World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Wang Wenwu stood up and walked to the center of the long table. There were already two documents there—one in Chinese and one in Japanese, each forty pages thick and tied with a red ribbon.

"Based on the results of the negotiations, the main contents of the 'Peace Treaty between the Republic of Lanfang and the Country of Cherry Blossoms' are as follows," Wang Wenwu began to read, his voice devoid of any emotion:

"Article 1: The Sakura Empire recognizes the Lanfang Republic's complete sovereignty over Borneo and relinquishes all historical rights and claims in the region."

"Article Two: The Sakura Empire hereby abolishes the original treaty! The handover shall be completed within six months of the treaty taking effect."

"Article 3: The Empire of Sakura shall pay an indemnity of 500 million yen (before devaluation), to be paid in installments over twelve years, with an annual interest rate of three percent."

"Article 4: The total tonnage of the Imperial Navy of the Sakura Kingdom shall not exceed 100,000 tons, and the tonnage of a single ship shall not exceed 8,000 tons. Existing ships exceeding the standard shall be decommissioned or refitted within five years."

"Article 5: The Sakura Empire opens the ports of Nagasaki, Yokohama, Osaka, and Kobe as treaty ports, and grants Lanfang goods most-favored-nation status..."

Wang Wenwu read on, line by line. With each line he read, the faces of the Japanese delegation paled further. Yamamoto Gonnohyōe's clenched fist lay under the table, his nails digging into his palms, drawing fine blood. Terauchi Masatake kept his eyes closed, as if reciting scriptures. Only Tōgō Heihachirō listened calmly, his face expressionless.

When he read Article Fifteen—"Lanfang guarantees the safety of the Sakura Kingdom, provided that the Sakura Kingdom strictly abides by this treaty"—Togo nodded slightly. This was the only consolation he had managed to obtain yesterday.

Twenty minutes later, Wang Wenwu finished reading all the terms and conditions. The hall was silent, broken only by the occasional click of a camera shutter.

"Now," Chen Feng said, "please have the chief representatives of both sides sign."

The staff stepped forward, untied the ribbon from the document, and turned to the last page. The seals of both countries were already affixed there; only signatures remained.

Terauchi Masatake took a deep breath and picked up the "Jade Brush". When the nib dipped into the inkstone, his hand trembled even more violently, and ink dripped onto the edge of the document, spreading into a small stain.

He stared at the ink blot for a few seconds, then looked up at Chen Feng: "Your Excellency, before signing... may I say one last thing?"

"please."

The temple staff stood up. The sixty-three-year-old man appeared unusually aged, his back slightly hunched, but his voice was remarkably clear:

"I, Terauchi Masatake, in my capacity as Minister X of the Cabinet of the Sakura Empire, sign this treaty on behalf of the Sakura government. I am fully aware that this treaty will bring profound suffering to the Sakura nation and subject countless citizens to humiliation. But I also know that if we do not sign it, the suffering will be even greater and the humiliation even deeper."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone present: "Every stroke of the pen here today will become a mark of history. I hope that when future generations read this history, they will understand—we were not cowardly, nor were we incompetent. We chose the only path to survival for our nation in a desperate situation."

His voice choked with emotion: "For this, I am willing to bear all the infamy, willing to become a sinner in history. I only ask... I only ask that Japan can survive. I only ask that one day in the future, our descendants will not have to suffer the shame of today."

After he finished speaking, he bowed deeply.

The hall was completely silent. Even the reporters forgot to press the shutter.

Chen Feng gazed silently into the temple for a long time. Then he spoke, his voice soft, but everyone heard him clearly:

"Your Excellency Prime Minister, history will remember your choice today—it saved the nation of cherry blossoms."

Terauchi straightened up, tears welling in his eyes. Without further hesitation, he bent down, picked up a pen, and signed his name on the document.

The handwriting trembled, but it was still clearly legible: Terauchi Masatake.

After signing, he seemed to have all his strength drained away, slumped back into his chair, and the "jade hairpin" slipped from his hand, rolled to the edge of the table, and was carefully picked up by the staff.

It was Yamamoto Gonnohyōe's turn.

The Minister of the Navy stood up, his movements stiff as a robot. Instead of using the pen Terauchi had brought, he took out an ordinary fountain pen from his pocket—a pen left to him by his father, a naval officer during the War of Resistance against Japan.

He opened the document and found the countersignature of the Minister of the Navy. The pen hovered over the paper, not falling for a long time.

All eyes were on his hand. The pen was trembling, trembling violently.

"Yamamoto-kun," Togo Heihachiro suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but carrying an undeniable force, "Sign."

Yamamoto abruptly turned to look at Togo. The old man's eyes were calm, but deep within them was something—not a command, not a plea, but something deeper, something that transcended personal honor and disgrace.

Yamamoto closed his eyes. Two lines of tears slid down his cheeks, dripping onto the document and spreading next to the words "Minister of the Navy".

Then he opened his eyes, bent down, and signed. The pen tip scratched the paper, making a hissing sound, like weeping.

Yamamoto Gonbei.

Finally, there was Togo Heihachiro. The old man held no military rank, but as a plenipotentiary envoy, he also needed a countersignature.

He picked up the brush—the most ordinary calligraphy brush, the ink freshly ground. Without hesitation or trembling, he smoothly signed his name:

Togo Heihachiro.

The handwriting is vigorous and powerful, completely unlike the handwriting of a 67-year-old man.

After signing, he put down his pen and looked at Chen Feng: "Commander-in-Chief, it's your turn."

Chen Feng nodded. The staff member handed the documents to him. He didn't use a calligraphy brush, but a Montblanc fountain pen—made in Germany, a gift from Wilhelm II.

He opened the document, found his place, and signed it smoothly:

Chen Feng.

Then there's Wang Wenwu, who serves as the Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs.

The whole process took less than ten minutes. When the last stroke was made, a low sigh of relief rippled through the hall—someone had finally let out a sigh of relief.

The staff exchanged documents. Both parties then kept their respective copies.

Wang Wenwu announced: "According to the treaty, this treaty shall come into effect upon the exchange of texts between the two parties. Immediate ceasefire, resumption of navigation, and lifting of the blockade."

Chen Feng stood up, walked to the temple's Zheng Yi, and extended his hand.

Terauchi looked at his outstretched hand, hesitated for a second, and then took it. The hand was cold and trembling, as if he were holding a block of ice.

"Your Excellency Prime Minister," Chen Feng said, "the war is over. I hope that from today onwards, our two countries can move towards a peaceful future."

The temple staff managed a forced smile: "I hope so."

But he knew that peace had come, but the future... was still very, very far away.