Chapter 713: The Prime Minister's Position Depends on Which Side Can Win

A young soldier was lying beside us, named Mario, only nineteen this year, his face still bearing unwaned childishness. His eyes kept fixed on the mist‑shrouded hill ahead, and he muttered under his breath—whether in prayer or cheering himself on.

"Corporal," Mario suddenly spoke, his voice pressed low, "Do you think we can win?"

Li Zuo gave him a glance.

"I don't know."

Mario froze for a moment, then grew even more nervous.

"Corporal, you've been fighting for years, how can you not know?"

Li Zuo was silent for a few seconds.

"Because every time I thought we could win, we lost."

Mario opened his mouth, but no words came out.

From afar came a rapid motor sound. A three‑wheeled motorcycle roared from behind and stopped at the trench edge. An officer leapt from the vehicle and sprinted toward the command post.

After a few minutes, the whistle sounded.

The sharp, piercing sound tore the valley's silence.

"Attack!"

Li Zuo scrambled up and surged forward with the crowd.

The slope was steep; after a few steps you slipped. Beneath were gravel and mud, giving a loose, crumbling feel underfoot. The Austro‑Hungarian army's machine gun roared from the summit, bullets raining down like a storm, striking the rocks with a puffing sound.

Soldiers beside us fell one after another. Some were hit in the head and collapsed outright; some were struck in the thigh, letting out a howl before rolling down the slope; some took a chest shot, fell to the ground, twitched a few times and then went still.

Li Zuo crouched behind a boulder, panting heavily.

Mario lay beside him, his face ashen. A shrapnel slice cut his left ear, blood streaming down his cheek, but he couldn't bother to wipe it.

"Corporal, I... I'm hit?"

Li Zuo glanced at his wound.

"Just a superficial wound, you won't die."

Mario let out a sigh of relief, then grew even more frightened.

"Corporal, do we still have to charge?"

Li Zuo gave no answer.

He stuck his head out and surveyed the summit. The Austro‑Hungarian machine gun was still firing, and silhouettes crowded the trench, their numbers unknown.

"Wait for the artillery," he said.

After waiting twenty minutes, the artillery finally opened fire.

Shells whooshed in from behind, landing on the summit and erupting in plumes of smoke. The machine‑gun fire thinned out a bit.

"Charge!"

Li Zuo scrambled up and kept charging toward the summit.

This time, he reached the summit.

In the trench, Austro‑Hungarian soldiers were retreating. Some dropped their rifles and fled; some raised their hands, knelt and surrendered; others kept resisting, only to be stabbed to death by Italian soldiers with bayonets.

Li Zuo leapt into the trench, breathing heavily.

Mario followed behind, also jumping in. His legs trembled, his hands trembled, his whole body shook.

"Corporal, did we... did we win?"

Li Zuo looked at him without speaking.

He lifted his gaze toward the distance—the direction of the second defensive line, where more Austro‑Hungarian troops were gathering. They hadn't been crushed, merely withdrawing to a more advantageous position, waiting for the Italians to charge again.

"No," he said, "not yet victorious."

Mario froze for a moment, then followed his line of sight.

On the distant slope, the Austro‑Hungarian battle flag still fluttered.

Meanwhile, in Bern, Switzerland.

Italian ambassador to Switzerland Alberto Castorani sat in an unremarkable café, a cup of cold coffee before him. Outside, the snow‑capped peaks of the Alps glittered in the sun, beautiful as a postcard illustration.

But he had no mood to admire the scenery. His eyes stayed fixed on the doorway, waiting for that person to appear.

The door opened, and a middle‑aged man in a dark‑gray coat entered. He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on Castorani for a second, then walked over and sat opposite him.

"Mr. Castorani?"

Castorani nodded.

"I am."

The man tipped his hat onto the table. It was an ordinary face, ordinary features, ordinary expression—the kind that disappears into a crowd.

"I am a Deguo Ministry of Foreign Affairs staffer, named Mayer," he said, his German tinged with a Swiss accent, "What would you like to discuss?"

Castorani looked at him, silent for three seconds.

"Mr. Mayer, let's get straight to the point. Italy is willing to return to the Allies."

Mayer squinted his eyes, but his face showed no expression.

"Willing to return to the Allies? Two years ago you didn't say that."

Castorani gave a wry smile.

"Two years ago was two years ago; now is now. The situation has changed."

Mayer nodded.

"The situation truly has changed. Yingguo are on the brink of defeat, Lanfang are winning. You jumping back now, is it to get a share of the pie?"

Castorani did not deny.

"You could say that."

Mayer was silent for a few seconds.

"The conditions?"

Kasi Telani took a document from his pocket and pushed it in front of Mai Er.

"Our conditions. Take a look."

Mai Er took the document, skimmed it quickly, then lifted his head and looked at Kasi Telani.

"You want France to cede Corsica? Also Savoy? Nice?"

Kasi Telani nodded.

"This is what we deserve. We helped Deguo fight, so we should get some benefit."

Mai Er let out a cold laugh.

"Benefit? When you betrayed us two years ago, why didn't you think about benefit?"

Kasi Telani looked at him.

"Mr. Mai Er, a politician has no eternal friends nor eternal enemies. You understand this principle better than I do."

Mai Er stared at him for a long time.

Then he folded the document and slipped it back into his pocket.

"I will forward it to Berlin. But I can't guarantee they will agree."

Kasi Telani nodded.

"Then I trouble you with that."

Mai Er stood up, put on his hat, and prepared to leave. After two steps he suddenly stopped, turned back, and looked at Kasi Telani.

"Mr. Kasi Telani, there's a question I've been wanting to ask."

"Please speak."

"Your Prime Minister Bo Sai Li—what is he really thinking? On one hand attacking our ally Austro-Hungarian Empire at Ka Bo Lei Tuo, on the other sending you to negotiate with us. Which side is he on?"

Kasi Telani was silent for three seconds.

"Mr. Mai Er, the prime minister stands where he can win."

Mai Er let out a cold laugh and pushed the door open, leaving.

Kasi Telani sat alone in a café, watching the snow‑capped peaks outside the window.

He suddenly felt very tired.

Having served as a diplomat for decades, he had witnessed countless betrayals and treacheries, done countless things against his conscience. Yet this time, even he didn't know what he was doing.

Dubai, Presidential Office.

Chen Feng sat in his office, holding a freshly delivered piece of intelligence. It was an Italian telegram intercepted by the Intelligence Department—Prime Minister Bo Sai Li was ordering an attack on Ka Bo Lei Tuo while secretly contacting the Deguo.

He finished reading, set the telegram down, and let out a cold laugh.

Wang Wenwu stood beside him and asked, "President, the Italians are… hedging on both sides?"