they can easily sacrifice two hundred thousand compatriots, abandon all morality and credibility?

"If… I refuse to sign such a reply?" Xiyuan Si asks softly.

Da Dao's eyes suddenly sharpen: "Prime Minister, please understand. This decision was not made by the Army Ministry alone. The Elder Council, the Privy Council, even the imperial palace… all share consensus. The Empire's destiny cannot tolerate hesitation."

He did not utter a threat, but the meaning was clear: if Xiyuan Si does not cooperate, then the Prime Minister's seat may be taken by someone else.

Long silence. Only cicada cries, hoarse and monotone.

Xiyuan Si slowly stands, walks to the corridor. The night wind brushes his face, bringing the scent of gardenia from the courtyard. He looks at the outline of the pond in the darkness, where a dozen or so koi transplanted from the Kyoto Imperial Palace are kept, a gift from a friend. The koi glide silently in the night, unaware of human sorrow.

Two hundred thousand youths. From mountain villages in Kyushu, from fishing ports in Hokkaido, from the streets of Tokyo. When they boarded transport ships with luggage, perhaps they still harbored dreams of earning merit for the Empire, making money to support their families. Now they are in muddy French trenches, wearing others' uniforms, using others' weapons, dying for others' war. And their motherland is preparing a statement saying "unaware", "denial".

Xiyuan Si recalls his youthful ideals. He was a participant in the Meiji Restoration, once believed that the Sakura Nation could walk a path of civilization, enlightenment, and international respect. He promoted constitutional government, advocated diplomatic coordination, hoping the Empire could rise through peace.

But now?

"Da Dao." He has his back to the room, says softly, "Do you know what I fear most?"

Da Dao does not answer.

"What I fear most is not the Empire's defeat, not the loss of territory." Xiyuan Si's voice drifts in the night wind, "What I fear most is that one day, our children will ask us: elders, what choices did you make back then? And we cannot answer. Because our choices caused this country to lose its soul."

He turns, walks back to the tatami room, sits again at the low table. He picks up a brush, dips ink, and at the end of that draft reply, signs his name.

The handwriting remains neat, the brushstroke still strong. But only Xiyuan Si knows how heavy that stroke is.

"Send it out." He pushes the draft to Da Dao, his voice terrifyingly calm, "Send it according to the Army Ministry's wishes."

Da Dao takes the draft, looks at the Prime Minister's signature, his lips move as if to say something. But finally, he only bows deeply: "Thank you for your understanding, Prime Minister. For the Empire."

He turns and leaves, the sound of wooden clogs fading away.

Xiyuan Si sits alone in the tatami room, maintaining an upright posture, motionless. After an unknown amount of time, he slowly raises his hand, covers his face. His shoulders begin to tremble slightly.

By the pond outside the corridor, a night heron suddenly startles, flaps its wings and flies into the night sky.

The Prime Minister's mutterings, so light that only he can hear:

"Two hundred thousand orphaned souls… cannot even have names any more… I guess that Chen Feng will again force us to keep sending heads to Europe!"

London, Naval Ministry building, August 1, 1916, 10:00 a. m.

In the office of First Sea Minister Admiral Henry Jackson, smoke curls. This fifty‑nine‑year‑old naval officer stands by the window, back to the room, looking out at the endless stream of carriages, automobiles and pedestrians on Whitehall Street. Across the street, the Army Ministry's flag lazily flutters in the summer breeze.

On his desk lie three documents spread out.

The first is a copy of the Sakura Nation government's reply telegram forwarded by the Foreign Ministry. The wording is cold, formal, full of the vague and evasive style typical of Eastern bureaucracy. The core meaning is clear: no acknowledgment, no knowledge, no responsibility.

The second is the Navy Intelligence Office's latest assessment report: "Lanfang Navy Strength and Bismarck Class Battleship Tactical Analysis". The report is thirty pages long, with several blurry photos and technical speculation diagrams. The conclusion is alarming: if the Bismarck Class performance is as speculated, then the Royal Navy's current main ships in the North Sea, none can win in a one‑on‑one duel. At least two, preferably three Elizabeth Queen Class battleships are needed to ensure defeat of a Bismarck Class.

The third is a memorandum sent from the Prime Minister's office: Your Majesty the King has in principle agreed to travel to Cairo to meet Lanfang President Chen Feng, specific itinerary and security arrangements to be coordinated by the Navy Ministry.