Chapter 484: Propaganda or Deception?

But he knew this tranquility was false. Tokyo's rice price was still rising, factory strikes occurred from time to time, and there were rumors of starving villagers. The Empire was like walking on the edge of a cliff, a gust of wind could blow it down.

And Chen Feng, on the opposite side of the cliff, extended a rope—a rope soaked in blood. Grasping it might allow one to climb up, or might be dragged into a deeper abyss.

If you don't grab it, you'll fall now.

"Agree to Chen Feng," Xiyuan Si finally said, his voice weary as if ten years older, "According to his plan: five hundred thousand people, half from Yingguo, half from Deguo, in place before spring. But there are several conditions—"

He turned, his gaze sweeping over the three of them:

"First, for Deguo's troops, native soldiers must not exceed thirty percent. For Yingguo's, not exceed twenty percent. The rest are all conscripted from Cao County."

"Second, the price must be negotiated. The Yingguo side quotes two hundred; we need to push it to two hundred fifty. For Deguo, it must also be raised."

"Third, transportation and equipment must be handled entirely by Lanfang. Commission… can be discussed, but must not exceed fifteen percent."

"Fourth," he paused, "all 'volunteers' must sign an 'informed consent' form, clearly stating the risks. All families of the fallen must receive full compensation—even if the money is deducted from the commission." (Sakura Country direction, not Cao County direction)

Da Dao wanted to say something, but Xiyuan Si raised a hand to stop him.

"I know this is hypocritical. But at least we must retain some dignity, some… room to defend ourselves in the future."

He walked back to his seat and knelt slowly. In the morning light, his white hair was like snow, his wrinkles like knife cuts.

"Go prepare. Send a telegram to Chen Feng, saying we basically agree, but a delegation must go to Dubai to discuss details. Send a telegram to London and Berlin, saying we are willing to cooperate, but need higher prices and more concrete post‑war commitments."

"Yes!" the three shouted in unison.

After they left, Xiyuan Si sat alone in the tatami room. A bamboo tube knocked once more, thud.

He picked up a pen, spread the paper, wanting to write something, but didn't know where to start. In the end, he wrote only four characters on the paper:

"Sin lies in the present age."

Then he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the brazier. The flames rose, engulfing the four characters, engulfing that pitiful conscience.

Outside the window, Tokyo's streets gradually grew noisy. A new day began, new calculations, new deals, new death orders, being generated.

And Xiyuan Si knew that from today onward, the rest of his life would be spent in nightmares.

But he had no other choice.

For the Empire.

For survival.

For those still alive, to continue seeing tomorrow's sunrise.

Even if that sunrise is dyed red with the blood of five hundred thousand people.

Tokyo, October morning

Morning mist shrouded Tokyo's streets and alleys.

When Hao Er opened his eyes, the sky outside the window was still a dull gray. He lay in a room the size of six tatami mats, hearing his mother's muffled sobs from the next room. His father must have already gotten up—he heard rustling from the kitchen, his father preparing the family's only proper meal of the day: brown rice and a few slices of pickled radish.

He sat up from the bedding, moving as lightly as a cat. Three posters were pasted on the wall, all taken down from the street corner. The newest one bore a striking headline:

"Imperial Army mighty! Europe glorified!"

Below the poster, the illustration showed a Sakura Country soldier standing before a French‑style castle, rifle raised, expression resolute. The background was a burning battlefield, but the soldier's uniform in the foreground was crisp, his face bearing the pride of a victor. Small print along the edge read: "Empire sons, the world stage calls! Serve the nation by enlisting, glory boundless!"

Hao Er stared at that poster for a full minute. He was seventeen, attending the preparatory class of Tokyo Imperial University, slated to enter the law faculty this spring. But now, he made another decision.

"Hao Er, get up," his father's deep voice called from outside the paper door.

"Hai (yes)!" He quickly folded the bedding, changed into his student uniform—deep‑blue stand‑collar, brass buttons gleaming. The boy in the mirror had a delicate face, his eyes holding an almost naïve fervor.

In the dining room, the family of four sat around a low table. The mother's eyes were swollen and red, the white rice before her barely touched. Eight‑year‑old brother Jian Ta ate heartily, glancing at the "Volunteer Soldier Application Form" pinned on the wall as he ate.

"Today… we have to go?" the mother finally spoke, her voice like a tightened string.

Hao Er nodded: "Gather at 9 a. m. in front of the XX Shrine. First medical exam; those who pass will take the train to Kumagaya Training Camp."

"But…" the mother tried to say something, but was cut off by the father.

"Eat," the father's voice was calm, "Hao Er has already decided. This is a man's choice."

The mother lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly. Hao Er knew she was crying, but forced himself not to look. He could not be soft‑hearted, could not waver. The teacher had said in class: "In the nation's perilous autumn, youth must step forward. An individual's fate is tightly linked to the Empire's fate; sacrificing oneself for the nation is the highest honor."

Moreover, fighting in Europe paid money. A basic salary of twenty‑five yen per month, plus overseas allowance and combat allowance; reportedly frontline soldiers earned fifty yen a month—equivalent to three months of his father's wages at the printing shop. The money would be sent directly to the household, allowing them to afford white rice, meat, and letting the younger brother continue schooling.

"I am full," Hao Er set down his chopsticks, bowing deeply, "Father, Mother, thank you for years of nurturing. I go now, and will not betray the family name, serving the nation faithfully."

The father nodded silently. The mother finally could not hold back, covering her face and crying out.

Jian Ta jumped up: "Brother! Will you stand in front of the castle and take a photo like on the poster?"

Hao Er smiled, patting his brother's head: "I will. I'll send you a photo later."

"Ride a great horse! Wear a medal!"

"Fine, I promise you both."

When they left home, the sky was already bright. Coal smoke and the scent of cooking rice drifted through the streets. The newsboy's cry came from a corner:

"Extra! Extra! Imperial Army again shines in Europe! Empire sons thunder the Somme River!"

"Asahi Shimbun exclusive: Frontline soldiers' letters—'We fight here, all for the Empire's tomorrow's glory!'"

"Rice price stable! Government ensures supply for military families!"

Hao Er bought a newspaper. The front‑page headline was indeed another war report, accompanied by a blurry photo, said to show a Sakura Country soldier raising the XX flag in a French village. The article was filled with stirring phrases: "The bravery of Empire soldiers has earned the highest praise from allies," "On the European battlefield, the Imperial Army displays the soul of Asian warriors."

Turning to the second page, there was an editorial, its headline shocking:

"The Empire's Survival Autumn: Every Citizen's Responsibility"

The article wrote: "... Without the sacrifice of frontline soldiers, how could there be domestic peace? Without the Imperial Army's blood‑soaked battles yielding foreign exchange, how could we import grain and machinery? The rice you eat today, the clothes you wear, the peace you enjoy—all depend on a hundred thousand soldiers venturing across the seas, shedding blood on the European continent..."