World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Yamamoto bowed deeply: "I understand."

"That's good." Terauchi patted his shoulder gently. "Go and rest. Tomorrow we'll be in Manila, and we might have to deal with reporters again—although I've ordered the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to try to keep the news under wraps, there will always be some who slip through the net."

Yamamoto nodded, but didn't move. He watched the figure stagger back to the cabin from the temple and suddenly felt that the figure looked incredibly old.

A sea breeze blew by, carrying the humid heat unique to the tropical ocean. In the distance, a flock of seagulls circled, emitting sharp cries.

Yamamoto raised his head and looked south. At the horizon, where the sea met the sky, there was nothing. No land, no ships, only endless sea and sky.

And they, in this vast emptiness, slowly sailed toward their unknown destiny.

He suddenly remembered what Togo Heihachiro had said yesterday:

"What we lost at sea, we will regain at sea. But not in the same way—in a new way, in a way that belongs to the new era."

A new way... what is that?

Yamamoto didn't know. He only knew that the old methods had completely failed. Those things they had believed in for forty years—battleships, fleet battles, samurai spirit—had proven obsolete in a naval battle in the East China Sea.

He turned and walked back to the cabin. As he passed Dongxiang's room, he saw through the crack in the door that the old man was writing at his desk, the light of the kerosene lamp reflecting off his gray hair and casting a trembling shadow on the rough paper.

Yamamoto did not disturb them and quietly walked back to his cabin.

Lying in bed, the boat rocked gently with the waves, like a baby's cradle. But he couldn't sleep, staring at the low ceiling with yellow water stains that looked like an abstract map.

On the map, Japan is very small, very small.

The world is vast, very vast.

Togo Heihachiro's Sailing Diary:

November 5th, Taisho 3 (1924), South China Sea, Batavia

Day eight of the voyage. The ship passed the west coast of Luzon Island, and the sea color changed from deep blue to turquoise. In the shallow waters, coral reefs could be seen, like underwater mountains.

At dawn, I saw dolphins chasing the waves, dozens of them together, occasionally leaping out of the water, their silvery-gray backs shimmering in the morning sun. The crew told me that the appearance of dolphins signifies good weather and a safe journey. I hope so.

I spoke with Mr. Yamamoto on deck. Although he suffered a severe setback, his spirit remained unbroken, and he still showed a sense of responsibility. The survival of the Imperial Navy depends on people like him. However, the confusion in his eyes was similar to that I felt after my defeat in the Qing Dynasty's Beiyang Fleet exercises. Knowing defeat but not knowing why, knowing backwardness but not knowing why, is the most tragic thing.

In the afternoon, I played chess with the Prime Minister at the temple. The Prime Minister's style was steady, but he overthought things, deliberating over each move repeatedly, which led to losses in the overall game. In the middle of the game, the Prime Minister suddenly pushed the board aside and sighed, "There are still moves on the chessboard, but there are no moves left to play in the affairs of state." I replied, "The chessboard has nineteen lines and three hundred and sixty-one points, and every point can be a battlefield. The same is true for the affairs of state." The Prime Minister remained silent.

In truth, I also do not know where the way out lies, and I can only comfort myself with these words.

Observing the night sky, the Southern Cross was clearly visible. I recalled my first voyage as a young man, seeing this star in the South Pacific, and being so excited I couldn't sleep. My instructor scolded me, "Stars guide our way, they're not for admiring." Now, I realize he was wrong. If stars weren't beautiful, why would they inspire such longing? If voyages lacked a spirit of exploration, how were they different from canal transport?

Did Japan's forty years of maritime exploration have any spirit of exploration? Perhaps, but it gradually became tainted by pragmatism. Shipbuilding was for hegemony, and military training was for revenge; everything was driven by appearances. In contrast, Lanfang, I heard, established a maritime school at the beginning of its founding, hiring German and British instructors, but it set its own curriculum, stating: "Learn technology but not ideology, practice tactics but not strategy." At first, I didn't understand, but now I have some insight.

Technology can be learned, but ideas can grow; tactics can be practiced, but strategy must be created. We have studied the West for forty years, learning their techniques and skills, but our ideas and strategies have all been imitated, without any of our own. This is the root of our failure.

The Batavia's engines roared, and the ship vibrated incessantly. The Dutch captain laughed, "This ship is old, just like me." I asked, "If it's old, why does it still sail?" The captain replied, "The sea doesn't mind an old ship, it only mindes a person without courage."

Witty remark.

As I write this, my ink is almost used up. Tomorrow I will arrive in Manila and see even more Western ships and flags from many countries. I will observe carefully to see how the Lanfang ship differs from the Western ships.

P.S.: This morning while washing my face, I noticed more gray hairs in the mirror. Sixty-seven years old, I'm old. But my heart is not old; I still want to see what the new era looks like.

Even if that appearance was created by the people who defeated us.

[Flight Data Comparison - November 5th]

Lanfang Delegation - Fuxing Battlecruiser:

Location: 87°15′E, 5°33′N (Central Indian Ocean)

Speed: 22 knots

Distance traveled: 2,800 nautical miles, 1,200 nautical miles remaining

Estimated arrival time: November 15th

Ship status: All crew members are healthy, food supplies are plentiful, fresh water supplies are plentiful, and fuel supplies are plentiful.

Communication status: Daily contact with Di, clear signal.

Japanese delegation - Batavia merchant ship:

Location: 120°48′E, 18°12′N (west of Luzon Island)

Speed: 11 knots

Distance traveled: 1,500 nautical miles, 2,500 nautical miles remaining

Estimated arrival time: November 22 (if there are no delays)

Status on board: The Prime Minister is seasick, and many others are unwell; food supplies are scarce, and fresh water is limited; fuel is running low and needs to be replenished in Manila.

Communication status: Telegrams can be sent once every three days, but the signal is intermittent.

Ocean currents and weather:

Fuxing train route: Following the Indian Ocean monsoon currents, clear weather, and good sea conditions.

Batavia Route: Against the South China Sea monsoon, occasional showers, moderate sea conditions.

Symbolic Meaning Index (Intelligence Department Analysis):

Ship Comparison: 40,000-ton Battleship vs. 6,000-ton Old Merchant Ship

Speed ​​comparison: 22 knots vs 11 knots

Comparison of states: composure and confidence vs. fatigue and embarrassment

Psychological expectation gap: It is expected to peak at the start of negotiations.

The Pontianak International Conference Centre sits on the banks of the Capuas River, its three-story white marble building gleaming like ivory in the morning light. Completed less than two years ago, this building, constructed by Lanfang to host the first "Nanyang Economic and Trade Forum," blends Greek columns with the style of Nanyang arcade buildings, and now it will witness another chapter in history.

At six o'clock in the morning, Marines were already in position. They set up sentry posts every ten meters along the perimeter of the conference center, wearing white steel helmets and khaki tropical uniforms, their rifle bayonets gleaming coldly in the morning light. Further away, two armored vehicles stood silently at the intersection, their turrets slowly rotating, monitoring all directions.

Chen Feng stood before the floor-to-ceiling window on the third floor, a cup of black coffee in his hand, overlooking the entire scene. He wore a dark gray suit without a tie—a deliberate casualness that conveyed the message: this was not an equal diplomatic meeting, but rather the victor accepting surrender.