World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"No need to be so polite. After all, a stable Japan is in everyone's interest." Chen Feng's voice was devoid of emotion. "Lord Saionji, you made the right choice. History will remember this day—not a day of humiliation for Japan, but a day of a new beginning for Japan."

After the phone call ended, Saionji stood there for a long time. Outside the window, the snow fell heavier and heavier, completely turning Tokyo white.

He recalled a snowy day like this, forty years ago, when the Meiji Restoration had just begun. Back then, they had nothing but passion and dreams for the future. Forty years later, they seemed to have everything, yet also seemed to have nothing at all.

"A fresh start..." Saionji murmured to himself, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "I hope so."

He sat back down at his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a worn notebook. On the title page was a motto he had written in his youth: "When you reach the end of the watercourse, sit and watch the clouds rise."

Now that the water has run dry, when will the clouds rise?

Saionji Kinmochi didn't know the answer. He only knew that, no matter what, he had to keep going. For this empire whose birth he had witnessed and whose decline he had also witnessed, for the eighty million citizens, and for the young people who were about to go to Europe and might never return.

He turned to a new page and began drafting a memorial to Tianhuang. The sound of the pen gliding across the paper was particularly clear and heavy in the quiet office.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in Dubai, Chen Feng put down the phone, turned to Wang Wenwu and Zhou Tieshan, and said, "Japan has agreed."

Wang Wenwu breathed a sigh of relief: "So fast? I thought we'd be arguing for at least three days."

"Hunger is the best persuasive tool." Chen Feng walked to the world map, tracing his finger from Japan to Europe. "Notify Germany that they can begin preparing to receive the first batch of troops. Also, get our fleet ready—to transport 200,000 men and their equipment. This will be the largest naval deployment in history."

"About the commission..." Zhou Tieshan asked.

"We'll charge 10%, but it can be halved in the first year," Chen Feng said. "We need to give Japan a little something to show them hope. People in despair will fight desperately, but only those with hope will cooperate."

He paused, then added, "Also, inform our intelligence network in Europe to closely monitor the movements of these Japanese troops. They're fighting for money now, but what about after the war? What changes will those seasoned veterans who have seen the world and fought in modern warfare bring back to Japan?"

Wang Wenwu and Zhou Ritsushan exchanged a glance, both seeing the deeper meaning in each other's eyes.

"You are planting a seed," Wang Wenwu said.

“Every empire has a lifespan.” Chen Feng gazed out the window at the shimmering Persian Gulf. “Lanfang will be no exception. All we can do is extend its lifespan and delay its decline. To achieve this, we need a balance—to ensure that our neighbors are neither too strong to threaten us nor too weak to cause chaos.”

But the nation must go on. The people must eat. One hundred thousand young people—whether they belong to the army or the navy—must survive.

Shimada put the letter into an envelope, sealed it with sealing wax, and summoned his trusted adjutant: "Send it to Tokyo and personally deliver it to Count Fujiwara. Do not go through any intermediaries."

"Yes."

After the adjutant left, Shimada glanced at the clock—10:00 AM. There were still four hours until his afternoon meeting with Chen Feng.

He decided to go to the port again. Not as a naval admiral, but as an elder about to send a young man off to a distant place.