World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"So what!" Oshima abruptly stood up, looking down at the Prime Minister. "This is war! War means death! The only difference is where and why people die! Freezing to death on the Eastern Front, being bombed to death on the Western Front, starving to death at home—is there a difference? At least they received double pay before they died, and their families received triple compensation! Prime Minister, go ask those mothers in the countryside whether they would rather their sons starve to death at home or go to fight in Europe, at least so their younger siblings could survive? Besides, did you make this choice, idol!"

Saionji looked up at the agitated Minister of the Army. Oshima's face was flushed with anger, and the veins on his neck bulged, but in those eyes... what did Saionji see? Not just stubbornness, but also a near-desperate defense.

He was persuading Saionji, and he was also persuading himself.

"Oshima-kun," the Prime Minister's voice suddenly became very soft, "do you sleep well at night?"

Oshima was stunned.

"I can't sleep," Saionji continued, staring blankly at the courtyard. "When I close my eyes, I see the faces of those young people. Many of them were smiling when they boarded the transport ship, thinking they would soon return home in glory with money. They didn't know that what awaited them were the muddy trenches of France, the machine guns of the British, and the denial and abandonment of their own country afterward."

He paused for a moment: "Sometimes I think, maybe we made a mistake. Maybe there's another way we could have gone..."

"There is no other way!" Oshima interrupted him, his voice hoarse. "Prime Minister, wake up! The Empire is on the brink of collapse! Without those eight million pounds, 100,000 people would have starved to death in Tokyo last winter! Without German technology, our heavy industry will be completely left behind by the rest of the world! What will we use to protect ourselves then? How will we survive surrounded by powerful nations?"

He sat down again, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward: "Prime Minister, I know you are in pain. I am in pain too! Every time I see the casualty reports, I want to commit seppuku! But pain can't feed us! What we need now is to keep going, until the war ends, until the Empire recovers! Then we can make amends, we can commemorate, we can do everything we should do! But not now! Now we must survive, even if we have to crawl on our knees, we must survive!"

Saionji looked at Oshima, at the tears welling in the soldier's eyes. He suddenly realized that Oshima's suffering was no less than his own. It was just that the soldier used anger and stubbornness to mask his pain, while the politician used silence and self-blame to bear it.

Different paths lead to the same destination: hell.

"The list of British soldiers," Saionji finally said, "I will have the Ministry of Foreign Affairs handle it. But there is one condition—the Ministry of the Army must record the true names and places of origin of all the fallen soldiers in full and file them secretly. When the war ends and the time is right, the Empire will vindicate them. Even if it's just in private, even if it's just by erecting another memorial tablet at XX Shrine."

After a long silence, Oshima slowly nodded: "I promise you."

Another silence fell. The cicadas' chirping grew louder, as if it would devour the entire world.

"There's one more thing." Oshima pulled a telegram from the inner pocket of his uniform. "A coded telegram received early this morning. The sender is... Commander-in-Chief Chen Feng of Lanfang."

Saionji's pupils contracted slightly: "What did he say?"

"Only two sentences." Oshima placed the telegram on the table. "First: Survival is the primary right. Second: Lanfang Bank is willing to provide low-interest loans and technical support for the reconstruction of Japan after the war."

The Prime Minister picked up the telegram. The paper was thin, but those two sentences were like two keys, inserting them into a tightly locked door in his heart.

"What are the conditions?" he asked.

"It wasn't explicitly stated. But the messenger relayed verbally that President Chen Feng believes the future of the Far East requires stability and prosperity, not hatred and punishment. Lan Fang is willing to help achieve this goal."

Saionji stared at the telegram, silent for a long time. Chen Feng… that legendary figure who rose rapidly after the East China Sea naval battle, transforming a barren land into an industrial powerhouse in just over a decade. Why would he extend goodwill to Japan? Was he genuinely interested in helping? Or did he have ulterior motives?

"What do you think?" the Prime Minister asked Oshima.

The Secretary of State for War frowned: "It's probably a divisive tactic. They're trying to sow discord between us and Britain."

"Perhaps... that's the real way out," Saionji said softly. "After the war, regardless of who wins, the Empire will face an even more dire situation. Britain will punish us, Germany may be too busy to care for itself, and the United States... has never been a friend. Who will lend us a hand then?"

He carefully folded the telegram and put it in his pocket: "Reply. Thank you for President Chen Feng's goodwill. The Sakura Nation is willing to engage in dialogue with any country that is willing to treat us as equals at any time."

"Prime Minister!" Oshima tried to stop him.

But Saionji raised his hand to stop him: "It's just a conversation, not a promise. Oshima-kun, we're already on the edge of a cliff. One more rope, even if it's the enemy's rope, might save our lives."

He stood up and walked to the veranda. A wave of heat hit him, almost suffocating him. The koi in the courtyard were still swimming among the lotus leaves, oblivious to human sorrows.

"Did you know," Saionji said, her back to Oshima, her voice carried on the hot wind, "that Chen Feng met the King of England in Cairo. It is said that he told King George V a story about 'the hungry man'."

Oshima walked up to him: "What do you mean?"

"It means he understands our situation," Saionji said, gazing at the pond. "And he's telling the British that punishment won't solve the problem; only eliminating hunger will."

He turned to look at Oshima: "Maybe he's right. Maybe... there's a way to survive in this world without having to crawl on your knees. We just haven't found it yet."

Oshima wanted to refute, but seeing the almost desperate expectation in the Prime Minister's eyes, he swallowed his words.

The two stood side by side on the veranda, gazing at the courtyard, at Tokyo, at this nation struggling with an existential crisis. The cicadas' chirping filled the air, like an endless lament.

Meanwhile, in faraway Cairo, it was six in the morning. King George V stood on the balcony of Montaza Palace, holding a coded telegram he had just received. It was a briefing from MI6 in Tokyo, containing Saionji's response to Chen Feng's coded telegram.

The king crumpled the telegram into a ball and threw it into the Nile. The ball of paper floated on the surface for a moment, then was swallowed by the current and disappeared.

"Your Majesty?" Sir Grey approached.

"Chen Feng has made his move," King George V said in a low voice. "He's trying to entice Japan with post-war loans and aid.

Sir Grey frowned. "Should we stop them?"

The king remained silent for a long time, then finally shook his head: "No. Let him pull it. I want to see what kind of new order this Easterner wants to build."

He looked eastward, where the sun had already risen, turning the Nile River gold.

A new day begins.

But the new game has only just begun.