World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Wang Wenwu remained silent for a long time before finally nodding: "I understand."

"Go send the telegram," Chen Feng said. "Also, inform Liu Yongfu that the tank production line is running at full speed, prioritizing the completion of the 100-tank order from Germany. Inform the shipping company to prepare for receiving the new transportation contract. Inform the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to prepare to receive the negotiating representatives from Japan—I guess Saionji will send someone to discuss the details."

"Yes."

After Wang Wenwu left, Chen Feng stood alone in the office. He walked to the wall and turned on the light switch. The entire room instantly brightened, and the world map on the wall became clearly visible.

Red Lanfang flag stickers have already been affixed to various locations in the Persian Gulf, Southeast Asia, and the Pacific Ocean. Many more blank areas await being painted red.

He recalled his arrival in this world more than a decade ago. Back then, Lanfang was merely a concept, a desolate wasteland, and a group of desperate refugees. And now? Now, Lanfang's warships cruise the three oceans, Lanfang's tanks change the course of battles in Europe, and Lanfang's will influence the world order.

All of this was calculated. Precise, ruthless, and efficient calculation.

Some might call him a devil, a warmonger, or a ruthless opportunist. Perhaps they are right.

But Chen Feng didn't care. He only cared about the result—a powerful Lanfang, a prosperous nation, and national rejuvenation. As for the means… history only remembers the victors.

The sky outside the window was beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn. A new day had begun.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, another day of calculation, struggle, trade, and death is about to begin.

Tokyo, the Prime Minister's official residence.

Saionji Kinmochi knelt in the Japanese-style room, with three telegrams spread out in front of him.

On the left is a letter from London. It's a handwritten letter from Asquith, politely worded but laced with threat: the British Empire needs "partners," and Japan, if it wants to preserve its postwar interests in Asia, should know which side to stand on. The offer: 200,000 soldiers, 200 pounds each, but with a demand for exclusive supply.

The one in the middle comes from Berlin. Kaiser Wilhelm II's urgent request, conveyed through diplomatic channels, is for thirty divisions of troops in the East to be used in the spring offensive next year. The price is negotiable, technology transfer is possible, and after the war, "the special status of Japan in the Far East will be fully respected."

The one on the right, from Dubai. Chen Feng's coded telegram, the shortest but most incisive: 500,000 men, half British and half German, to be in place before spring. This is an order, not a suggestion.

The three telegrams, like three knives, were held to Saionji's neck.

He closed his eyes. Morning light streamed through the cracks in the paper door, cutting thin strips of light across the floor. In the distance came the sounds of Tokyo's streets—tram bells, vendors' cries, children playing. Ordinary people's lives went on, but they didn't know that in this room, the fate of half a million people was being decided.

Five hundred thousand.

Not half a million livestock, but half a million living, breathing people. They have parents, wives and children, dreams, and fears. Most of them will die in faraway Europe, in unfamiliar lands, dying meaninglessly—no, meaningfully, their deaths will bring foreign exchange, technology, and political promises.

Trading one's life for money. What an ancient trade.

"prime minister."

The paper door was pulled open, and the three core members of the cabinet—Army Minister Kenichi Oshima, Foreign Minister Takaaki Kato, and Finance Minister Reijiro Wakatsuki—filed in one after another. Their expressions were equally grave; they had clearly all seen the telegram.

"Please sit down." Saionji didn't open her eyes.

The three knelt opposite him. Silence filled the air, broken only by the crisp sound of bamboo tubes striking stones in the courtyard, ringing out every few moments like a pendulum of a countdown clock.

"What do you think?" Saionji finally spoke.

Oshima spoke first, his voice fervent: "Yes! We'll agree to everything! Five hundred thousand people, at an average price of two hundred and twenty pounds per person, that's one hundred and ten million pounds! With this money, we can buy enough food to feed the whole country for two years, import the most advanced machinery, pay off our foreign debt, we can..."

"We can send half a million people to their deaths," Wakatsuki interrupted coldly.

Oshima glared at him: "So what? What war doesn't kill people? And most of the dead were from Cao County; local soldiers only made up a small portion! What's wrong with exchanging the lives of Cao County people for the survival of the empire?"

"The Germans want thirty divisions, that's 750,000 men. You plan to use them all from Caoxian?" Kato retorted. "Caoxian only has a total population of 20 million, with only 3 to 4 million able-bodied men. If you conscript 750,000, Caoxian will collapse, and a resistance movement will erupt!"

"Then suppress them!" Oshima's hand rested on his saber. "Send two more divisions to Cao County, kill some, imprison some, and the rest will behave. Anyway, those lowly people..."

"Oshima-kun." Saionji opened his eyes, his voice very soft, but it made Oshima immediately shut up.

"Prime Minister..." Oshima bowed his head.

"What I want to hear are solutions, not a kill plan," Saionji said slowly. "Fifty thousand people, how do we recruit them? How do we train them? How do we transport them? Both England and Germany need people, how do we allocate them? Chen Feng wants a commission, how do we negotiate? Have you thought about these things?"

The three remained silent.

Saionji picked up Chen Feng's telegram and read it again: "Chen Feng said they'd arrive before spring. Today is October 2nd, at most five months until next spring. Five months to recruit, train, and transport 10 people... is that even possible?"

"If the procedures are simplified, it's possible," Wakatsuki said bitterly. "For recruitment, we can directly conscript men in Caoxian, and locally we can combine propaganda and 'voluntary registration.' Training... can be compressed to one month, teaching only the most basics. As for transportation, Lanfang's fleet has sufficient capacity, but it requires money."

"Where will the money come from?" Saionji asked. "We're almost unable to pay our soldiers' salaries right now."

"Advance payment," Wakatsuki said. "Have Eide pay a 30% deposit in advance. As for Lanfang... it can be used to offset part of the commission."

"What about the political risks?" Kato interjected. "Selling troops to both sides at the same time means that no matter who wins the war, we will offend the other side."

"Then let's make it so that neither side can win," Oshima suddenly said.

Everyone looked at him.

"What do you mean?" Saionji frowned.

Oshima leaned forward and lowered his voice: "The quality of the soldiers we give to Britain and Germany can be...differentiated. For the Germans, we send more elite troops with more officers to help them fight better. For the British, we send more new recruits with inferior equipment and less training. This way, if the two sides continue to be locked in a stalemate in Europe and the war drags on longer, they will need more manpower...and we will always have business to do."

The Japanese-style room was deathly silent.

The sound of bamboo tubes striking stones rang out again, thud, thud, thud.

Saionji looked at Oshima, at the man in military uniform whose eyes gleamed with fanaticism. He suddenly recalled years ago, when Oshima was still a young officer, and had boldly declared at a banquet: "The future of the empire lies in expansion, in war, in iron and blood!"

Now, iron and blood have truly arrived. But the blood that flows is not the enemy's, but the blood of our own people.

"Oshima-kun," Saionji said slowly, "do you know what you're proposing? You're proposing to turn the empire into a human trafficking ground for war, sending our young people—even if most of them are from Cao County—to die in Europe, just to make money, to keep the war going."

Oshima's expression shifted, but he stubbornly insisted, "Prime Minister, this is reality! The Empire needs to survive!"

"Survival..." Saionji repeated the word. He stood up, walked to the window, and pushed open the paper door. Morning light streamed in, and the maple trees in the courtyard began to turn red, a few red leaves falling onto the moss.

It's beautiful. Peaceful and serene. Like another world.