The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 1012 This is not peace, it is a twenty-year truce
Buckingham Palace.

Queen Victoria tapped her fingers lightly on the rim of her teacup, the black tea inside long since cooled. She raised her aged but sharp eyes and looked at Luo Xinbei and Natalia sitting opposite her.

“I am very clear about the situation of the provisional government in Murmansk,” the Queen said in a low, slow voice, “but the upcoming Rome Peace Conference… I’m afraid it will not bring any favorable results to Russia.”

Luo Xinbei frowned slightly, his fingers tapping lightly on his knees as if he were calculating something. Natalia looked directly at the Queen, her tone firm: "Your Majesty, what we need is not victory at the Rome Peace Conference, but a title, a title to represent Russia in the world."

"A title? Is it useful?" The Queen shook her head slightly. "The People's Will Party has already controlled St. Petersburg, Moscow, Minsk, and even Kiev and Odessa are under the control of Cossack warlords. They are nominally loyal to the Tsar, but in reality, they are just regional warlords. As for the Black Sea Fleet... they are probably only concerned with Crimea now."

Luo Xinbei said in a deep voice, "So we need a formal title, we need to let people in Russia know that the internationally recognized leader of Russia is still His Majesty the Tsar. In addition, we also need British aid—1000 million pounds, 5 rifles, 500 machine guns, 200 cannons, 1000 million bullets, and 5 shells."

The Queen paused for a moment, her gaze turning to the window where the dark clouds of London hung low, as if they might press down at any moment.

“1000 million pounds…” she repeated softly, as if calculating how many battleships that money could buy.

Just then, a palace attendant hurried in and whispered, "Your Majesty, the Prime Minister requests an audience."

The Queen nodded, and Luo Xinbei and Natalia stood up to take their leave, but the Prime Minister had already strode in, his face solemn yet with an undisguised excitement.

"Your Majesty!" The Prime Minister's voice trembled slightly, "The German Emperor is dead!"

The Queen paused, startled: "Didn't Emperor William...?"

“No, not William, but his son, Frederick III.” The Prime Minister took a deep breath. “Your son-in-law passed away two days ago.”

The Queen's fingers gripped the teacup tightly, her knuckles turning white. She slowly closed her eyes and whispered, "My God... he's only been emperor for three months."

The Prime Minister nodded: "Now succeeding to the throne is your grandson, Wilhelm II, who is a peace-loving young man."

The Queen opened her eyes, a complex light flashing within them: "He...accepted the ceasefire?"

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The Prime Minister’s lips curled into a slight smile. “The gunfire in Paris has ceased.”

The Queen made the sign of the cross and let out a long sigh: "Finally... the war is over."

She turned to Luo Xinbei, her tone suddenly becoming firm: "Duke of Siberia, tell Nicholas to hold on a little longer. I will try to win William the Younger's support for the Tsar. As long as William the Younger is on his side, the People's Will Party is not worth mentioning!"

Luo Xinbei bowed slightly, but a cold glint flashed in his eyes—if Wilhelm II supported Nicholas II, then his father, Luo Yaoguo, would probably have to support the People's Will Party!
The carriage slowly pulled away from Buckingham Palace, its wheels churning over the wet cobblestones with a dull thud. Luo Xinbei peered through the carriage window at the bustling scene on the streets of London.

"Peace! Peace!" A dockworker, his face flushed, staggered across the street, a bottle of liquor still drenched in coal dust, too drunk to stand. The tavern's wooden door was flung open, and more drunkards poured into the street, waving their hats and singing off-key "God Save the Queen."

In front of a bakery on the street corner, several women in faded aprons huddled together, tears streaming down their rough faces. "Thank God," one of them murmured, her fingers clutching the cross to her chest. Her husband was serving in India and hadn't returned home for three years.

A group of ragged children, barefoot, weaved through the crowd, waving a makeshift British flag pieced together from sticks and rags, laughing as they ran through the muddy streets. A newsboy stood atop his wooden crate, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Extra! Extra! The German Emperor has granted an armistice! Paris is saved!"

In the distance, the solemn chimes of St. Paul's Cathedral mingled with the cheerful melody of an accordion playing in the street. Several wounded veterans stood at the tavern entrance, leaning on crutches. Faded medals adorned their uniforms, and complex emotions flickered in their cloudy eyes—they knew better than anyone what this ceasefire meant.

Natalia gazed at the revelers outside the window, her slender fingers unconsciously stroking the Orthodox cross hanging around her neck. "Look at them," she whispered, "as happy as if they've won a war."

Luo Xinbei's lips curled into a cold smile: "What they are celebrating is not peace at all, but a twenty-year truce." His gaze swept over a sailor kissing a strange girl, "These people will soon understand that the ambitions of the German Empire will not be extinguished."

As the carriage rounded a corner, a procession suddenly appeared ahead. Workers held signs that read "Bread, not bullets" and sang the Internationale. Policemen stood on either side, batons in hand, watching the group warily.

“The British can celebrate,” Natalia’s voice suddenly turned bitter, “but we Russians won’t even have a twenty-year truce.” Her gaze passed through the noisy crowd, as if she could see distant St. Petersburg—where the Winter Palace was still burning and corpses floated on the Neva River.

Luo Xinbei silently held his mother's hand. He could feel her hands trembling slightly—not from fear, but from anger. Outside the window, a flower girl was pinning the last withered rose to her chest; her smile was particularly glaring in the setting sun.

“Yes,” he replied in a low voice, his voice as cold as the Siberian wind, “only a civil war that could go on for who knows how long.”

The carriage crossed the Thames Bridge, the lights of London reflected on the water. Those lights looked so warm, so peaceful. For the people of this city, the war had finally ended.

Wilhelm II stood before the mirror, his brand-new imperial uniform fitting him perfectly. He raised his head slightly, his gaze sharp and arrogant, as if he could already see the German Empire twenty years from now—a superpower dominating all of Europe. “Your Majesty,” Bismarck stood behind him, holding a document, his voice deep and steady, “besides the 50 square kilometers of Russian territory we have already occupied, there is also the Kingdom of Norway, the Grand Duchy of Finland, the United Duchy of Romania, the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, and large swathes of territory in northeastern France…”

Wilhelm II raised his hand, interrupting Bismarck.

“My prime minister,” he turned around, a slight smile playing on his lips, “I have complete trust in you.”

Bismarck lowered his head slightly, but his gaze remained as sharp as a hawk's. He knew that this young emperor was ambitious but lacked patience. He had to ensure that the expansion of the German Empire would not be ruined by shortsightedness.

Wilhelm II walked to the window and looked down at the street scene of Berlin. In the distance, the Brandenburg Gate looked particularly majestic in the setting sun, and further away, the Prussian flag fluttered in the wind.

"This Rome Peace Conference..." he said slowly, "is not about achieving peace."

He turned around, his eyes flashing with ambition and ruthlessness.

"Instead, it's a twenty-year truce."

Bismarck's lips curled into a slight smile. This was exactly what he wanted—a temporary truce, not a permanent peace.

“I understand. Alsace-Lorraine, which I will prepare for the war twenty years from now, has long been incorporated into the Empire, but the vast swathes of land in northeastern France must not become a burden for us.” Bismarck unfolded a map and traced his finger across northeastern France. “We will establish a ‘demilitarized zone’ here. The French can retain administrative power, but they are not allowed to station troops or build fortresses. The railways and ports will be under the supervision of the Empire.”

Wilhelm II narrowed his eyes: "They will accept it?"

“They have no choice now,” Bismarck sneered. “Red France is on its last legs. If they refuse, we will continue to bombard Paris until they collapse completely. And twenty years from now…”

Did Wilhelm II understand what would happen twenty years from now? He nodded in satisfaction.

“The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg will continue to be ruled by Grand Duke Adolf, but it must return to the German Empire and become an autonomous state within the empire.” Bismarck tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “Luxembourg’s railway, telegraph, and postal systems will all be incorporated into the imperial system, and the army will be under the unified command of the empire.”

Wilhelm II nodded with satisfaction: "Very good, Luxembourg's steel industry is of vital importance to us."

"The Grand Duchy of Finland will be ruled by your cousin, Prince Frederick William," Bismarck continued. "The Kingdom of Norway will be taken over by your cousin, Prince Karl, and as for the United Duchy of Romania..."

He paused, his gaze deep: "We can allow Carol I to continue as the nominal monarch, but real power must be in the hands of our governor."

William II sneered: "Carroll I is a collateral branch of the Hohenzollern family, but he is too weak. If he dares to resist, we will replace him."

“As for Africa…” A sly glint flashed in Bismarck’s eyes, “we can make Mathilde of the Bonaparte family the ‘Queen of Africa,’ ruling over Algeria, Corsica, and parts of Tunisia and Libya.”

Wilhelm II raised an eyebrow: "You still want to keep the Bonaparte family?"

“Exactly.” Bismarck smiled. “Let them go and mess around in Africa. To be honest, the French have more experience than we do in colonizing Africa. If they succeed, the German Empire can profit from it; if they fail, we can take back these lands at any time and learn from their mistakes.”

Wilhelm II laughed: "Good! Let them go to Africa and expand our territory!"

"As for the 50 square kilometers we received from Russia..." Bismarck's voice suddenly turned low, "I suggest that this not be discussed at the Rome Peace Conference."

Wilhelm II frowned: "Why?"

"Because this land could become the spark that ignites the next war." Bismarck's gaze was as sharp as a knife. "The German people must understand that if they want to preserve these living spaces, they must begin to seriously prepare for the next war now!"

Wilhelm II was silent for a moment, then revealed a sinister smile: "Very well... then let the whole world know that the expansion of the German Empire has only just begun!"

Bismarck bowed slightly, his eyes flashing with a cold light.

"Twenty years from now..." Wilhelm II's voice was low and dangerous, "we will let them know the true power of the German Empire."

(End of this chapter)