World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

His voice grew louder and louder, until it was almost a shout: "Do you even know that this country is doomed! Because your navy lost! Because you didn't dare to fight to the death! Because now you're kneeling and begging for mercy!"

The izakaya fell silent. All the other customers looked over, and the owner huddled behind the counter, his face ashen.

The naval lieutenant commander's face flushed red: "Lieutenant Commander Takeda, watch your words! The defeat in the war was due to a combination of factors, not just the navy's responsibility! Besides, the negotiations now are for..."

"For what? To survive?" Takeda interrupted him, sneering. "The army is willing to die, the navy is greedy for life. That's the difference!"

He took a step back, his right hand reaching for his holster. The movement was slow, as if giving the other person time to react.

The naval officers stood up. The lieutenant colonel shouted, "What do you think you're doing? This is a public place!"

"I want you to remember," Takeda said, "that some sins cannot be washed away by signing a treaty. Some debts must be repaid in blood."

He drew his gun.

Gunshots rang out deafeningly in the izakaya. The first shot struck the lieutenant colonel in the chest, sending him flying backward and knocking over a table. The sounds of shattering dishes and a woman's screams mingled together.

The second shot hit the major in the shoulder, and he fell to the ground screaming.

The third shot... didn't fire. The other patrons in the izakaya pounced on him, snatched the gun from Takeda, and pinned him to the ground.

Takeda didn't struggle, he just laughed, a maniacal laugh: "See? That's what the Navy is like! They don't even dare to resist! They just lie there waiting to die! Hahaha..."

His laughter faded into the distance amidst the sirens.

Inside the izakaya, the lieutenant colonel lay in a pool of blood, his eyes still open, staring at the ceiling. Blood spread from beneath him, mingling with spilled sake, a red and white spectacle like an abstract painting.

The major clutched his shoulder, his face deathly pale, muttering, "They've gone mad...they've all gone mad..."

Yes, everyone's gone mad. When hunger spreads, when hope is shattered, when dignity is crushed, people go mad.

A country going mad is a million times more terrifying than an individual going mad.

Pontianak, 11 p.m. The second day of negotiations adjourned at 6 p.m., with a final consultation scheduled for tomorrow morning.

Terauchi Masatake returned to his hotel room and collapsed onto the sofa without even taking off his clothes. He was so tired that even breathing felt difficult.

There was a knock on the door, very urgent.

"Come in."

The person who entered was a Ministry of Foreign Affairs official accompanying the delegation. He was pale-faced and held a telegram in his hand: "Prime Minister, urgent telegram from Tokyo... Top Secret."

The temple received the telegram. After just one glance, he felt dizzy.

The telegram, sent by the Cabinet, described the events of the day in the most concise language:

Large-scale riots involving looting of food have broken out in Nagasaki, Osaka, Hiroshima, Yokohama, and other cities. Police opened fire to suppress the unrest, resulting in 37 confirmed deaths and over 200 injuries. In Tokyo, an army officer shot a naval officer, leaving one dead and another seriously injured. Social order is on the verge of collapse, and anti-government slogans have appeared in many places. The cabinet has made an emergency decision: regardless of the conditions, a peace treaty must be signed by tomorrow, and the restoration of maritime transport is the top priority.

The last line struck me like a hammer blow: "The people have reached their limit of patience."

Temple Nei held the telegram, his hand trembling violently, the paper rustling. He closed his eyes, but the darkness before him was filled with images—crowds looting grain, policemen firing shots, fallen corpses, and… rice stained with blood.

"Prime Minister..." the official asked in a low voice, "Should we inform Minister Yamamoto and Marshal Togo?"

"Notify them." Terauchi opened his eyes, his gaze already lifeless. "Have them... come over."

Ten minutes later, the three met in a room inside the temple. Yamamoto read the telegram, then slammed his fist against the wall with a dull thud. Togo, after reading it, simply folded the telegram neatly and placed it back on the table.

"Thirty-seven lives..." Yamamoto's voice was hoarse, "because of hunger...because of our incompetence..."

"It's not just hunger," Togo said slowly. "It's despair. The people see no hope, that's why they've gone mad."

The temple staff looked up at the two men: "Tomorrow... we must sign. Whatever the conditions, we must sign. If we delay any longer, a revolution will break out in the country. At that time, it won't just be a few dozen people dying, it will be tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands."

"But the treaty..." Yamamoto wanted to say something more.

"No buts." Terauchi interrupted him, his voice tired but firm. "Yamamoto-kun, I know what you want to say. Dignity, the future, the spark of the navy... but all of these can only be discussed if the nation exists. If the nation collapses, nothing will be left."

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the night view of Pontianak was beautiful; the boats on the river were still sailing, their lights reflected in the water, shattering into pieces of shimmering gold foil.

"What a beautiful city," Terauchi murmured. "Ten years ago, this was a Dutch colony. Now, it's one of the most prosperous cities in Asia. Why? Because the Dutch won and built their own country."

He turned around and looked at Yamamoto and Togo: "Sakura Country has lost now, but as long as the country still exists, as long as the people still exist, there is still a chance. Maybe ten years, maybe twenty years, maybe longer... but we have to live until then."

Silence filled the room for a long time. The faint sound of a bell drifted from afar; it was midnight.

"I understand," Yamamoto finally said, his voice almost inaudible. "Tomorrow... I will sign the treaty."

Togo nodded: "I will too. Although this may be the last and most humiliating moment of my life, it is worth it for the sake of the survival of the Sakura Kingdom."

The monk bowed deeply inside the temple: "Thank you both. We three will bear this sin together."

The knocking sounded again. This time, a hotel waiter entered—a young man from Lanfang—carrying a tray with three steaming bowls of soup noodles.

"Commander Chen ordered this to be delivered," the waiter said politely. "He said everyone had worked hard in the negotiations and wanted some late-night snacks."

The three men stared at the three bowls of noodles. The noodles were thin and white, the broth clear, and topped with a few slices of greens and two slices of char siu. It was very simple food, but at that moment, it seemed like a luxury to them.

Because they know that in Japan, many people can't even afford a bowl of clear broth noodles.

"Please convey our thanks to the President," Terauchi said.

After the waiter left, none of the three touched their chopsticks. The steam from the noodle soup rose into the air, gradually blurring their vision.

Dongxiang suddenly laughed, a desolate laugh: "Chen Feng is... reminding us. Telling us that after peace, even a bowl of noodles will be precious."

He picked up a bowl and began to eat slowly. He ate very attentively, chewing each bite carefully.

Terauchi and Yamamoto also picked up their bowls. The noodles were fragrant and the soup was delicious, but they tasted bitter.

Because they knew that this bowl of noodles was bought with the lives of thirty-seven people, the dignity of the nation, and the future of the navy.

But they had to eat it. Because tomorrow, they had to sign that treaty.

Because only by signing the agreement can Japan survive.

Only then can more people enjoy a bowl of hot noodles.