Chapter 436: Only Enough for Three Months

"Tell Minister Liu that for all veterans who voluntarily retire, we will grant an extra six months' salary as a retirement bonus. The money will come from the profit of this transaction," Chen Feng said, "Soldiers defend the nation with loyalty and their lives; the nation must not shortchange them."

"Yes."

Wang Wenwu watched Chen Feng's profile in the morning light. This man was always like that—within cold strategic calculations, he still retained warmth toward individual people. This contradiction made him even harder to grasp, and even more… awe‑inspiring.

"President," Wang Wenwu finally asked, "If we juggle all the great powers at once, can we really avoid mistakes? If a link fails—for example, if England discovers we are negotiating a tank deal with Germany in Istanbul—will they turn hostile?"

Chen Feng turned around, the sunlight streaming in from behind him stretched his silhouette long across the conference room floor.

"Minister Wang, what do you think international politics is?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer continued, "It is a science of precise calculation and an art of ambiguous handling. England knows we will continue trading with Germany, just as Germany knows we will continue trading with England. Their tacit approval is not out of fondness but out of necessity."

He walked to the world map, his finger pointing at the Eurasian continent: "England needs our battleships to counter the German Navy, needs our anti‑submarine technology to protect shipping lanes, and may even need our Far Eastern influence after the war. Germany needs our tanks to break the stalemate on the Western Front, needs our industrial goods to sustain the war economy, needs our help to steady the situation on the Ottoman issue. And we—"

His finger swept over Lanfang's location: "—need their gold, technology, markets, and… the development space created by their mutual containment of each other."

"That's balance," Li Te whispered.

"Yes, a dangerous balance," Chen Feng nodded, "It's like walking a tightrope—seemingly perilous, but as long as the calculations are precise and the steps steady, we can reach the other side. Once we succeed, we are no longer tightrope walkers but… bridge builders. In the future, any nation that wants to cross the river will have to pay a toll."

He gave the map one last glance, turned toward the door: "Prepare to change shifts and rest. This afternoon, before entering the Suez Canal, there are a stack of documents to handle. Especially the arms‑sale list for the Ottoman, which must be checked carefully."

"Yes, President."

After Chen Feng left, Li Te and Wang Wenwu remained in the conference room. The two stared at the sea chart's route stretching from Cairo to Istanbul, silent for a long while.

"General," Wang Wenwu finally broke the silence, "Do you think the President's balancing act can be played indefinitely?"

Li Te did not answer immediately. He walked to the port window, gazing at the vast Mediterranean outside. There, a British cargo ship sailed parallel in the distance, its smokestack belching black smoke, its deck piled with cargo crates.

"I don't know," the Admiral said honestly, "but I know one thing— in today's world, you are either a player or a pawn. Lanfang has already chosen to be a player. And once seated on the board, you can only keep moving until the game ends."

He paused, his voice low: "What we can do is ensure every move is correct, ensure this ship," he patted the cabin wall, "—and this nation, can safely navigate this most dangerous stretch of water."

Wang Wenwu followed his gaze toward the sea. The sun had fully risen, sea and sky merged in a golden blaze.

Yet beneath that brilliance lay a bottomless undertow.

Tokyo, Prime Minister's Residence, same moment, August 14, 1916, 12:00 noon

Cicadas screamed deafeningly, July Tokyo sweltered like a steamer. Xiyuan Si Gongwang sat on the tatami floor, three documents spread on the low table before him, yet not a single word could he take in. Sweat trickled down his temples, soaking the collar of his linen kimono.

Outside the window, the courtyard pond glittered with blinding white light under the scorching sun, a few koi hiding in the shadows of water‑lily leaves, their mouths opening and closing as they struggled to breathe the hot air. Farther away, Tokyo's skyline warped in the heat haze, resembling a water‑soaked ukiyo‑e.

Three documents.

The first was a draft response to the British note sent by the Foreign Ministry—already the seventh version. Each wording grew more servile, each more evasive. The latest draft even stated, "Upon investigation, the so‑called personnel heading to Europe are illegal merchants impersonating Imperial soldiers; the Imperial government has already begun apprehending the responsible parties." A complete lie, and even Xiyuan Si felt nauseated reading it.

The second was an urgent report from the Ministry of the Treasury: the national gold reserves had dwindled to only eighty‑seven tons, enough to cover three months of imported food payments. If England imposed economic sanctions, halting exports of industrial raw materials and machinery to Japan, domestic factories would largely shut down within six months.

The third… the heaviest. A supplemental casualty report from the Ministry of the Army on the Western Front. As of August 10, eight divisions had a total of 147,863 killed, seriously wounded, or missing. The attrition rate was 73.9%. At the end of the report a small note read: "Most bodies are unidentifiable and will be buried on site. Identification tags are being collected; the roster should be completed within three months."

One hundred forty‑seven thousand people.

Xiyuan Si closed his eyes. The figure burned into his mind like a red‑hot iron brand. One hundred forty‑seven thousand sons, husbands, fathers, clad in German uniforms, died in the French mud a ten‑thousand‑kilometer distance from home. And their motherland could only issue money, no statement!!!

The paper sliding door was gently pulled open. The secretary cautiously peered in: "Prime Minister, the Army Minister General Da Dao requests an audience."

Xiyuan Si did not open his eyes: "Let him in."

Footsteps. Heavy, steady, with the distinctive rhythm of a soldier. Da Dao Kenyi entered the tatami room, his military dress immaculate, but the dark circles under his eyes revealed his fatigue. He sat opposite Xiyuan Si; between them the low table bore the spread documents like an invisible chasm.

Prolonged silence.

"Over in England," Da Dao finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "another note arrived, demanding that within forty‑eight hours we provide a detailed list of all the 'so‑called personnel heading to Europe' for 'identity verification.'"

Xiyuan Si slowly opened his eyes: "And then? Do we give it? Hand over a list of one hundred forty‑seven thousand people, calling them 'criminals'?"

Da Dao averted his gaze: "The General Staff recommends… providing a processed list. Keep surnames, use pseudonyms for given names, obscure places of origin. This satisfies the English request and…"

"And keep lying," Xiyuan Si took the word, his tone weary, "Da Dao, how long must we keep this lie? The war will end someday, those in Europe will eventually return—if anyone can return. Then how will we face them? How will we face their families?"

"At least they return alive!" Da Dao suddenly raised his voice, fist clenched, "At least the Empire has obtained eight million pounds and German technology! Prime Minister, do you know what Krupp's cannon‑steel smelting technology means? Our steel mills can now produce armor steel 30% stronger. Siemens's electrical patents can double our power generation efficiency! These are things money can't buy!"

"At the cost of one hundred forty‑seven thousand lives," Xiyuan Si said coldly.