World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Wang Wenwu quickly took notes, his eyes showing admiration: "The Grand Commander is far-sighted."

"In addition," Chen Feng added, "Although we refuted Togo Heihachiro's theory of 'yellow races working together,' it actually... makes some sense."

Everyone looked at him.

"It's not about joining hands now, it's about the future," Chen Feng said. "We've deleted a lot."

He laughed: "But that's a long time from now."

The meeting lasted another hour, discussing the various details of the treaty's implementation. After the meeting, Chen Feng went out onto the balcony alone.

In the distance, on the dock, the Batavia was slowly leaving the port. The wrecked ship, trailing black smoke, limped away like a wounded old dog.

Looking at it, Chen Feng felt little joy of victory, only a heavy sense of responsibility.

Winning the war is just the beginning. How to transform victory into lasting peace and development, how to make Lanfang a truly respected great power, and how to ensure that overseas Chinese will never again be bullied...

These are much more difficult than winning a naval battle.

But he is confident. Because he has the support of the entire country, the expectations of millions of overseas Chinese, and the favorable winds of a rising era.

A telegram has arrived! It's from Lin Hai!

"President, everything is ready, and we can depart for home at any time."

"Okay," Chen Feng said. "We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning. I want to get back to Dubai as soon as possible; I still have a lot to do."

At that moment, Chen Feng took one last look at the departing Batavia. The ship had become a small black dot, about to disappear below the horizon.

"Terauchi Masatake, Yamamoto Gonnohyōe, Togo Heihachirō..." he murmured these names, "You are the mourners of the old era. What we must do is build a new era."

The sea breeze carries a salty, fishy smell, but also the scent of hope.

The Batavia sailed out of Pontianak Port and into the Java Sea. As the sun set, the sea was dyed blood red.

Yamamoto Gonnohyōe stood at the bow of the ship, gazing at the blood-red sea. He had already removed his Navy Minister's uniform and changed into a plain black kimono. He carefully folded the uniform and placed it in a box, alongside his medals.

He knew that after returning home, he would resign from all his positions. Then... then he would go to a quiet place and end it all in the traditional way.

But before that, there was one more thing he had to do.

He entered Togo Heihachiro's room. The old man was reading a book, an English version of "The Influence of Sea Power"—Mahan's work, but the pages were filled with notes.

"Marshal." Yamamoto bowed.

"Sit down." Togo put down his book. "Did you need something?"

Yamamoto sat down opposite him and remained silent for a long time before finally speaking: "After returning to Japan... I plan to commit seppuku."

Togo wasn't surprised; he simply looked at him calmly and asked, "Have you thought it through?"

"I've made up my mind." Yamamoto nodded. "The navy was destroyed in my hands, and the dignity of the empire was destroyed in my hands. As the Minister of the Navy, I must take responsibility."

"There are many ways to take responsibility," Togo said. "Seppuku is the simplest one. To live, rebuild the navy, and pass on the lessons—that is true responsibility."

"But I can't do it." Yamamoto's voice choked up. "Every time I close my eyes, I want to see the Kongo burning, see those young sailors jumping into the sea, see merchant ships sinking one by one... I can't pretend that nothing happened and continue to sit in the position of Minister of the Navy."

Togo sighed. He understood Yamamoto's pain. He had experienced this kind of pain when he was young—though not as intensely.

"Mr. Yamamoto," the old man said slowly, "why do you think I volunteered to participate in the negotiations?"

Yamamoto was taken aback.

"It's not to fight for better conditions for the Sakura Kingdom—I know that's impossible. Nor is it to witness the Empire's shame—I'm not that twisted." Togo's gaze became distant. "I came to see with my own eyes what kind of country the people who defeated us built. To understand where we really went wrong."

He paused, then continued, "Now I understand. We lost because we treated the nation as a war machine, while Lanfang built it as a home. We lost because we only wanted to become another Western power, while Lanfang was forging its own path. We lost because... we only saw our opponents, not our future."

"So what?" Yamamoto asked. "What good will it do to understand?"

"Once you understand, you can start over," Togo said. "But starting over requires people. You need people who understand failure, learn from their mistakes, and have the determination to change. Yamamoto, you are one of the most talented admirals in the Navy. You are still young, with another twenty or thirty years to go. If you die now, the future of the Navy will lose a glimmer of hope."

He stood up, walked to Yamamoto's side, and placed his hand on his shoulder: "Living takes more courage than dying. To live with this shame, to rebuild the navy from the ruins, and to ensure that future generations of Japanese will never have to bear the shame of today—that is true Bushido."

Yamamoto lowered his head, his shoulders trembling. After a long silence, he asked, "But... how can I face the families of the deceased? How can I face the condemnation of the people?"

"Tell them the truth," Togo said. "Tell them why we lost, what kind of opponent we lost to, and how we should proceed from here on out. Don't shirk responsibility, don't make excuses, just openly admit: we were wrong, we lost, and we need to change."

He looked at Yamamoto: "It's difficult. A hundred times harder than seppuku. But if you can do it, you're not a coward, you're a true hero—a hero who dares to face defeat and lead the country to stand up again."

Yamamoto looked up, his eyes filled with tears: "Marshal... can you do it?"

"I'm too old to do it anymore," Togo said with a wry smile. "But you're still young. So, Yamamoto-kun, I beg you—don't die. Live on and pass on the torch of the Navy. Even if the Navy is reduced to just a few small boats in the future, make sure the people on those boats understand: the Navy's glory lies not in its size, but in its spirit."

The sun had completely sunk below the horizon, and the room grew dark. In the distance, a Lanfang Navy destroyer was cruising, its lights flickering in the twilight, as if reminding them: a new era has arrived, whether you like it or not.

Yamamoto stood up and bowed deeply: "I understand. I will...live on. I will do everything in my power to rebuild the navy."

"Alright." Togo nodded. "Then let's make a promise—ten years from now, we'll come back to this sea and see what the Japanese Navy will be like then."

"ten years……"

"Yes, ten years. Not too long, not too short, enough to start over."

The two remained silent, standing side by side by the porthole, watching the sea grow increasingly dark. The Batavia's dilapidated engines roared, and the ship swayed in the waves.

But this time, there seemed to be a new rhythm in the swaying—not the panic of fleeing, but the resolute determination of returning.

Although the homeland I returned to was in ruins, and the road ahead was long and the light was nowhere in sight.

But as long as you're alive, as long as you want to change things, there's still hope.

In the distance, the Lanfang destroyer sounded its horn. The long, drawn-out sound echoed in the twilight, like a farewell, or perhaps a reminder:

An era is over.

Another era has just begun.