Chapter 736: How Many Underhanded Tricks Did the Yingguo Use

February 8th, dusk.

Panxing stood on a high hill, watching the British Army soldiers in the distance queuing to board the train.

That was the last batch of withdrawing troops. A full brigade, over three thousand men, lined up in a long column heading toward the station. Their uniforms were still tidy, equipment complete, but each face bore a expression Panxing knew all too well—a veteran's expression, one only those who have seen blood, killed, and survived would have.

A Yingguo officer stood by the road, talking with several Meilika officers. He pointed at a map, saying something, and the Meilika officers listened attentively, nodding from time to time.

Panxing walked down the hill and headed that way.

The Yingguo officer saw him and immediately stood at attention, saluting: "General!"

Panxing nodded and looked at the Meilika officers: "What are you doing?"

A young Lieutenant replied: "General, the Yingguo are handing over the positions to us. They have told us all the defensive key points and even drawn a map."

Panxing looked at the Yingguo officer.

The Yingguo officer smiled, a smile that contained a hint Panxing didn't like—was it condescending politeness, or something else?

"General, our soldiers have withdrawn, the positions are now yours. This place is crucial; you must hold it."

Panxing stared at him, silent for three seconds.

"Where are you going?"

The Yingguo officer was momentarily stunned, then shook his head: "General, I don't know. I'm only following orders."

Panxing nodded.

"Then just follow the orders."

The Yingguo officer saluted, turned, and walked toward the troops.

Panxing stood there, watching the British Army soldiers recede. They marched in formation, silently heading to the station. No one spoke, no one looked back, just stepping forward one step at a time.

Haibode walked up beside him and whispered, "General, that's the last batch. the Yingguo have finished withdrawing."

Panxing nodded.

"Meilika side, have you taken the defense?"

"We have. Eight divisions, 120,000 men, all filled in."

Panxing remained silent for a long while.

He watched the Yingguo silhouettes fading in the distance and suddenly asked, "Haibode, where do you think the Yingguo are going this time?"

Haibode thought for a moment.

"Egypt, perhaps. Aren't they going to fight the Lanfang people?"

Panxing nodded.

"Egypt. Four hundred thousand, to fight Zhao Dengyu's 120,000."

He paused.

"Who do you think will win?"

Haibode was stunned: "General, this—how would I know?"

Panxing turned and looked at him.

"I don't know either. But I know one thing."

"What?"

"Regardless of who wins, we are the losers."

Haibode looked at him, puzzled.

Panxing pointed at the Meilika soldiers training in the trenches in the distance.

"Look at them. They think they are here to save the world. They don't know they are merely pieces on a board."

He turned and walked toward the command post.

After a few steps, he suddenly stopped, turned back, and glanced at the sky darkening.

"Haibode, remember what I say today."

"What words?"

"From today on, the Meilika army will trust only Meilika people."

Night fell, and the Faguo front grew quiet.

Occasionally a Shell burst sounded, but it quickly faded into the night.

Meilika soldiers wrapped in greatcoats huddled in the trenches; some smoked, some stared blankly, some whispered.

A young soldier asked the veteran beside him: "Sergeant, have the Yingguo really left?"

The veteran smoked, looking at the pitch‑black night sky in the distance.

"They have."

"Then what do we do?"

The veteran turned his head, looking at him. Moonlight fell on his weathered face, illuminating his clouded eyes.

"What to do? Just wait to get beaten."

The young soldier was stunned.

"Beaten?"

The veteran exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Do you think Deguo are fools? They'll eventually realize the Yingguo have left. Then Shells will fall, bullets will fly, and people will die."

He patted the young soldier's shoulder.

"Kid, remember this—on the battlefield, the only one you can rely on is yourself."

The young soldier nodded, half‑understanding.

In the distance, the faint whistle of a train drifted.

That was the sound of the Yingguo people leaving.

It grew farther and farther, grew fainter and fainter, and finally vanished completely into the night.

London, 10 Downing Street.

Asquies stood by the window, watching the pitch‑black night outside. In his hand he clutched a telegram just returned from Egypt: the first batch of fifty thousand had already arrived at Alexandria and were gathering toward the canal.

Jiqinna stood behind him and said softly, "Prime Minister, the last batch has also withdrawn. One hundred eighty thousand, all aboard the ships."

Asquies nodded.

"What's the reaction on the Faguo side?"

Jiqinna was silent for three seconds.

"Keliemengsuo summoned Gelei. They had an argument. But that's all there is to it."

Asquies turned around and looked at him.

"That's all?"

Jiqinna nodded: "Gelei said the Faguo have also sent people to Dubai. They have no right to blame us."

Asquies was stunned for a moment, then smiled.

That kind of smile made Jiqinna feel a chill in his heart.

"Faguo? They're cozying up with Lanfang, and still have the nerve to blame us?"

He walked back to his desk and sat down.

"Jiqinna, tell me, what is Keliemengsuo thinking now?"

Jiqinna thought for a moment.

"He's probably wondering why we betrayed him."

Asquies shook his head.

"No. He's thinking about how long he can still live."

He picked up the Egyptian telegram again and read it once more.

"Four hundred thousand people. Four hundred thousand battle‑hardened veterans. When Ailunbi captures the Sinai Peninsula and pushes to Dubai, the Faguo will know who the real boss is."

He set the telegram down and leaned back in his chair.

"Jiqinna, go tell Ailunbi to speed up. The faster, the better."

Jiqinna nodded, turned, and left.

After the door closed, Asquies sat there alone, watching the pitch‑black night outside.

In the distance, London's lights twinkled like countless eyes flickering in the darkness.

Those eyes were the eyes of the dead.

He stared at those eyes and suddenly felt very weary.

Three years of fighting, millions dead, and now even allies are scheming.

When will it ever end?

He didn't know.

But he knew this battle had to be won.

If we win, Yingguo remains the British Empire.

If we lose…

He didn't think further.

The night outside grew ever deeper.

The night of February 8, 1918 passed just like that.

Tomorrow, a new day will come.

New scheming, new betrayals, new deaths will also come.

February 9, 1918, Dubai.

The sun rose from the sea of the Persian Gulf, dyeing the whole city golden‑red. The water glittered like a layer of scattered gold. In the distance, the mosque's minarets stood especially clear in the morning light, and the loudspeakers on the minaret emitted a long chant, calling the faithful to begin a new day.

But today the President's Office awoke even earlier than the mosque.