The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 1030 I'm relieved that they started fighting.
On the morning of June 3, 1914, thick fog from Mount Lu, carrying the scent of pine resin, seeped into the carved wooden windows of the Wu Prince's Mansion. Eighty-six-year-old Luo Yaoguo nestled in the brocade cushions of a rosewood couch, his withered fingers resting on the armrests, his knuckles slightly twisted with age. From the sandalwood incense burner before the couch, a wisp of smoke rose, mingling with the aroma of painkillers prescribed by a Western doctor, condensing into a pale blue mist in the morning light.

Five people stood solemnly before the couch: the eldest son, Luo Xinhua, wore a crisp naval marshal's uniform, the four small gold stars on his epaulets now replaced by a large one; Hu Wansheng, the prime minister of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, wore a civil official's robe—a type of Chinese long robe, usually worn only on the most formal occasions; King Yang Jiri of Korea—the third king of the Yang Dynasty of Korea, was a fat man like his father, his face drooping with fat, his eyes filled with emotion as he looked at Luo Yaoguo; Emperor Hong Tiangui of the United States was over sixty years old, but still stood upright, wearing a marshal's uniform, still looking imposing; the priestess of the Japanese Shinto shrine, Kusunoki Takako, was an old woman, her eyes lowered as she twirled her sandalwood prayer beads, the folds of her hakama pleats remaining perfectly still, only the soft clinking of the beads was particularly clear in the silence.

These are all very busy people, and they've gathered together at Luo Yaoguo's bedside today, of course, to say goodbye.
"Tell me everything," the old man said in a hoarse, aged voice, "How's the fighting going outside?"

Hu Wansheng stepped forward, twirling a cigar between his fingers: "The Germans are stuck in France. They've run into a French armored grenadier division east of the Vosges Mountains—these units are equipped with StuG III assault guns specifically designed to counter German tanks." He pulled a stack of photos from his briefcase; the top one was of an assault gun without a turret, its 75mm anti-tank gun mounted directly on the hull. "The German Panzer III tanks are like paper in their presence!"

Yang Jiri suddenly interjected: "But Wilhelm II also had a Panzer IV tank, which was said to be equipped with a 75mm cannon!"

“Number 4?” Hu Wansheng scoffed, flipping over another photograph and tossing it onto the couch. The photo showed female workers at an arsenal outside Paris assembling rocket launchers with conical warheads. A sign on the assembly line read, “Licensed Production of the 17th Arsenal of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom.” “'Iron Fist' has an armor-piercing depth of 120 mm, specifically designed to target the side armor of the Panzer IV tank. The assembly line built with Taiping Heavenly Kingdom aid produces 5,000 units per month!”

Hong Tiangui said in a low voice, "The German Air Force is not weak either."

“Fokker aircraft are formidable,” Hu Wansheng interrupted him, “but the French ‘Red Hurricane’ fighter jet uses our radial engine. Although its turning performance is not as good as the Fokker, it climbs faster, dives even faster, has a particularly long range, and is also very powerful!” He pointed to the rolling sea of ​​clouds outside the window, “Not to mention the ‘Storm’ bomber—with a combat radius of 500 kilometers and a bomb load of 1 ton, it just bombed Cologne’s railway hub last week.”

Luo Yaoguo rubbed the photograph with his withered fingers, then suddenly coughed, his phlegm streaked with blood. A maid hurriedly offered him a bowl of medicine, but he waved it away.

"Land-based aircraft," he murmured, panting. "Range. Air superiority. Dive-bombing jets."

Luo Xinhua's military boots thudded on the floor. He unfolded a nautical chart of the North China Sea, the scarlet markings glaringly bright.

"In the Battle of the North Sea on April 25, the Germans traded three Moltke-class battleships for four British capital ships, but they lost their future." He pointed to the English Channel, "Schelle's fleet could not break through the strangulation net of British and French shore-based air forces!"

He pulled out another aerial photograph—a French Lightning torpedo bomber taking off from Calais airfield, the torpedoes under its wings gleaming menacingly in the morning light. "French torpedo bombers have an operational radius covering the entire Channel; the British Atlantic Sentinel can carry 500-pound bombs and has twice the range of carrier-based aircraft!"

Hong Tiangui said worriedly, "MacArthur still has twelve aircraft carriers! What if the US and Germany join forces?"

"Has Your Majesty forgotten the Faroe Islands?" Luo Xinhua said. "On April 18th, British shore-based air force sank two American Enterprise-class aircraft carriers! The American biplane carrier-based aircraft were as slow as snails in front of land-based bombers—" He turned to his father, his voice resolute, "Germany will either build aircraft carriers in three years or flatten France!"

Luo Yaoguo, lying on the couch, suddenly coughed violently. A maid caught a mouthful of bloody phlegm with a silk handkerchief. He waved his hand, his withered finger pointing to Scapa Flow on the nautical chart: "Where is the British aircraft carrier?"

"Six 'Tejas'-class carriers are already in service, and six more large aircraft carriers are under construction." Luo Xinhua paused, "But the Germans," he sneered, "their large aircraft carrier project has probably only just been initiated!"

Hong Tiangui frowned: "The industrial strength of the Germans and the United States is twice that of Britain and France combined, unless we intervene."

Luo Yaoguo coughed twice and laughed, "Don't worry. I'll be relieved once they start fighting!" He suddenly remembered something, "By the way, have the Russians joined in yet?"

Yang Jiri immediately took over Luo Yaoguo's question: "Russia will make a move immediately!"

He has always been in charge of providing aid to the People's Opposition Party.

He reported to Luo Yaoguo: "General Kamenev has assembled a million-strong army on the border. Their T-14 tanks use the diesel engine technology we provided and are equipped with 76mm cannons, which are sufficient to confront Kaiser Wilhelm's Panzer IV."

Luo Yaoguo squinted and muttered, "Wilhelm II spent too much money on the navy! Especially on the German Eastern Front."

"We just withdrew thirty divisions to support the western front!" Yang Jiri continued, "The divisions currently stationed on the 'Emperor's Line' are infantry divisions. Although they are equipped with a large number of artillery pieces and anti-tank guns, they lack mobile armored fighting vehicles such as tanks and assault guns."

Luo Yaoguo's gaunt chest heaved violently. He coughed a few more times and hissed, "When will Russia enter the fray?"

Yang Jiri said confidently, "Wait until Germany transfers another twenty divisions. By June at the latest!"

When Luo Yaoguo finally pinned Hong Tiangui down, his pupils had begun to dilate, yet he still didn't forget to instruct the American emperor: "Third, you're expanding your military in the Americas! When MacArthur attacks Britain, you stab him in the back! But the condition is..." His voice trailed off, "...the western section of the Nicaragua Canal...it's time for a new master."

Luo Yaoguo waved his hand, signaling everyone to leave. Hu Wansheng, Yang Jiri, Hong Tiangui, and Nanmu Gaozi bowed in turn and slowly withdrew from the inner room. Nanmu Gaozi's prayer beads lay on the carpet, a few sandalwood beads rolling off, making a soft clinking sound in the silence. After the sound of the door hinges turning faded, Luo Xinhua knelt on one knee before his father's bed, the metal buckle of his military boots gently tapping on the floor.

"Use the gas diffusion method!" Luo Yaoguo gasped, his voice hoarse but firm. "The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom's centrifuges can be built... Tell Qian... increase the rotation speed of uranium hexafluoride gas to 100,000."

He coughed violently, a trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth, but his fingers still gripped Luo Xinhua's wrist tightly.

"Second, ballistic missiles."

Luo Xinhua nodded: "The team from Northwest University has already tested the improved version of Missile 1 at the Gansu base, with an expected range of 200 kilometers."

"Not enough!" Luo Yaoguo's eyes widened suddenly, his voice rising abruptly. "We need something that can reach Washington and New York!"

He let out a hoarse gasp, then collapsed back onto the couch, as if his outburst had exhausted his last bit of strength.

“Remember,” he murmured, “fission weapons are not for bombing white people, but for deterrence.”

His gaze gradually became unfocused, looking into the void as if piercing through time and space.

The darkness came like a tide.

Luo Yaoguo's consciousness floated in the void, as if he had fallen into a long tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, there were faint flashes of light, and he heard a cacophony of sounds—car horns, pedestrians talking, and the patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

"Boom——"

A thunderclap boomed overhead, and blinding lightning cleaved through the darkness. Luo Yaoguo opened his eyes abruptly and found himself riding an electric scooter, rain streaming down his helmet visor, blurring his vision.

Am I delivering food?

He looked down at himself—his yellow windbreaker bore the logo of a food delivery platform, a bag of takeout food hung on the handlebars, and the order label read "18th Floor, XX Building."

"Beep——!"

A sharp horn blared from behind him. He instinctively turned around and saw a black sedan hurtling towards him out of control!
"boom--!"

A sharp pain swept through his body, throwing him into the air before he slammed heavily onto the wet asphalt. The dull thud of his helmet hitting the ground, the crackling of the electric scooter battery exploding, and the distant scream of a woman mingled with the warm liquid streaming down his forehead.

"Hang in there! The ambulance is on its way!"

Someone shouted in his ear, but the voice sounded like it was coming through frosted glass.

In his dazed state, he saw himself lying in a pool of blood, next to him a twisted and mangled delivery scooter, its contents—salted fish and mooncakes—scattered all over the ground. Not far away, the bumper of a black sedan was dented, and the driver in a suit was trembling as he made a phone call.

"Traumatic brain injury! Unequal pupil size!"

"Quick! Secure it with a neck brace!"

"Quickly, get him to the First Affiliated Hospital of Yunshan University, No. 58, Yunshan 2nd Road, Tianwang District."

(End of this chapter)