World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"How much longer until they arrive?" he asked.

Wang Wenwu stood to the side, glancing at his pocket watch: "According to the schedule, they should have already left the hotel. It's a fifteen-minute drive, plus security checks, so they should be able to enter the venue at 7:00 sharp."

"How are you feeling?"

"According to the hotel staff's report," Zhou Tieshan opened his notebook, "Terauchi Masatake woke up at four in the morning and paced around the room until dawn. Yamamoto Gonnohyōe spent a full half hour tidying his military uniform—although he was now wearing a civilian uniform, he insisted on wearing the insignia of the Minister of the Navy. Togo Heihachirō... was the calmest, getting up at five and practicing Tai Chi on the balcony for half an hour."

Chen Feng nodded, his gaze shifting to the opposite bank of the river. There lay the old town of Pontianak, where rows of buildings from the Dutch colonial era stood side by side, their red tiles and white walls creating a stark contrast with the newer Lanfang buildings on this side of the river.

"More than ten years ago," he suddenly said, "when I first came to Pontianak, it was a dilapidated town. The Dutch governor's mansion was run-down, the docks were piled with garbage, and the Chinese were either doing hard labor in the tin mines or being exploited in the rubber plantations."

He took a sip of coffee and said calmly, "Look now, the new city is even more orderly than Singapore, the port's throughput is twenty times that of back then, and Chinese children in school are learning Lanfang Mandarin and history. This is why we fought a war—not to conquer anyone, but to create a world where overseas Chinese can live with their heads held high."

Wang Wenwu replied softly, "So today's negotiations are not just about ending a war, but also about establishing a new world order."

"Yes." Chen Feng turned and walked towards the conference room door. "Let's go, let's greet our...guests."

The main hall of the conference center is twelve meters high, with a dome painted with murals of the Borneo rainforest—vines entwined, exotic flowers and plants, and hornbills soaring through the treetops. But the atmosphere inside the hall at this moment is completely opposite to the murals.

An eight-meter-long mahogany table sat across the center of the hall, its surface covered with dark blue velvet. To the north of the table were fifteen high-backed chairs, their backs carved with the national emblem of Lanfang—Zheng He's treasure ship encircling the stars. To the south were also fifteen chairs, but simple in design and without carvings.

Even more striking are the flags. To the north rear, a three-meter-tall Lanfang flag hangs from the ceiling, gleaming under the lights. To the south rear, there is also a cherry blossom flag, but it is only half the size of the Lanfang flag and is hung lower—a visual effect carefully calculated by Wang Wenwu.

Chen Feng sat in the middle, with Wang Wenwu to his left and the Ministry of National Defense representative to his right. The other entourage members took their seats in order. No one spoke; only the soft rustling of papers turning and the occasional cough broke the silence.

At seven o'clock sharp, the heavy oak doors of the hall were pushed open.

Terauchi Masatake was the first to enter. He was wearing a black suit and a dark gray tie, and carrying a black briefcase. The sixty-three-year-old prime minister walked with a slightly unsteady gait, but his back was ramrod straight. He paused after entering, his gaze sweeping over the room's furnishings, lingering for a few seconds, especially on two flags, and his face became noticeably paler.

Yamamoto Gonnohyōe followed closely behind. He chose to wear the navy blue uniform of the Minister of the Navy, with all his medals pinned to his chest—the Russo-Japanese War Service Medal, the Grand Cordon of the Order of the Rising Sun, First Class, and the Order of the Golden Kite. Wearing medals on such an occasion was a silent declaration: we have had glory.

Finally, there's Togo Heihachiro.

The old man wasn't wearing a military uniform, but rather a simple navy blue kimono with a black haori over it, and a wooden cane hanging from his hand. As he entered, several young members of Lanfang's entourage involuntarily sat up straight—the name Togo Heihachiro carried a legendary weight in the naval world.

The three walked to the south side of the long table. Terauchi sat down in the middle, Yamamoto on the left, and Togo on the right. The attendants also took their seats in turn.

The hall was silent. Seven chimes rang out from the clock tower across the river, their echoes reverberating beneath the dome.

Only after the last bell tolled did Chen Feng slowly speak: "Prime Minister Terauchi, Minister Yamamoto, Marshal Togo. Welcome to Borneo."

His voice was calm, and he spoke in Lanfang Mandarin. The translator beside him began to translate the original text simultaneously.

Terauchi Masatake nodded slightly: "Thank you for your hospitality, Commander Chen. It is our honor to hold talks in such a... magnificent place."

There was a hint of bitterness in his words.

"Well then, let's begin." Chen Feng skipped the pleasantries and immediately opened the folder in front of him. "To save time, Lanfang has prepared a draft of the peace treaty. Before we begin the formal discussion, I'd like you all to take a look."

Wang Wenwu gestured to the staff. Three thick documents were presented to the delegation from the Republic of Japan. Each document was printed in Chinese, Japanese, and English, with the title in gold lettering on the cover: "Draft Peace Treaty between the Lanfang Republic and the Japanese Empire".

Terauchi Masatake picked up the document, his hand trembling slightly. He opened the first page, read only a few lines, and his expression changed.

Yamamoto Gonnohyōe's reaction was more direct. Upon reaching the third page, he abruptly looked up: "This...this is impossible!"

Togo Heihachiro read very slowly, turning the pages one by one, his face expressionless, only the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to have deepened.

Chen Feng waited until they had all finished reading—or rather, until they couldn't bear to read any more—before speaking: "Is there a problem, Minister Yamamoto?"