World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

These words cornered Dongxiang. The old man gave Chen Feng a deep look: "Does the Grand Commander mean that Lanfang wants to lead this country?"

"It's not that we want to be, it's that we already are," Chen Feng said calmly. "It's not something we self-proclaimed; it was determined by the battlefield. After that battle in the East China Sea, maritime hegemony in the Far East has changed hands. The question now is not who leads whom, but whether those being led are willing to accept reality."

He stood up and walked to Dongxiang—this was the first time he had left his seat that day. The two looked at each other across the table; one was sixty-seven, the other thirty-one; one represented a legend of the old era, the other a rising star of the new.

"Marshal Togo," Chen Feng's voice lowered, but became clearer, "I respect you. Not because of your rank, not because of your achievements, but because you can sit here today and say these words. That takes courage, wisdom, and even more so, a vision that transcends national perspectives."

"However," he changed the subject, "ideals are ideals, and reality is reality. I agree with what you said about 'yellow races joining hands.' But before joining hands, we must first establish the rules. And now, the rules must be set by the victors—this is not my choice, but the law of history."

He walked back to his seat and sat down again: "So, let's get back to the specific terms. Reparations, territory, and naval restrictions are the core issues and cannot be changed. Others, such as the payment deadline for reparations, customs tariff rates, and the specific details of most-favored-nation treatment, can be discussed."

Togo Heihachiro slowly sat back down in his chair. He didn't speak again, but simply closed his eyes slightly, as if digesting something, or perhaps mourning something.

Terauchi Masatake knew that Togo's attempt had failed. The path of trying to move the other side with racial sentiments and shared ideals was a dead end. Chen Feng was too clear-headed, too realistic; he understood the nature of this negotiation perfectly—this was not a diplomatic consultation between two equal nations, but a victor's judgment of the defeated.

"Regarding the territorial terms," ​​Terauchi began with difficulty, "XX and XX... Sakura Country has been managing them for twenty years, investing a great deal of resources. Could it be done in the form of a 'lease' or 'joint management'...?"

"No," Chen Feng interrupted directly. "It must be a transfer of sovereignty. There's no room for negotiation on this point."

Yamamoto Gonbei suddenly stood up, the movement so abrupt that the chair scraped against the floor with a screeching sound.

"And what if..." His voice trembled with emotion, "What if we don't accept it? What if we'd rather die than accept such humiliation?"

The air in the hall seemed to freeze instantly. Several officers from Lanfang's side instinctively moved their hands to their waists—even though weapons were not allowed in the negotiation venue according to regulations.

Chen Feng stared at Yamamoto for a long time. Then he smiled, a smile devoid of warmth.

"Minister Yamamoto, do you know the current location of Zhang Zhen's fleet?"

Yamamoto was taken aback.

Chen Feng nodded to Wang Wenwu. The latter opened a folder, took out a nautical chart, and pushed it to the center of the table.

"Of the four Bismarck-class battleships, two are currently west of Kyushu, one is east of Honshu, and one is in the Tsushima Strait. Twelve submarines are on standby in the main shipping lanes of Japan. An Omaha-class cruiser flotilla is conducting exercises off the coast of Nagasaki."

Chen Feng moved his finger across the nautical chart, pointing to a location and announcing its name: "If negotiations break down, I only need to send a telegram. Within 24 hours, Wu Port will be shelled again. Within 48 hours, the dock facilities in Osaka and Kobe will be destroyed. Within 72 hours, all the Sakura merchant ships still at sea will become targets."

He raised his head and looked at Yamamoto: "You speak of 'dying for the sake of honor'? Then please. But what happens after that? Will the elderly and children of Japan also perish? Will those commoners, already starving to the bone, also be buried with you for your 'integrity'?"

Yamamoto's face went from flushed to deathly pale. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Sit down, Yamamoto-kun." Togo Heihachiro finally opened his eyes, his voice soft but unquestionable.

Yamamoto stood stiffly for a few seconds before finally slumping down. He lowered his head, placed his hands on the table, and his shoulders trembled slightly.

Terauchi Masatake closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, only exhaustion remained in his eyes: "We... need time to discuss this. These conditions are beyond the scope of our authorization."

"Okay." Chen Feng glanced at the clock on the wall. "The meeting is adjourned today. We'll resume tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. However, I'd like to remind everyone—"

He paused, then said, word by word, "Every day we delay, the economy of the Sakura Kingdom collapses further, and the common people go hungry for another day. And our patience is limited."

The negotiations adjourned at 3 p.m. The Japanese delegation was taken back to their hotel, and no one spoke the entire way. Outside the car window, the streets of Pontianak were bustling with activity, with Chinese, Malays, and Indians moving about. The cries of vendors, the ringing of bicycle bells, and the distant sounds of pile driving from construction sites blended together into a vibrant and bustling scene.

This commotion had nothing to do with them.

Back in his hotel room, Terauchi Masatake's first action was to send a telegram. The message was simple: "The conditions are extremely harsh; there is no possibility of easing the core terms. Requesting instructions on the next steps."

In his room, Yamamoto Gonnohyōe slowly removed the medals from his chest in front of the mirror. One, two, three… He neatly arranged them on the table, then stared at them for a long time. Finally, he opened a drawer and swept the metal pieces that once represented glory inside.

Togo Heihachiro's room was the quietest. The old man sat at his desk, spread out paper, ground ink, and picked up his brush. But he wasn't writing a report; instead, he was drawing ships—sketches of all kinds: sailboats, steamships, ironclads, dreadnoughts… In the end, a blurry ship appeared on the paper, its outline unlike anything he had ever seen before, resembling a battleship, or something else entirely.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in."

It was Terauchi Masatake who entered. The Prime Minister looked even worse than during the day, with heavy bags under his eyes, and he was walking unsteadily.

"Marshal Togo," Terauchi's voice was hoarse, "Tokyo has replied."

"How so?"

The temple staff handed over the telegram. It contained only one line: "The priority is a ceasefire. The matter will be handled judiciously, and necessary concessions may be made."

After reading it, Togo gently placed the paper on the table: "It means... we can decide for ourselves, but we must sign the treaty no matter what."

"Yes." Terauchi slumped into his chair. "The cabinet can't hold on any longer. Yesterday, another food-grabbing riot broke out in Tokyo, and the police shot and killed five people. The Ministry of Finance reports that if maritime shipping doesn't resume, they won't even be able to pay government employees' salaries next month."

He covered his face with his hands, his voice leaking through his fingers: "Marshal, we...we really have no choice, do we?"