Chapter 706: Egypt's Despair

Jielike shook his head.

"The citizens of Mumbai are marching. They shout the slogan 'Yingguo people get out of India', smash Yingguo people's shops, burn Yingguo people's cars. The colonial government can no longer control the situation."

He turned and looked at everyone.

"And your Admiral Jielike, the pride of the Royal Navy, is hiding in the harbor, watching all this unfold."

The conference room fell into dead silence.

No one dared to speak, no one dared to move.

Qiaozhi Wushi walked back to his seat and finally sat down. His voice grew weary, as if all his strength had been exhausted.

"Now, who will tell me what to do with Jielike?"

This question is more thorny than all previous ones.

Navy Minister Jielike opened his mouth, as if to speak, but in the end said nothing. Admiral Jielike is his cousin, so he cannot speak. To speak would be nepotism; to stay silent would appear heartless.

Army Minister Jiqinna did speak, but he was very cautious.

"Your Majesty, Admiral Jielike may be at fault, but holding him accountable now would likely affect morale. The soldiers would think, if a defeat leads to punishment, who would still dare to fight?"

"So you mean no punishment?" Qiaozhi Wushi looked at him.

"It's not that we won't punish, it's that we'll punish after the war is over."

Qiaozhi Wushi let out a cold laugh.

"After the war? After the war, we might not even have India left. Then what would we be punishing for?"

Foreign Minister Gelei said softly, "Your Majesty, stabilizing the situation is most important now. Jielike's issue can be deliberated over the long term."

"Deliberate over the long term," Qiaozhi Wushi repeated. "You always say 'deliberate over the long term.' When Singapore was lost, you said that. When Burma was lost, you said that. When Yilang was lost, you still said that. From then until now, what have you decided?"

No one answered.

Qiaozhi Wushi stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the surface of the Thames River looked especially gray under the overcast sky. In the distance, the Great Clock of the Parliament Building had just struck three, its chimes echoing in the damp air.

"As for Jielike," he finally spoke without turning around, "let him stay in Mumbai. If he can break out with his fleet, he can atone with merit. If he cannot break out—"

He did not finish. But everyone knew what that meant.

If he can't break out, he doesn't need to come back.

Colonial Affairs Minister Wote Lang suddenly spoke, his voice very soft.

"Your Majesty, if Jielike cannot break out, what will happen to the Mumbai fleet? That's our only remaining Yazhou fleet."

Qiaozhi Wushi turned and looked at him.

"Mr. Lang, what do you think remains of that fleet now? Eight damaged warships, a group of demoralized soldiers, a commander who dares not leave the harbor—such a fleet, even if it breaks out, what can it do?"

Lang fell silent.

Qiaozhi Wushi walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Alright, set aside Jielike's matter for now. Now, the next question—what about Egypt?"

This question is harder than the previous one.

Jiqinna stood up, walked to the map, and pointed at the location of the Suez Canal.

"Your Majesty, we have about 50,000 troops stationed in Egypt. Twenty thousand are Yingguo people, thirty thousand are local colonial forces. With reinforcements drawn from the Mediterranean, we can reach roughly 80,000."

Qiaozhi Wushi looked at him.

"Eighty thousand, enough?"

Jiqinna was silent for three seconds.

"Lanfang people have 120,000 in the Sinai Peninsula. Add their tanks and artillery, … eighty thousand cannot hold them."

"What then?"

Jiqinna clenched his teeth.

"We could bomb the Suez Canal. Blow it up, and the Lanfang people couldn't cross."

A stir broke out in the conference room.

Destroying the Suez Canal— that is a hundred years of the British Empire's effort, the lifeline linking Europe and Asia. Bombing it would be tantamount to admitting defeat, to abandoning Asia.

Qiaozhi Wushi was silent for a long time.

Then he asked, "If we bomb the canal, what about India?"

Jiqinna gave no answer.

He couldn't answer. Bombing the canal would leave India completely isolated. No reinforcements, no supplies, no hope. India could only wait for death.

"Your Majesty," Foreign Minister Gelei suddenly said, "perhaps we can negotiate with Lanfang."

Qiaozhi Wushi looked at him.

"Negotiate? What about?"

Gelei took a document out of his briefcase.

"These are the terms previously sent by Lanfang through Meilika."

Qiaozhi Wushi took the document and glanced at it.

Then he slammed the document onto the table.

"Public apology, admit intentional attack, hand over Jielike, compensate all losses, relinquish all privileges in Asia—this is called negotiation? This is surrender!"

Gelei lowered his head.

"Your Majesty, I know this is harsh. But..."

"But what?"

Gelei lifted his head and looked at him.

"But we have no choice now. Fight, we can't win. Wait, we won't get reinforcements. Seek peace, at least we can preserve something."

Qiaozhi Wushi stared at him, staring for a long while.

Then he laughed. That laugh was uglier than crying.

"Mr. Gray, tell me, what can peace preserve? Singapore? Myanmar? Yilang? Or India?"

Mr. Gray said nothing.

George V stood up and walked to the window.

"Even if we seek peace, will Chen Feng agree? He's already on the Sinai Peninsula; in a few days he'll be able to cross the canal. Will he stop?"

No one answered.

Outside the window, rain began. Fine droplets struck the glass, blurring the view. The Thames River grew hazy, the Parliament building grew hazy, and all of London grew hazy.

George V looked at the haze and suddenly felt very tired.

He recalled his father Edward VII's words before death: "George, the British Empire looks vast, but it is actually fragile. Once decline begins, it cannot be stopped."

At the time he didn't believe it. He thought his father was old and too pessimistic.

Now he believes it.

At six o'clock in the evening, the meeting finally ended.

The ministers streamed out, each face bearing fatigue and despair. No one spoke, no one greeted, and they silently left the conference room, left Number Ten Downing Street, and vanished into London's night.

George V was the last to emerge, standing on the steps at the doorway, watching the cars recede.

Lord Stanfordham, his private secretary, came to his side and whispered, "Your Majesty, you should return to the palace. Night is falling."

George V nodded, but did not move.

He stared at the flickering lights in the distance — London's lights, the lights he had watched since childhood. The war had raged for three years, and these lights burned every night, never extinguished. Deguo's airships had bombed, but they could not put out the lights.

But now?

Now the threat comes from the East. From those with yellow skin and black eyes. They are not Deguo, not Yingguo, not European. They are another kind of people, another civilization, another force.

They are advancing across Yazhou, pressing toward the Suez Canal, reshaping the world's order.

And the British Empire, that once‑imperial sun‑never‑sets empire, is retreating step by step before them.