Chapter 708: A Loaf of Bread, One Hundred Thousand Marks

The guards in the courtyard lifted their heads and stared bewilderingly at their emperor. Beteman and Yago exchanged a glance, saying nothing.

Wei Lian Er Shi turned, walked back to his room, his face still bearing a smile.

"Beteman, Yago, do you know what this means?"

Beteman nodded: "Your Majesty, this means our pressure will be greatly reduced. The Yingguo can no longer transfer troops from Yazhou to Europe."

"Not only that!" Wei Lian Er Shi interrupted, "It means we can rethink our strategy! The Yingguo are collapsing, the Faguo are isolated, the Meilika are still hesitating—now is the best moment to launch the grand offensive!"

He walked to the huge map of Europe on the wall and pointed at northern France.

"Tell Ludengdaofu to prepare a new round of attack. Once the Lanfang have crossed the Suez Canal, the Yingguo will completely abandon the European front. Then we can concentrate all forces and capture Paris in one stroke!"

Yago hesitated, then said softly: "Your Majesty, the Lanfang are indeed fighting smoothly, but they are still in Yazhou. The European front still depends on us."

Wei Lian Er Shi gave him a look that tightened Yago's heart.

"Yago, are you doubting my judgment?"

"Never, Your Majesty. I only think…"

"Think what?"

Yago lowered his head, saying nothing.

Wei Lian Er Shi stared at him for three seconds, then turned and walked back to the window.

"Summon the cabinet. Now. I want everyone to know this good news."

An hour later, the conference room of Berlin Palace was filled with people.

Prime Minister Beteman, Foreign Minister Yago, Chief of Staff Xingdengbao, Deputy Chief of Staff Ludengdaofu, and a large crowd of generals, ministers, and secretaries were present. In front of each lay the telegram about the Lanfang battle situation, and each face showed varying degrees of excitement.

Wei Lian Er Shi sat in the head seat, a smug smile on his face. He scanned the room, finally fixing his gaze on Xingdengbao.

"Marshal Xingdengbao, what is your view?"

Xingdengbao sat there, expressionless. He was already seventy, his facial wrinkles as deep as knife cuts, his eyes cloudy yet sharp like an aged eagle. He remained silent for three seconds, then spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Your Majesty, Lanfang's victory is certainly good news. However—"

"But what?" Wei Lian Er Shi's smile faded slightly.

Xingdengbao took a document from his briefcase and pushed it before Wei Lian Er Shi.

"Your Majesty, please look at this first."

Wei Lian Er Shi took the document, glanced at it, and his complexion changed.

It was an economic report, dense with numbers and shocking statistics:

"Munich, one loaf of bread, one hundred thousand marks."

"Berlin, one pound of butter, two hundred thousand marks."

"Lu er qu, coal miners on strike, demanding a three‑hundred percent wage increase."

"Hamburg Port, dockworkers on strike, demanding payment of three months of back wages."

"All Germany, unemployment surpassing four million. Hungry crowds everywhere in the cities. In the countryside, farmers refuse to turn over grain because the paper money is worthless."

Wei Lian Er Shi finished reading and slammed the report onto the table.

"I know all that. But is now the time to discuss this?"

Xingdengbao looked at him, his gaze calm.

"Your Majesty, if we don't discuss it now, when will we? When Berlin also erupts in riots? When soldiers go berserk because their families starve to death?"

The conference room fell silent.

Wei Lian Er Shi stared at Xingdengbao, his eyes holding an indefinable something—anger, resentment, or something else. Yet Xingdengbao did not flinch, meeting his gaze.

"Marshal Xingdengbao," Wei Lian Er Shi finally spoke, his voice low, "do you know what you're saying?"

"I know, Your Majesty," Xingdengbao's voice remained calm, "I'm saying we can no longer continue the fight."

The conference room erupted in a stir.

Ludengdaofu sprang to his feet: "Marshal! What are you saying? Lanfang just secured a decisive victory, the Yingguo are collapsing, this is precisely the best moment for our grand offensive! How can you claim we can't continue?"

Xingdengbao looked at him, his eyes showing an indescribable fatigue.

"Ludengdaofu, did you walk the streets of Berlin yesterday?"

Ludengdaofu was taken aback for a moment.

"No. I have been in the command center."

"Then go see," Xingdengbao said, "go see those queuing for bread, those children skin‑and‑bone from hunger, those women weeping because their husbands died on the battlefield. After you have seen that, come back and tell me about the 'grand offensive.'"

Ludengdaofu opened his mouth but could not speak.

Wei Lian Er Shi stood, walked to the window, his back to everyone.

"Xingdengbao," his voice came from behind, "you mean we should surrender?"

"Not surrender, Your Majesty. It is a peace negotiation."

"Peace talks?" Wei Lian Er Shi turned, a complex expression on his face, "with whom? With the Yingguo? They can barely protect themselves now; what could be negotiated? With the Faguo? They would love to see us torn to pieces. With the Lanfang? They are sailing smoothly in Yazhou; why should they negotiate with us?"

Xingdengbao was silent for a few seconds.

"Your Majesty, we can send a message through the Lanfang. Chen Feng is a clever man; he knows when to stop. If we proactively propose peace talks, perhaps we could…"

"Perhaps what…?" Wei Lian Er Shi cut him off, "perhaps preserve the territories we still hold? perhaps spare a few more soldiers from death? perhaps let those starving eat bread?"

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Xingdengbao, do you know why I have kept pressing on?"

Xingdengbao said nothing.

Wei Lian Er Shi looked at him, his eyes holding an indefinable something.

"Because if we seek peace now, it means admitting defeat. Admitting we fought for three years, lost millions, and gained nothing. Those who died would have died in vain."

Xingdengbao lowered his head, remaining silent for a long time.

Then he lifted his head and looked at William II.

"Your Majesty, what about those who are still alive? Must they continue to die?"

The conference room fell into dead silence.

William II stared at Xingdengbao, stared at the old marshal who had followed him for years and had never disobeyed his orders. At this moment, in those murky eyes was something he had never seen— it was not anger, not fear, but something deeper than anger and colder than fear.

It was despair.

William II shifted his gaze and looked out the window.

Outside, the sunlight remained bright, and Berlin's skyline remained clear. Yet he knew that behind that bright sunlight, beneath that clear skyline, were four million starving people, countless shattered families, and a nation that was collapsing.

"Dismiss," he said, his voice very soft.

No one moved.

"I said dismiss!"

Everyone stood up and filed out like fish in a stream.