Chapter 437: Is This What You Chose, Idol!

"So what!" Da Dao sprang up, looking down from his height at the Prime Minister, "This is war! War means death! The only difference is where you die, why you die! Freeze to death on the Eastern Front, be blown up by artillery on the Western Front, starve at home—does it matter? At least they received double pay before they died, and their families got triple compensation! Prime Minister, ask the mothers in the villages: would they rather have their sons die of starvation at home, or go to Europe to fight, at least keeping their younger siblings alive? And besides, is this really your choice, idol!"

Xiyuan Si lifted his head, looking at the agitated Army Minister. Da Dao's face flushed with anger, the veins on his neck bulged, but in those eyes… what did Xiyuan Si see? Not just stubbornness, but a near‑desperate justification.

He was persuading Xiyuan Si, and also persuading himself.

"Lord Da Dao," the Prime Minister's voice suddenly softened, "Can you sleep at night?"

Da Dao was stunned.

"I can't sleep." Xiyuan Si continued, his gaze vacant as he stared at the courtyard, "When I close my eyes I see those young faces. When they boarded the transport ships many were smiling, thinking they would soon return home with money and glory. They didn't know what awaited them: the mud‑filled trenches of Faguo, the machine guns of Yingguo, and the later denial and abandonment by their own motherland."

He paused: "Sometimes I wonder if we were wrong. Maybe there is another way to go…"

"There is no other way!" Da Dao cut him off, his voice hoarse, "Prime Minister, be realistic! The Empire is already on the edge of a cliff! Without those eight million pounds, Tokyo would have starved one hundred thousand people last winter! Without Deguo's technology, our heavy industry would be completely left behind by the world! What will we use to protect ourselves then? What will we use to survive while the great powers watch?"

He sat back down, hands braced on the table, leaning forward: "Prime Minister, I know you are in pain. I am in pain too! Every time I see casualty reports I want to commit seppuku in apology! But suffering cannot be our food! What we need now is to keep moving forward, to the end of the war, to the point where the Empire catches its breath! Then we can compensate, we can commemorate, we can do everything that must be done! Not now! Now we must survive, even if we have to crawl on our knees, we must survive!"

Xiyuan Si watched Da Dao, watching the soldier's eyes almost overflow with tears. He suddenly realized that Da Dao's pain was no less than his own. It is just that soldiers mask their pain with anger and stubbornness, while politicians bear theirs with silence and self‑reproach.

All roads lead to the same hell.

"The Yingguo list," Xiyuan Si finally said, "I'll have the Foreign Ministry handle it. But there is one condition— the true names and hometowns of all the fallen must be fully recorded by the Army Ministry and filed secretly. When the war ends, when the time is right, the Empire must restore their honor. Even if only privately, even if just by erecting an extra plaque at the XX Shrine."

Da Dao remained silent for a long while, then slowly nodded: "I agree to you."

Another stretch of silence. The cicadas' chirping grew louder, as if to swallow the whole world.

"One more thing," Da Dao pulled a telegram from his uniform's inner pocket, "It was a secret telegram received early this morning. The sender is… President Lanfang Chen Feng."

Xiyuan Si's pupils narrowed: "What did he say?"

"Only two sentences." Da Dao placed the telegram on the table, "First: Survival is the primary right. Second: Lanfang Bank is willing, after the war, to provide low‑interest loans and technical support for the reconstruction of the Sakura Nation."

The Prime Minister picked up the telegram. The paper was thin, but those two sentences were like two keys inserted into a tightly locked door in his heart.

"What about the conditions?" he asked.

"Not stated. But the messenger conveyed orally: President Chen Feng believes the future of the Far East needs stability and prosperity, not hatred and punishment. Lanfang is willing to help achieve that goal."

Xiyuan Si stared at the telegram, silent for a long time. Chen Feng… the legendary figure who rose rapidly after the Battle of the East Sea, turning a barren wasteland into an industrial power in just a few dozen years. Why is he extending goodwill to the Sakura Nation? Is he sincerely trying to help? Or does he have ulterior motives?

"What do you think?" the Prime Minister asked Da Dao.

The Army Minister frowned: "It could be a divide‑and‑conquer ploy, aiming to split our relationship with Yingguo."

"It might also… be a genuine way out," Xiyuan Si said softly, "After the war, whoever wins, the Empire will face an even harsher situation. Yingguo will punish us, Deguo may be too preoccupied with itself, the United States… has never been a friend. Then, who will pull us up?"

He carefully folded the telegram and slipped it into his chest: "Reply. Thank President Chen Feng for his goodwill. The Sakura Nation is willing at any time, to dialogue with any country willing to treat us as equals."

"Prime Minister!" Da Dao tried to stop.

But Xiyuan Si raised his hand to stop him: "It's only dialogue, not a commitment. Lord Da Dao, we are already on the edge of a cliff; one more rope, even if it's an enemy's rope, might save our lives."

He stood up and walked to the corridor. A heat wave slammed into him, almost suffocating. The ornamental koi in the courtyard still swam beneath the lotus leaves, oblivious to human sorrow.

"Did you know," Xiyuan Si said, his back to Da Dao, his voice drifting in the hot wind, "Chen Feng met the Yingguo king in Cairo. Supposedly, he told George V a story about 'the hungry people'."

Da Dao stepped beside him: "What does it mean?"

"It means he understands our situation," Xiyuan Si said, looking at the pond. "And he is telling the Yingguo that punishment cannot solve the problem; only eliminating hunger can."

He turned, looking at Da Dao: "Perhaps he's right. Perhaps… there is still a way in this world to survive without crawling and kneeling. We just haven't found it yet."

Da Dao wanted to retort, but seeing the near‑desperate hope in the Prime Minister's eyes, the words stayed stuck in his throat.

The two stood side by side in the corridor, looking at the courtyard, at Tokyo, at this nation struggling in a survival crisis. The cicadas' chorus filled the air like an endless dirge.

Meanwhile, far away in Cairo, it was six o'clock in the morning. George V stood on the balcony of Montaza Palace, holding the secret telegram he had just received. It was a briefing from Intelligence Section Six sent from Tokyo, its content exactly Xiyuan Si's reply to Chen Feng's telegram.

The king crumpled the telegram paper into a ball and tossed it into the Nile. The ball floated on the surface for a moment, then was swallowed by the current and vanished.

"Your Majesty?" Sir Gray approached.

"Chen Feng has made a move," George V whispered, "He is pulling the Sakura Nation, using post‑war loans and aid as bait."

Sir Gray frowned: "Do we need to stop it?"

The king was silent for a long while, then shook his head: "No. Let him pull. I want to see what kind of new order this Eastern man intends to build."

He looked east, where the sun had already risen, turning the Nile golden.

A new day began.

And the new game had only just begun.