World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"The foundation of national security is not how strong our military is, but how many friends we have." Chen Feng stood up and walked to the world map on the wall. "Look, in the ten years since Lanfang was founded, we have been allies with Germany, traded with Britain, done business with the United States, and established diplomatic relations with Southeast Asian countries. Why? Because we know that the world is vast and can accommodate the development of all countries."

He turned to the Japanese delegation: "And what about Japan? In the past forty years, you defeated the Qing Dynasty, you defeated Russia, and then what? (excerpt) Now you want to challenge Lanfang. You've turned every neighbor into an enemy."

"No matter how strong your military is, can you fight against all your neighbors at the same time?" Chen Feng asked, his voice echoing in the hall. "No. That's why you lost, and lost badly. Why? Because you chose a dead end—a dead end where your security is built on the insecurity of others."

He walked back to his seat and sat down: "Now, we offer Sakura Country another path. Put aside the arms race, focus on economic development, and live peacefully with neighboring countries. Lanfang can become Sakura Country's partner, not its enemy. The prerequisite is—Sakura Country must completely abandon its expansionist ambitions and be content to be a peaceful nation."

Terauchi Masatake gave a wry smile: "That sounds nice. But with such a disparity in strength, the so-called 'partnership' is nothing more than a master-servant relationship."

"That's still better than a hostile relationship," Chen Feng said bluntly. "A master-servant relationship, at least, means survival. A hostile relationship, only leads to death. Your Excellency, which do you choose?"

The lobby was deathly silent. The hum of the air conditioner seemed particularly jarring.

Yamamoto Gonbei finally couldn't hold back any longer. He stood up, the movement so sudden that his chair tipped backward and crashed onto the marble floor with a loud thud.

"Enough!" His voice was hoarse with emotion. "Enough! Commander Chen, you're right, Japan lost, Japan was wrong, Japan took the wrong path! But could you... could you leave us some dignity? We accept the 500 million in reparations, we accept the naval restrictions..."

His voice choked with emotion: "Could it be... a lease? Or joint development? Even... even if it's nominally still part of Japan, but actually controlled by Lanfang... please give us some face, give the people an explanation..."

Chen Feng looked at Yamamoto quietly. The 63-year-old Minister of the Navy looked like a wronged child, his eyes red and his shoulders trembling.

"Minister Yamamoto," Chen Feng began, his voice softening slightly, "you asked me if I could preserve dignity for Japan. Then I ask you—when your fleet bombarded Qing Dynasty merchant ships, did you give us dignity? When your army suppressed Chinese uprisings, did you give them dignity? When your government treated the people of Cao County as second-class citizens, did you give them dignity?"

He paused, each word like a hammer blow: "Dignity isn't given by others, it's earned. You've spent forty years trampling the dignity of your Asian neighbors. Now, it's your turn to taste that bitterness."

Yamamoto stood there, frozen, his lips trembling, but no sound came out. Tears finally rolled down his cheeks—not tears of anger, but tears of utter despair.

Togo Heihachiro stood up, walked to Yamamoto's side, and gently pressed his shoulder to make him sit down. Then the old man turned to Chen Feng and bowed deeply.

"The President's words are wise," Togo's voice was calm. "The current state of Sakura Country is the result of past actions. I have nothing more to say." (The following is an abridged version)

Chen Feng looked at Dongxiang for a long time. Then he nodded: "Okay. Lanfang is willing to add a clause to the treaty: as long as the Sakura Kingdom abides by this treaty, Lanfang will guarantee that the Sakura Kingdom's mainland will not be attacked from outside." (The editor mentioned external attacks, not that Lanfang will not attack.)

"Thank you." Togo bowed again and then sat back down.

The negotiations entered the technical consultation phase. Assistants from both sides began to discuss the details of each clause one by one, and the meeting room was filled with low voices of discussion, the sound of turning pages, and the rustling of writing.

But everyone knew that the outcome was already decided.

At the same time, in Fukagawa Ward, Nagasaki City. At seven in the morning, the sky was so overcast it seemed to press down.

Koji Matsumoto stood at the alley entrance, looking at the "Yamada Rice Shop" across the street. The shop door was closed, but there were already more than fifty people lined up outside, men, women, and children, each carrying an empty cloth bag or basket, staring blankly at the closed door.

At the front of the line was an elderly woman in her seventies, leaning on a cane, her body hunched over like a shrimp. She had been standing for an hour, her legs trembling, but she dared not leave—leaving would mean losing her place.

"Why isn't the door open yet..." someone muttered from behind.

"They said it would open at eight o'clock, but it didn't open yesterday. The day before yesterday, it only sold for half an hour before the 'sold out' sign was put up."

"My child hasn't eaten rice for two days, just dried sweet potatoes..."

The crowd began to stir. Someone tried knocking on the door, the sound particularly jarring in the quiet street.

The boss's voice came from inside the door: "No rice today! Don't wait!"

"How could there be no rice!" a middle-aged man roared. "I saw them getting a shipment yesterday!"

"That's military rations! We can't sell it!"

"Screw military rations! People are starving to death, and you still want military rations!"

The banging on the door grew louder. Several young men began ramming the door with their shoulders, and the wooden door groaned under the weight.

Matsumoto stood at the alley entrance, his heart pounding. He was here today to buy rice—no, to try his luck. The last bit of dried sweet potatoes at home had run out yesterday, and his wife had written from her parents' home in the countryside saying they were also out of food there, and asked him to find a way.

What could he possibly do? The ship sank, he lost his job, and his savings were gone. What else could he do besides stealing or robbing?

"Bang!"

The door was flung open. The crowd surged into the rice shop like a burst dam. Matsumoto saw the old woman being pushed to the ground, her cane flying a considerable distance. But no one helped her up; everyone was rushing inside.

Screams and the sound of smashing echoed from the rice shop. Matsumoto hesitated for three seconds, then rushed over—not to help the old lady, but to burst into the shop.

The shop was in chaos. Rice bags were ripped open, spilling white rice all over the floor. People scrambled for it, using their hands, clothes, and any container they could find. The owner, cowering behind the counter, his head bleeding, muttered, "It's over...it's over..."

Matsumoto squeezed his way to a half-open rice bag and frantically stuffed rice into his own cloth bag. His hands were shaking, and a lot of rice spilled out, but he didn't care. After filling about three or four pounds, he turned to leave, but was bumped into by someone.

It was the middle-aged man who had rammed the door earlier. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like a madman. When he saw the rice in Matsumoto's bag, he reached out and tried to snatch it.

"Give it to me! My child is starving!"

"I got it first!"