Chapter 728: Proton (A Slightly Watery Chapter)

Jia Si Pa Lei sat in the co‑pilot seat, about to speak but held back.

Bo Sai Li leaned against his seat, eyes closed.

After a long while, he spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Jia Si Pa Lei, you say, will the king agree?"

Jia Si Pa Lei was silent for a few seconds.

"Prime Minister, I don't know."

Bo Sai Li gave a wry smile.

"I don't know either."

December 22, Rome.

Quirinal Palace, Italy Royal Palace.

Bo Sai Li stood in the king's study, where King Vittorio Emanuele III sat before him. The king was forty‑eight this year, his hair already graying, his face bearing an indescribable fatigue. He wore plain clothes, sat behind the desk, and held the agreement brought back from Switzerland.

He looked for a long time.

Then he set the agreement down, lifted his head, and looked at Bo Sai Li.

"Deguo people want Umberto as a hostage?"

Bo Sai Li nodded.

"Yes."

The king was silent for a few seconds.

"What do you think?"

Bo Sai Li took a deep breath.

"Your Majesty, I know this is difficult. But if Deguo doesn't trust us, none of this matters. Twenty divisions, the navy, political statements—these can all be seen as empty words on paper. Only Prince Umberto—"

"Only my son can make them believe?" the king interrupted.

Bo Sai Li lowered his head.

"Yes."

The king stood, walked to the window. Outside, Rome's night was deep, and the dome of St. Peter's Basilica in the distance flickered in the moonlight.

He recalled Umberto as a child. The skinny boy who followed him, calling in a childish voice, "Dad, wait for me." He remembered Umberto's tenth birthday, when he gave him a pony; the boy was so delighted he hugged his neck and kissed him repeatedly. He recalled Umberto's coming‑of‑age at eighteen, dressed in crisp military uniform, saluting him, his eyes full of youthful pride.

Now, he must send this son to Berlin.

As a hostage.

"Bo Sai Li," his hoarse voice said, "do you know what this means?"

Bo Sai Li nodded.

"I know. It means Prince Umberto will become a pawn in Deguo's hands. If Italy betrays again, he will be the first to die."

The king closed his eyes.

"Then you still want me to agree?"

Bo Sai Li was silent for a few seconds.

"Your Majesty, if we don't do this, Italy will die."

He walked to the king's side, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Look at the current situation. Yingguo is near collapse, yet they still fight. Deguo is on the brink of collapse, yet they also fight. Lanfang has risen; they have devoured half of Yingguo's colonies in Yazhou. Meilika people have arrived; they seek dollar hegemony, not to help us."

He paused.

"Italy is sandwiched in the middle, pleasing neither side. If England and France win, they will punish us. If Deguo wins, they will look down on us. Every choice is a loss. Only by betting everything do we have a chance to win."

The king looked at him.

"Bet everything? Using my son as the stake?"

Bo Sai Li nodded.

"Yes. Bet Prince Umberto."

The king was silent for a long time.

Outside, Rome's night grew deeper. From afar the church bells rang: one, two, three—midnight.

"Bo Sai Li," the king finally said, "if Umberto gets hurt, I will kill you."

Bo Sai Li lowered his head.

"I understand, Your Majesty."

"If Italy betrays again, Deguo will kill him, and I will kill you as well."

"I know."

"If all this is in vain, if Deguo still loses in the end—do you know the consequences?"

Bo Sai Li lifted his head, looking at him.

"I know. I will become the greatest sinner in Italy's history."

The king stared at him, for a long while.

Then he waved his hand.

"Go. Let Umberto come to see me."

Bo Sai Li bowed, turned, and left.

Twenty minutes later, Umberto entered the king's study.

He wore plain clothes, a hint of unease on his young face. He didn't know why his father summoned him so late, but he sensed something serious had happened.

"Dad," he began, using his childhood address, "did you call for me?"

The king looked at him, at that youthful face, those clear eyes, that heart still tinged with childishness.

He suddenly didn't want to speak.

"Father?" Weng Beito called out again.

The king took a deep breath.

"Weng Beito, sit down. I have something to tell you."

Weng Beito sat on the sofa and looked at his father.

The king walked to his side and sat down as well.

"Weng Beito, Italy is going to war."

Weng Beito was stunned for a moment.

"War? With whom?"

"With England and France. We're heading back to the German side."

Weng Beito's eyes lit up.

"Really? We're finally not mixing with those hypocritical Yingguo people?"

The king looked at him, feeling a sharp sting in his heart. This child still didn't know what awaited him.

"Weng Beito, going to Berlin will cost something."

Weng Beito was stunned for a moment.

"Cost? What cost?"

The king was silent for a few seconds.

"Deguo people want you to go to Berlin as a hostage."

Weng Beito's face turned white instantly.

"Hostage?"

The king nodded.

"Yes. A hostage. They need to ensure Italy won't betray again."

Weng Beito sat there, motionless.

He looked at his father, at the weary face and the blood‑shot eyes. He wanted to see a hint of reluctance, a hint of hesitation, a hint of "I don't want you to go" in his father's gaze.

But he saw nothing.

He only saw a king. A person who would sacrifice everything for the country.

"Father," his voice was soft, "Will you let me go?"

The king was silent for a long time.

Then he nodded.

"Allow."

Weng Beito lowered his head.

He recalled his childhood, when his father took him to a military parade and pointed at the imposing soldiers, saying, "Weng Beito, one day you will be their king. You must protect them and be responsible for them."

Now it was his turn.

He lifted his head and looked at his father.

"I'll go."

The king was stunned.

"Weng Beito—"

The crown prince stood up and walked to his father's side.

"Father, I am Italy's crown prince. If going to Berlin can protect Italy, then I'll go."

He paused.

"I trust you. I trust Bo Sai Li. I trust the Deguo people won't hurt me."

The king looked at him, his eyes slightly watery.

He stood up and embraced his son.

"Weng Beito—"

Weng Beito patted his back.

"Father, don't be sad. I will return."

December 25, Christmas.

A private train slowly left Rome railway station, heading north.

Inside the carriage, Weng Beito sat by the window, watching Rome fade away outside. In the distance, St. Peter's Basilica; nearby, the houses; and the streets whose destinations were unknown all gradually blurred and vanished in the morning light.

Bo Sai Li sat opposite him, silent.

He didn't know what to say.

The train passed fields, villages, and countless nameless stations. Each time it passed a place, Weng Beito glanced again, as if trying to imprint it all in his mind.