World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

But he knew this tranquility was false. Rice prices in Tokyo were still rising, factory strikes were frequent, and there were rumors of starvation deaths in the countryside. The empire was walking on the edge of a cliff; a gust of wind could blow it off.

Meanwhile, Chen Feng saw a rope reaching out from the opposite cliff—a rope stained with blood. Grabbing it might allow him to climb up, or it might drag him into an even deeper abyss.

If you don't grab it, you'll fall right now.

"Promise Chen Feng," Saionji finally said, her voice sounding as weary as if she had aged ten years. "According to his plan: 500,000 people, half English and half German, to arrive before spring. But there are a few conditions—"

He turned around, his gaze sweeping over the three of them:

"First, the troops sent to Germany should not exceed 30% of their soldiers being from the mainland. The troops sent to Britain should not exceed 20%. The rest should all be recruited from Cao County."

"Secondly, we need to negotiate the price. The British are asking for 200, we need to negotiate it down to 250. The Germans also want to raise their prices."

"Third, Lanfang must take full responsibility for transportation and equipment. Commission... can be discussed, but cannot exceed 15%."

"Fourth," he paused, "all 'volunteers' must sign an 'informed consent form,' clearly informing them of the risks. All families of fallen soldiers must receive full compensation—even if the money is deducted from their commission." (From the direction of Japan, not Cao County)

Oshima wanted to say something, but Saionji stopped him by raising his hand.

"I know this is hypocritical. But at least we should retain some dignity, some... room to defend ourselves in the future."

He walked back to his seat and slowly knelt down. In the morning light, his white hair looked like snow, and his wrinkles were as if etched by a knife.

"Get ready. Send a telegram to Chen Feng saying that we agree in principle, but we need to send a delegation to Dubai to discuss the details. Send telegrams back to London and Berlin saying that we are willing to cooperate, but we need a higher price and more specific postwar commitments."

"Yes!" the three answered in unison.

After they left, Saionji sat alone in the Japanese-style room. The bamboo tube was struck again, thud.

He picked up his pen, spread out the paper, wanting to write something, but didn't know where to begin. In the end, he only wrote four words on the paper:

"The sin is in our time."

Then, he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the brazier. Flames rose up, engulfing the four words and that pitiful conscience.

Outside the window, the streets of Tokyo gradually grew bustling. A new day had begun, with new calculations, new deals, and new death orders being generated.

Saionji knew that from this day forward, he would spend the rest of his life in nightmares.

But he had no other choice.

For the Empire.

For survival.

So that those who are still alive can continue to see tomorrow's sunrise.

Even if this sunrise was dyed red with the blood of half a million people.

Tokyo, October morning

The morning mist enveloped the streets and alleys of Tokyo.

When Koji opened his eyes, the sky outside the window was still overcast. He lay in a room the size of six tatami mats, and could hear his mother sobbing softly from next door. His father must have gotten up already—he could hear rustling sounds coming from the kitchen, his father preparing the only proper meal the family would have that day: brown rice and a few slices of pickled radish.

He sat up from the covers, as quietly as a cat. Three posters were plastered on the wall, all propaganda posters torn down from a street corner. The newest one had a striking headline:

"The Imperial Army is mighty! Its might is triumphant across Europe!"

The poster features an image of Japanese soldiers standing before a French-style castle, rifles at the ready, their expressions resolute. The background is a burning battlefield, but the soldiers in the foreground are impeccably dressed, their faces radiating the pride of victors. Small print along the edge of the poster reads: "Men of the Empire, the world stage calls! Serving your country in the military brings boundless glory!"

Koji stared at the poster for a full minute. He was seventeen, a preparatory student at Tokyo Imperial University, and was supposed to enter the Faculty of Law this spring. But now, he made a different decision.

"Koji, get up." His father's deep voice came from outside the paper door.

"Yes!" He quickly folded the bedding and changed into his school uniform—a dark blue stand-up collar with gleaming brass buttons. The boy in the mirror had delicate features, and his eyes held an almost naive fervor.

Inside the restaurant, a family of four sat around a low table. The mother's eyes were red and swollen, and she barely touched the white rice in front of her. Her eight-year-old brother, Kenta, however, ate with relish, while stealing glances at his older brother's "Volunteer Soldier Application Form" hanging on the wall.

"Are we going today...?" the mother finally asked, her voice taut like a taut string.

Koji nodded: "Meet at 9:00 AM in front of XX Shrine. First, a physical examination. Those who pass will take the train to Kumagai Training Camp."

"But..." The mother tried to say something, but was interrupted by the father.

"Eat your food." The father's voice was calm. "Koji has made his decision. This is a man's choice."

His mother lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly. Koji knew she was crying, but he forced himself not to look. He couldn't be soft-hearted, he couldn't waver. His teacher had said in class, "In times of national crisis, young people should step forward. An individual's fate is inextricably linked to the fate of the empire; to die for one's country is the highest honor."

Besides, fighting in Europe would bring in money. The basic salary was 25 yen per month, plus overseas allowances and combat allowances. It was said that frontline soldiers could receive 50 yen per month—equivalent to three months' salary for my father at the printing factory. This money would be sent directly home, so the family could afford rice and meat, and my younger brother could continue his schooling.

"I'm full." Koji put down his chopsticks and bowed deeply. "Father, Mother, thank you for raising me all these years. I will certainly live up to the family name and serve my country loyally."

The father nodded silently. The mother finally couldn't hold back anymore, covered her face, and burst into tears.

Kenta jumped up: "Brother! Will you stand in front of the castle and take a picture like in the poster?"

Koji smiled and patted his younger brother's head: "Yes. I'll send you the photos later."

"I want to ride a horse! I want to wear medals!"

"Okay, I promise you everything."

It was already daylight when I left home. The streets were filled with the smell of coal smoke and cooking. The cries of newsboys drifted from the street corner.

"Extra! Extra! The Imperial Army achieves new glory in Europe! The men of the Empire are awe-inspiring on the Somme!"

"Asahi Shimbun Exclusive: Letters from Frontline Soldiers to Their Families – 'We fight here for the glory of the Empire's tomorrow!'"

"Rice prices remain stable! The government is ensuring supplies for military dependents!"

Koji bought a newspaper. As expected, the front page headline was another war report, accompanied by a blurry photo, supposedly showing Japanese soldiers raising the XX flag in a French village. The article was filled with impassioned phrases: "The bravery of the Imperial soldiers has earned the highest praise from the allies," and "On the European battlefield, the Imperial Army displays the spirit of Asian warriors."

Turning to the second page, there was an editorial with a startling title:

The Fate of an Empire: The Responsibility of Every Citizen

The article states: "...Without the sacrifices of the soldiers on the front lines, how could there be peace in the country? Without the foreign exchange earned through the bloody battles of the Imperial Army, how could we import food and machinery? The rice you eat today, the clothes you wear, and the peace you enjoy all depend on the blood shed by 100,000 soldiers who went across the ocean to Europe..."