World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Dongxiang didn't answer immediately. He walked to the window and looked at the night view of Pontianak. The city was brightly lit, and cranes at the distant port were still operating, with beams of searchlights streaking across the night sky.

"Terauchi-kun," he suddenly asked, "what do you think of the country of Lanfang?"

The temple staff member was taken aback: "What? What happened?"

"This city, these people, this... vibrant feeling," Togo said. "As we traveled here, we saw more than just warships and guns. We saw schools, hospitals, factories, Chinese children smiling as they went to school, workers busy in newly built residential areas, and mountains of cargo piled up at the docks."

He turned around and said, "Chen Feng was right about something—they didn't fight to conquer, but to create a world where Chinese people can stand tall. Now that world has been built, it's right before our eyes."

"What the Marshal means is..."

"I mean," Togo walked back to his seat and slowly sat down, "maybe we really were wrong. Not wrong in tactics, not wrong in technology, but wrong in... direction. For the past forty years, Japan has devoted all its energy to 'becoming as powerful as the West.' And Lanfang has devoted its energy to 'becoming as powerful as itself.'"

He looked into the temple: "Now the result is clear. The former has been defeated, the latter has won. And they have won not only the war, but the future."

Terauchi Masatake remained silent for a long time. The faint sound of ship horns could be heard outside the window; cargo ships sailing at night were entering and leaving the port.

"So," the Prime Minister finally said in a low voice, "we have no choice but to accept it?"

"It's not about accepting, it's about learning," Togo corrected. "Accept failure, learn from the lessons, and then... start over. Terauchi-kun, do you remember the early days of the Meiji Restoration? Back then, we were also a weak country, forced to sign unequal treaties, and the whole nation was holding its breath."

He paused, a hint of desolation in his voice: "The difference is, back then we had time and space. Now... we don't. Lanfang won't give us thirty or fifty years to slowly catch up. They're right next door, and they're getting stronger and stronger."

The room fell silent. The sounds of the distant street market drifted in faintly, like another world.

"Tomorrow," Terauchi finally said, "I will propose a specific plan for installment payments of reparations, and try to extend the period to fifteen years. As for naval restrictions... let's see if we can negotiate a total tonnage of 150,000 tons, with each ship at 10,000 tons."

Will they agree?

"I don't know." Terauchi smiled wryly, "But we have to try. Chen Feng said that we can discuss the marginal terms."

Togo nodded, then suddenly remembered something: "What about Yamamoto-kun...?"

"I'll go talk to him." Terauchi stood up. "He's the Navy's last hope; we can't let him fall apart here."

Please.

After the temple staff left, Togo picked up his pen again and continued drawing the blurry ship. This time he drew it in greater detail, outlining the streamlined hull, the tall superstructure, the massive cannon barrels…

As he finished drawing, he wrote a line of small print next to the painting: "The future ship is not defined by its size or strength, but by its innovation."

He put down his pen and looked at the boat on the paper. As he looked, he suddenly smiled.

That smile was complex, containing bitterness, relief, and a hint of... expectation.

Meanwhile, at the naval base's guesthouse, Chen Feng was holding an internal meeting.

"How did it go today?" he asked.

Wang Wenwu spoke first: "It's better than expected. Togo Heihachiro's 'yellow races working together' rhetoric may indeed have shaken some people's minds, but Your Excellency handled it very well, neither completely denying it nor being morally blackmailed."

The Ministry of National Defense representative continued, "Yamamoto Gonnohyōe's reaction was very strong, which is a good thing. It shows that they have reached their limit; any further pressure and they will collapse."

"However, we must also be careful," Zhou Tieshan cautioned, "a cornered dog will do the opposite. If we push them too hard, they might actually give up on negotiations and choose to 'die in disgrace.' Although we are not afraid militarily, we will be put on the defensive politically—international public opinion will sympathize with the weaker party."

Chen Feng nodded: "So tomorrow, we can relax a little."

"Loosening?" The attendants were all stunned.

"The reparations payment period can be extended from ten to twelve years," Chen Feng said. "Regarding naval restrictions... the single-ship tonnage can be relaxed to 9,000 tons, but the total tonnage cannot change. In addition, we can propose a 'transition period'—allowing Japan to retain three old battleships for training within five years, after which they must be decommissioned."

Wang Wenwu quickly took notes: "Is this a way out for them?"

"Right." Chen Feng walked to the whiteboard and wrote down a few keywords. "The art of negotiation is not about being tough all the time, but about knowing when to advance and when to retreat. Today we show 'advance,' tomorrow we need to show 'retreat.' But this 'retreat' must be exchanged for their 'advance' on the core issues."

He drew heavy lines under the terms "territorial transfer" and "reparations principle": "These two points must be firmly upheld. Everything else can be used as bargaining chips."

"What about Togo Heihachiro?" someone asked. "Although you managed to deflect his criticism today, his words did resonate with some people. If he continues to play the emotional card tomorrow..."

"Then let him fight." Chen Feng laughed. "Togo is a sensible man. He knows that his rhetoric won't change the outcome, but he still has to say it—why? Because he wants to tell it to future generations, to tell it to history. He's looking for a nobler reason for his defeat, a more respectable explanation for Japan's surrender."

He paused, his tone becoming serious: "Let him speak. We should respect the final words of an old hero. And... he's right, people of Asian descent should indeed join hands. Only, under our rules."

The meeting lasted another hour, finalizing the specific strategy for tomorrow. After the meeting, Chen Feng went out onto the balcony alone.

Pontianak is bustling at night. Boats glide across the river, their lanterns reflected in the water, creating shimmering fragments of light. From the old town on the opposite bank, faint sounds of traditional opera drift from, a puppet show titled "Zheng He's Voyages to the West" performed by Chinese people.

He recalled that ten years ago, when he first secretly came to Borneo, it was still under Dutch control. Chinese people dared not speak Chinese openly, dared not celebrate the Lunar New Year, and even had to secretly perform ancestral rites.

And now? Chinese schools are springing up everywhere, Chinese newspapers are published daily, and Chinese chambers of commerce control two-thirds of the economy. More importantly, the Chinese here can proudly say: I am from Lanfang.

This is the meaning of war. This is the meaning of negotiation.

In the distance, the hotel where the Japanese delegation was staying was brightly lit. Chen Feng knew that tonight, probably none of those people on the other side of the strait would be able to sleep.

He suddenly recalled Togo Heihachiro's eyes—those old eyes, besides weariness and helplessness, held something else entirely. Was it curiosity? Admiration? Or some deeper understanding that transcended national boundaries?

"An interesting guy," Chen Feng muttered to himself.

A night breeze carries the scent of tropical flowers. Negotiations will continue tomorrow.