Chapter 488: From an Individual Perspective It Is a Tragedy; From the Whole… It Is a Reallocation of Resources

Dubai, late October.

In Chen Feng's office, Wang Wenwu is reporting the latest developments.

"Over in Sakura Country, the first batch of 50,000 'volunteers' has completed basic training; 30,000 are assigned to the Deguo route, and 20,000 to the Yingguo route. The transport contract has been signed, and we take twelve percent of the total cost as commission."

Chen Feng stands before the world map, his finger tracing the route from Tokyo to the Persian Gulf: "Is the fleet arranged?"

"All set. The cargo ships Bohai, Huang Hai, and Dong Hai handle the Yingguo route, sailing via Singapore to Marseille. Fusang, Ri Chu, and Sakura handle the Deguo route, reaching Basra before switching to land transport, then entering Europe via the Ottoman Railway."

"Is the coordination with the Ottoman side settled?"

"Halimpasha has already agreed; the transit fee is ten marks per person. But he demands we provide extra security guarantees—he worries that so many Eastern soldiers crossing will spark unrest."

Chen Feng nods: "Deploy a battalion of security troops as escort. Officially it's to protect the transport line, actually it's also surveillance. Tell Halimpasha the cost is on us."

Wang Wenwu notes, continuing: "The tank production line is running at full speed, currently capable of thirty units per month. The Deguo order for one hundred tanks can be fully delivered before January next year. As for Yingguo… they privately asked if they could also purchase some; I followed your instruction and replied, 'Capacity is limited, they must queue.'"

"Make them queue," Chen Feng smiles, "the longer they wait, the more urgent they become, and the higher we can set the price."

He walks back to his desk and picks up a report—progress on the Hordesa base. In the photos, a makeshift pier is completed, oil‑drilling equipment is being installed, and in the distance lie continuous barracks and fortifications. The red‑backed golden‑dragon flag flutters in the desert wind.

"How are things on Zhao Dengyu's side?"

"The First Mechanized Infantry Division has finished base construction; the defense system is complete. The Yingguo garrison in Sinai has been quiet lately, no provocation. A Deguo military observer did a visit and showed great interest in our fortification designs."

"Make them interested," Chen Feng says, "but restrict the tour; the core area is off‑limits."

"Understood."

Wang Wenwu closes his notebook, hesitates: "Mr. President, there's something… regarding the mortality rate of those labor personnel. Our reports show a five percent death rate during sea transport and three percent overland. Are these figures… too high?"

Chen Feng looks up at him: "High?"

"I mean… from a humanitarian perspective…"

"Wenwu," Chen Feng stands, walks to the window, "do you remember the railway we built through the Borneo jungle?"

Wang Wenwu nods. That was six years ago, a Lanfang railway cutting through tropical rainforest under harsh conditions. Most of the workers were recruited Chinese laborers, with some local natives. Disease, accidents, exhaustion—mortality was also high.

"At the time someone raised humanitarian concerns with me," Chen Feng's voice is calm, "I said: without that railway, Lanfang's supplies couldn't be moved, the nation would collapse. A collapsed nation would cause even more deaths. Sacrificing a few to ensure the many survive—that's politics, that's reality."

He turns, looking at Wang Wenwu: "It's the same now. Those Cao Xian people, under Sakura Country's rule, have always been second‑class citizens; starvation, beating, exhaustion deaths happen daily. Now they go to Europe, at least they can eat a few full meals before dying, and their families receive compensation afterward. From an individual view it's a tragedy; from the whole… it's a reallocation of resources."

"But…"

"There is no 'but.'" Chen Feng cuts him off, "In this war Europe has already lost millions. Even if a few hundred thousand more Asians die, history books will just add another line of numbers. What we must do is ensure Lanfang rises from this process, and guarantee our descendants won't later be treated like merchandise."

Wang Wenwu falls silent. He recalls the sage texts he read in his youth, preaching benevolence, righteousness, and 'do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire.' Yet reality is that the world has never operated according to those teachings.

"I understand," he finally says.

"Get to work." Chen Feng sits back at the desk, "Also, inform the Finance Ministry that the commission revenue from Sakura Country should be split—half into naval expansion, half into heavy industry. We must build a more complete industrial system before the war ends."

"Yes."

After Wang Wenwu leaves, Chen Feng sits alone in the office. Dusk light streams through the slats of the blinds, cutting strips of illumination across the floor.

He opens a drawer and pulls out an old document—a draft of the Declaration of Independence from Lanfang's founding over a decade ago. One line, penned by his own hand: "We founded the nation so that every person could live with dignity."

Dignity.

What a beautiful word. Yet the road to dignity is paved with undignified corpses.

Chen Feng closes the file and locks the drawer. He walks to the world map, gazing at the marked routes, bases, and resource points. A massive network is taking shape, centered on Dubai, radiating across three continents.

And the price of all this is the blood of hundreds of thousands, even millions of people.

But he has no other choice.

Because in this cut‑throat world, if you don't eat people, you'll be eaten.

Outside the window, the Persian Gulf glows with a blood‑red sunset.

On the last day of October, the Kumagaya training camp holds its graduation ceremony.

Hao Er dons a brand‑new uniform—the official 98‑style military uniform, combat cap, gaiters, polished leather boots. He stands in the formation, chest out, head held high, undergoing inspection.

On the dais, a general appears. His address is long and impassioned, but the core message is simple: you are the empire's pride; go to Europe and make history.

After the ceremony, they receive their final assignment notices. Hao Er is assigned to the 'Deguo route, third batch', code EU‑1916‑047329. Departure: three days later.

"Great!" Zhongcun exclaims, slapping his shoulder, "I'm on the Deguo route too! We can go together!"

Shankou looks a bit down: "I got the Yingguo route… I heard it's dangerous there."

"But the pay's higher," Zhongcun comforts him, "and there are tanks! Hao Er, didn't you want to see tanks?"

Hao Er smiles: "Exactly. When the war ends, we'll all come back alive and tell each other our stories."

That night, the camp makes an exception and serves sake and grilled fish. The recruits gather around the bonfire, singing, drinking; some cry, some laugh exaggeratedly. Hao Er takes a small cup—the alcohol burns, but his heart feels warm.

He writes a letter home:

"Father, Mother, Kenta: I hope this finds you well. I have completed training successfully and have been assigned to the Deguo front, departing in three days. The instructor said this mission brings glory to the empire and blessings to the family. I will fight bravely and not disappoint expectations. Please do not worry, take good care of yourselves. When I return victorious, I will ensure the whole family enjoys good days. Hao Er, night of October 31."