World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

At four in the morning, it was still dark in Pontianak. A thin mist floated on the Kapuas River, like a pale shroud. In his hotel room, Terauchi Masatake sat in the darkness, clutching the top-secret telegram he had received three hours earlier.

The telegram was short, but every word was like a red-hot nail:

"The Cabinet has made an emergency decision: the treaty must be signed immediately, without further delay. Tokyo's food reserves are only enough for five days, Osaka for three days, and Nagasaki for two days. The death toll from riots across the country has reached eighty-nine. If a peace treaty is not signed to resume maritime transport, nationwide riots will be inevitable within a week. This order is final and cannot be disobeyed. His Majesty the Emperor is aware of and acquiesces to it."

"Eighty-nine people..." the temple murmured to itself. The number floated in the darkness, turning into eighty-nine faces, eighty-nine pairs of hungry eyes, and eighty-nine corpses lying in front of the rice shop.

He recalled the figure of Yamamoto Gonnohyōe as he left his room late last night. The naval minister's back was still straight, but his steps were unsteady, as if he were drunk—in fact, he had only drunk three cups of sake, but despair was more intoxicating than alcohol.

"I will sign," Yamamoto said, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping, "but after I sign... I will resign as Minister of the Navy. And then... then I will find a place to end this quietly."

There was no attempt to dissuade him. He knew it was futile. For someone like Yamamoto, signing the surrender document was more painful than committing seppuku. Seppuku only caused temporary pain, while the shame of signing would last a lifetime.

Only Togo Heihachiro remained calm as usual. The old man even had the leisure to brew tea, using the last bit of matcha powder he had brought from Japan.

"Terauchi-kun," Togo said, the aroma of tea filling the room, "do you remember when we signed the peace treaty in Portsmouth after the Russo-Japanese War?"

"I remember. Although we won at that time, we were forced to make concessions, which caused an uproar in the domestic public opinion and led to the Hibiya Burning Incident."

"Yes." Togo nodded. "I was in Yokosuka at the time, and I was furious when I heard the news. I felt that we had clearly won, so why did we have to make concessions? Why couldn't we get more?"

He took a sip of tea and continued, "Looking back now, our anger back then stemmed from our belief in our own strength. But now... now we don't even have the right to be angry. Because we know we are weak, we know we have no choice but to accept it."

The old man looked at the temple and asked, "Marshal,... don't you hate him?"

"Whom do we hate? Do we hate the Lanfang people for their brilliant fighting? Do we hate Chen Feng for his tough negotiating tactics? Or do we hate our own incompetence?" Dongxiang laughed, a laugh as desolate as a withered chrysanthemum in late autumn. "If we have to hate anyone, we can only hate ourselves. We hate that we spent forty years learning only the superficial aspects of the West, without grasping its essence. We hate that we led the country down a path of no return, to where we are today."

The first bird song drifted in from outside the window. The temple awoke from its reverie; dawn was approaching.

He stood up, walked to the full-length mirror, and began to dress. Black suit, white shirt, dark gray tie—this was something he had prepared specifically for today, as if he were going to a funeral.

In fact, it was indeed a funeral. The funeral of the Sakura Empire as a powerful nation.

After getting dressed, he took out a sandalwood box from the bottom of his suitcase. Inside was a calligraphy brush—a "Jade Hair" brush bestowed upon him by Emperor Meiji. He only used this brush on the most important documents: cabinet appointment letters, war mobilization orders, national policy resolutions…

Today, we will use it to sign the surrender document.

Temple Nei picked up a pen, his fingers stroking the warm, smooth handle. Engraved on the handle were four small characters: "Of vital importance to the nation's fate."

He gave a wry smile. The fate of the nation was indeed at stake. It was just that it was happening in a way he had never imagined.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

"Come in."

The one who entered was Togo Heihachiro. The old man was already dressed neatly, his dark blue kimono was ironed so perfectly that even the folds looked like they had been carefully designed.

"Are you ready?" Togo asked.

Terauchi nodded and carefully placed the pen back in the box: "Ready. Where's Yamamoto-kun?"

"He's writing his will in his room." Togo's tone was calm. "I tried to persuade him, but it was no use. He said that after the signing ceremony, he'll return to Japan, submit his resignation, and then... end it all."

Temple closed its eyes. After a few seconds, it opened them, its gaze now deathly calm: "Then at least... let him sign it with some dignity."

"Yes, he will," Togo said. "Yamamoto-kun is a true soldier; he knows what to do and when to do it. Today, he will stand tall and sign the document, like a Navy Minister should. As for what happens after that... that's his own choice."

The two stood in silence. The sky outside the window gradually brightened, the thin mist began to dissipate, and the outline of Pontianak New City on the opposite bank of the river came into view—high-rise buildings, docks, cranes, everything was dazzlingly new.

"Sometimes I wonder," Terauchi suddenly said, "what if we won? If we had won the battle in the East China Sea, Chen Feng would be sitting on the other side of the negotiating table right now. What conditions would we have proposed?"

"Five hundred million indemnity, the cession of Borneo, and naval restrictions." Togo said without hesitation, "It might be even harsher, because that's always been our style."

"Yes," Terauchi said with a wry smile, "so we have nothing to complain about. That's the rule of the world: winners take all, losers lose everything. We used to be winners, now we're losers. That's all."

Dongxiang walked to the window and looked at the city outside: "But Lanfang's way of winning is different from ours. When we win, we trample the other party into the mud. When they win... they leave the other party a way out. Although this way out is narrow and difficult to walk, at least it is a way out."

He turned around: "Terauchi-kun, this is the difference. We only learned the law of the jungle from the West, not the spirit of contracts; we learned about warships and giant ships, but not the rules of civilization. So today, as we sit here, we have not only lost a war, but we have lost an entire worldview."

There was no response from inside the temple. He simply carefully closed the sandalwood box and tucked it under his arm.

"Let's go," he said. "It's time to keep our appointment."

It was exactly 9:00 AM. In the main hall of the Pontianak International Conference Center, the same long tables and the same seats were set up, but the atmosphere was completely different from the previous two days.

Today, a row of reporters appeared in the hall—all media outlets officially designated by Lanfang, with the number limited to ten. They sat on chairs to the side, cameras already set up, lenses pointed at the center of the long table.

Chen Feng was dressed in a formal black suit today, with the golden emblem of the Lanfang Republic pinned to his chest. He sat upright, his hands resting flat on the table, his gaze calmly fixed on the person opposite him.

The delegation from Japan entered slowly. Terauchi Masatake led the way, carrying a sandalwood box. Yamamoto Gonnohyōe followed closely behind, every medal on the Navy Minister's uniform polished to a gleaming shine, reflecting a cold light under the lamplight. Tōgō Heihachirō, still in his kimono, tapped his cane lightly on the ground, his gait steady.

As the three took their seats, Lanfang's entourage noticed a detail: Terauchi Masatake's hands were trembling slightly, and when he opened the wooden box and took out the pen, the pen tip trembled in the air.

Chen Feng waited until they were seated before slowly speaking: "After three days of negotiations, both sides have reached an agreement on the main terms of the peace treaty. Today, we are holding a signing ceremony here."

His voice, clear, calm, and unquestionable, resounded throughout the hall through the loudspeaker.