Chapter 483: Iron and Blood Have Truly Arrived. Only It

Wang Wenwu remained silent for a long while, then finally nodded: "I understand."

"Send the telegram," Chen Feng said, "Also, inform Liu Yongfu to run the tank production line at full speed, prioritizing the order of one hundred units for Deguo. Notify the shipping company to prepare for a new transport contract. Notify the Foreign Ministry to prepare to receive the negotiation delegation from Sakura Nation— I guess Xi Yuan Si will send someone to discuss the details."

"Yes."

After Wang Wenwu left, Chen Feng stood alone in the office. He walked to the wall and flipped the light switch. The whole room brightened instantly, and the world map on the wall came into sharp focus.

Red Lanfang flag stickers had already been placed at multiple spots in the Persian Gulf, Southeast Asia, and the Pacific. More blank areas awaited being dyed red.

He recalled over ten years ago, when he first arrived in this world. Back then, Lanfang was only a concept, a desert, a group of desperate refugees. And now? Now Lanfang's warships roam the three oceans, Lanfang's tanks are shifting the battle in Europe, Lanfang's will is shaping the global order.

All of this was the result of calculation—precise, cold, efficient calculation.

Some will call him a devil, a war merchant, a bottomless opportunist. Perhaps they are right.

But Chen Feng doesn't care. He only wants the result—Lanfang strong, its people prosperous, the nation revived. As for the means… history only remembers the victors.

A pale dawn glimmered beyond the window. A new day began.

And on the other side of the world, the new day's calculations, struggles, trades, and deaths were about to commence.

Tokyo, Prime Minister's Official Residence.

Xi Yuan Si Gongwang knelt in the tatami room, three telegrams spread before him.

The left one came from London. A handwritten letter from Asquith, polite in tone but laced with threat: the British Empire needs "partners"; if Sakura Nation wants to keep its post‑war interests in Asia, it must know which side to stand on. Price: two hundred thousand soldiers, two hundred pounds each, with an exclusive supply clause.

The middle one came from Berlin. An urgent request from German Emperor Wilhelm II, conveyed through diplomatic channels: an immediate need for Eastern troops of thirty divisions for next spring's offensive. Price negotiable, technology transfer can be added, and post‑war "full respect for Sakura Nation's special status in the Far East."

The right one came from Dubai. Chen Feng's secret telegram, brief but sharp: five hundred thousand people, half for England and half for Germany, to be in place before spring. This is an order, not a suggestion.

The three telegrams, like three knives, rested on Xi Yuan Si's throat.

He closed his eyes. Morning light slipped through the paper door's crack, cutting a thin ribbon of illumination across the floor. In the distance, the sounds of Tokyo streets drifted in—tram bells, street vendors hawking, children playing. Ordinary people's lives went on, unaware that within this room, the fate of five hundred thousand people was being decided.

Five hundred thousand.

Not five hundred thousand heads of livestock, but five hundred thousand living humans. Parents, spouses and children, dreams, fears. Most of them will die in distant Europe, on foreign soil, a death that seems meaningless—no, it is meaningful; their deaths will fetch foreign exchange, technology, political commitments.

Trading lives for money. What an ancient transaction.

"Prime Minister."

The paper door was pulled open, and Oshima Kenichi, Army Minister, Kato Takahiro, Foreign Minister, and Wakatsuki Reijiro, Finance Minister—three core cabinet members—entered in succession. Their faces were equally grave, evidently having all seen the telegrams.

"All sit," Xi Yuan Si said without opening his eyes.

The three knelt opposite him. Silence spread, broken only by the crisp sound of bamboo tubes striking stone in the courtyard, echoing at intervals like a countdown pendulum.

"What do you think?" Xi Yuan Si finally spoke.

Oshima spoke first, his voice eager: "Agree! All agree! Five hundred thousand people, at a uniform price of two hundred twenty pounds each, totals one hundred ten million pounds! With that money we can buy enough food for the nation for two years, import the most advanced machinery, pay off foreign debt, and…"

"We could send five hundred thousand people to die," Wakatsuki coldly interjected.

Oshima glared at him: "So what? War never spares anyone. Moreover, most of the dead would be from Cao County; native soldiers are only a small fraction! Exchanging Cao County's lives for the Empire's survival—what's wrong with that?"

"The Germans want thirty divisions, that's 750,000 men. Do you plan to use only Cao County people?" Kato retorted. "Cao County only has a total population of twenty million, with three to four million youths. Conscripting 750,000 would collapse Cao County, and a resistance movement would erupt!"

"Then suppress it!" Oshima's hand rested on his saber. "Send two more divisions to Cao County, kill some, imprison some, the rest will be docile. After all, those lowborn…"

"Lord Oshima," Xi Yuan Si opened his eyes, his voice light, but it made Oshima shut up immediately.

"Prime Minister…" Oshima lowered his head.

"I want to hear solutions, not the T‑kill plan," Xi Yuan Si said slowly. "Five hundred thousand people—how to conscript? How to train? How to transport? Both England and Germany need troops; how do we allocate? Chen Feng wants a commission; how do we negotiate that? Have you thought about any of this?"

The three were silent.

Xi Yuan Si picked up Chen Feng's telegram and read it again: "Chen Feng says, in place before spring. Today is October 2nd, Distance to next spring is at most five months. Five months to conscript, train, and transport five hundred thousand people… possible?"

"If we streamline the procedures, it's possible," Wakatsuki said bitterly. "For conscription, in Cao County we can directly draft youths; locally we combine propaganda with 'voluntary enlistment.' Training… can be compressed to one month, teaching only the basics. For transport, Lanfang's fleet has enough capacity, but it requires money."

"Where does the money come from?" Xi Yuan Si asked. "We can barely pay the troops' wages now."

"Advance payment," Wakatsuki said. "Have England and Germany prepay a thirty percent deposit. Lanfang's side… can offset part of the commission."

"What about political risk?" Kato interjected. "Selling soldiers to both warring sides, after the war whichever side wins, we'll offend the other."

"Then we make sure neither side can win," Oshima suddenly said.

Everyone looked at him.

"What do you mean?" Xi Yuan Si frowned.

Oshima leaned forward, lowering his voice: "We can treat the troops we send to England and Germany differently. For Germany, send more elite units, more officers, so they fight better. For England, send more raw recruits, with poorer equipment and less training. That way, the stalemate in Europe continues, the war drags on longer, requiring more manpower… and we will always have business."

The tatami room was dead silent.

The bamboo‑tube‑on‑stone sound rang again, thud, thud, thud.

Xi Yuan Si looked at Oshima, at the man in uniform whose eyes flashed with fanatical light. He suddenly recalled years ago, when Oshima was a young officer, he boasted at a banquet: "The Empire's future lies in expansion, in war, in iron and blood!"

Now, iron and blood have truly arrived. Only it's not the enemy's blood that flows, but our own people's blood.

"Lord Oshima," Xi Yuan Si said slowly, "do you know what you're proposing? You're proposing to turn the Empire into a war human‑trafficking operation, sending our young— even if most are from Cao County— to Europe to die, just to make money, just to keep the war going."

Oshima's complexion shifted, but he held his neck stiffly: "Prime Minister, this is reality! The Empire needs to survive!"

"Survival…" Xi Yuan Si repeated the word. He stood, walked to the window, and pushed open the paper door. Morning light poured in, the maple trees in the courtyard turning crimson, a few red leaves drifting onto the moss.

It's beautiful. Quiet, peaceful. Like another world.