Eagle, I don't want to form an alliance anymore.

In order to maintain the Allied military presence in the South China Sea, the Western Pacific, and the Indian Ocean, the annual operating cost of the Allied naval base in Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam, was more than 15 percent of the total budget of the Soviet Navy's Far Eastern Fleet!

The Soviet Union provided more than two billion rubles in economic and military aid to Vietnam annually—while Vietnam’s military operations in Cambodia not only failed to bring any strategic benefits to the Soviet Union, but also earned it the reputation of supporting an aggressor in the eyes of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations.

The benefits of improving relations would be much greater. Reducing military pressure in the Far East would free up at least ten to fifteen divisions for other directions. The potential for Sino-Soviet trade was enormous, and China, undergoing reform and opening up, urgently needed industrial equipment and technology, which the Soviet Union could provide.

More importantly, in the strategic triangle, the Soviet Union is currently in the most unfavorable position of fighting two against one – the US and China are joining forces against the Soviet Union. If China could be pulled away from the US side, even just to the middle position, the strategic pressure on the Soviet Union would be reduced by half.

But he paused for a long time when writing about Vietnam in the report.

Vietnam was the most intractable part of the whole problem because it involved the entire Soviet strategic presence in Southeast Asia.

Cam Ranh Bay was more than just a naval base; it was a pivotal point for Soviet power projection in the Western Pacific. From there, Soviet warships and submarines could monitor the entire shipping lanes from the Strait of Malacca to the South China Sea, and in wartime, could threaten the US base at Subic Bay in the Philippines and Japan's maritime supply lines. Abandoning Vietnam militarily meant relinquishing half of the Soviet Union's influence in the Pacific—a price far too high!

But looking at it from another angle—what did the Soviet Union get in return for supporting Vietnam's invasion of Cambodia and pouring in two billion rubles of aid every year?

It is the collective hostility of ASEAN countries, and China's high level of military preparedness on its southern border—and since the conflict between Vietnam and China in 1979, there have been ongoing military clashes along the border, a matter that has been condemned by the Soviet Union in the UN General Assembly every year.

Vietnam took money and weapons from the Soviet Union to fight Cambodia, and after the war, it turned around and confronted China on the Sino-Vietnamese border. The Soviet Union was even forced to deploy heavy troops on the Sino-Soviet border to "protect" its ally Vietnam. The whole logic is a resource black hole, with more going in than coming out, and the deeper one sinks, the more one gets.

In his report, Slava wrote something he knew Andropov might not want to hear, but he had to say:

"The alliance does not necessarily need to abandon Vietnam. But the alliance can push for Vietnam to withdraw its troops from Cambodia—one of the three major obstacles that China faces that is relatively easy to overcome."

Vietnam's occupation of Cambodia was essentially a war of attrition. After the Pol Pot regime was overthrown, Vietnam did not call it quits but chose to continue the occupation, facing an increasing number of guerrilla forces.

Hanoi itself may not be willing to maintain this indefinitely. If Moscow clearly states that it will no longer provide unconditional financial and military support for this war, Hanoi will do the math. The advantages of doing so are threefold: first, China's core concerns are addressed without breaking the framework of Soviet-Vietnamese relations; second, the saved aid funds can be used for more valuable purposes; and third, the hostility of ASEAN countries will lessen, and the alliance's diplomatic space in Southeast Asia will actually expand.

He added a footnote that he thought Andropov would take to heart: "Deng Xixian is a pragmatic man. His core objective is for the alliance to stop supporting Vietnam in causing trouble in China's backyard—of course, he would be even happier if we completely abandoned Vietnam."

I believe he'll accept this opportunity.

After the report was finished, Slava had Director Nian read it again. Director Nian was not as familiar with the details of Sino-Soviet relations as he was, but she had a natural sensitivity to the wording of political documents and could tell which words would make Andropov frown and which words would make him nod.

The director made several revisions, replacing some overly straightforward judgments with more euphemistic expressions, but the core viewpoint remained unchanged.

“Honestly, bro, you still need to practice. If Gromyko sees this report, he’ll eat you alive,” Director Nian handed the revised draft back to him. “Those idiots in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs are still using 1960s rhetoric to argue with the Chinese. If you just say ‘promote Vietnam’s withdrawal from Cambodia,’ it’s like saying that their Southeast Asia policy over the past 20 years has been completely wrong.”

"I understand political rhetoric."

"If you can write comments that fully express your meaning without slapping people in the face, then you will be a qualified party bureaucrat."

“Then I might never become an official. My goal is to become a leader, and everyone should adjust their course according to the helmsman’s direction,” Slava stubbornly insisted.

"Stop talking nonsense! Hurry up and change it!" Director Nian pinched Slava's neck a few times and massaged his neck.

-

A delegation led by Yu Hongliang, Director-General of the Department of Soviet and Eastern European Affairs of the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, arrived in Moscow in mid-August.

This was the first time the two sides had resumed formal working-level contact since the Sino-Soviet negotiations were interrupted by the Afghan War in 1979—although the level was not high, with one director-general to another, everyone knew that Deng Xixian was standing behind these Chinese men in dark suits carrying briefcases as they walked into the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs building.

Deng had already responded to Brezhnev's Tashkent speech through a spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in March of this year.

At the time, the spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs stated that he firmly rejected the attacks on China made in the speech, but also said: "In Sino-Soviet relations and international affairs, we value the actual actions of the Soviet Union."

You can't catch a wolf without risking your cub; the alliance won't succeed if they don't show some sincerity!

Slava did not attend the formal negotiation meeting; his rank and status were not high enough to warrant him appearing at the conference table of the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs—a KGB civilian official showing up at a bilateral consultation at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs would surely cause a stir among Gromyko's people.

However, after reading his report, Andropov hinted through his own channels to the accompanying personnel of the Chinese delegation that he had an "advisor with in-depth knowledge of Chinese affairs" and that if the Chinese side was interested, they could arrange a meeting in an informal setting.

If this hint had come two years ago, it would have been no different from farting. But now that An has been transferred to the Secretariat of the Central Committee and is only one step away from becoming General Secretary, the weight of this hint is self-evident.

The formal negotiations lasted for five days, and the result was exactly as Slava had predicted: the two sides made no progress on the "three major obstacles" by talking past each other.

The Soviet chief representative, Kapitsa, director of the First Far Eastern Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, was a veteran diplomat who had been immersed in Sino-Soviet relations for thirty years. His understanding of China was undoubtedly profound, but he remained stuck in the official position of the Brezhnev era, repeatedly stating the same few points: "The Union is willing to improve bilateral relations without preconditions," "Issues involving third parties should not be obstacles to the normalization of relations between the two countries," and "The Union's military presence in Afghanistan is an internationalist obligation made at the legitimate request of the Afghan government."

Every single sentence was correct but meaningless; the expressions on the faces of the Chinese delegation members after listening showed that they thought the same thing.

On the third day of the meeting, Yu Hongliang reiterated China's position: without resolving the three major obstacles, normalization of relations is out of the question. However, his wording was much milder than before—at least he no longer used the swear words from the 1960s, such as "Soviet social imperialism."

The era of the great leader has ended, but the giant ship that the great leader once led is far from over.

Now, Yu Hongliang said, "We hope to see positive actions from the Soviet side."

This in itself is a signal that Beijing does want to talk, but just needs a way out.

But the formalities don't happen at the table, because the rule there is that both sides read their prepared statements, then shake hands, take photos, have dinner, and then come back for the next time. The truly meaningful conversations take place under the table.

-

The reception arranged by Andropov was held the night after the negotiations concluded at a government guesthouse outside Moscow.

The guesthouse wasn't big; it was just a small country villa surrounded by birch forests and manicured lawns, with a few plainclothes security guards at the entrance.

But everyone present knew that this was the most crucial negotiation.

The reception was officially called an "Informal Welcome Dinner of the Sino-Soviet Friendship Association." There were not many people in attendance; on the Soviet side, apart from a few familiar faces from the Friendship Association, the attendees were mainly people from Andropov's inner circle.

Gorbachev was also there, but his task was different from Slava's; the former was to drink, while the latter was responsible for negotiating.

The Chinese delegation was led by Yu Hongliang and included several members. Andropov himself would not attend—his position was too sensitive; his participation in the Sino-Soviet friendship event before officially taking over would cause an uproar among the conservatives in the Kremlin.

The drive from the city center to the guesthouse took about forty minutes, and the convoy consisted of five vehicles. Andropov's arrangement was ingenious—he had Serov ride in the first car to depart first, the Chinese delegation ride in the middle three cars, and Slava and Director Nian were arranged to drive the last car—a black Volga, with Director Nian driving and Slava in the passenger seat.

But an “unexpected” incident occurred ten minutes before departure: the engine of the car in the middle of the Chinese delegation failed to start – Slava later learned from Shelov that this “malfunction” was arranged in advance.

Therefore, the three Chinese guests on that bus needed to be moved to other buses. Sherov "enthusiastically" suggested that two of them sit in the front bus, while Director Yu Hongliang himself was "very apologetically" assigned to the last bus.

"Director Yu, there are still empty seats in Comrade Ivanov's car. I hope you don't mind."

Yu Hongliang was a middle-aged man in his early fifties, of medium build and slightly thin, wearing black-rimmed glasses and a dark Zhongshan suit, the standard attire for Chinese diplomats of that era.

"This is Comrade Ivanov, and this is Ivanova." Sherov introduced Slava and Director Nian to Yu Hongliang, then winked at them.

"Good afternoon, comrades. I am Yu Hongliang, Director of the Department of Eastern European Affairs."

"Good afternoon, Director." X2

Yu Hongliang had spent most of his life immersed in Soviet and Eastern European affairs, and spoke Russian more fluently than most Soviets. When he got on the bus, he politely thanked Slava and Director Nian, then sat quietly in the back seat with his briefcase on his lap, clearly waiting to see what kind of person this "advisor who understands China" was.

It seems that Yu Hongliang has roughly guessed that the Soviet Union probably did it on purpose.

The guide started the car and followed the convoy out of the Soviet Ministry of Foreign Affairs compound. It was still quite bright in Moscow in August; sunlight filtered through the birch trees, casting dappled shadows on the road. The car windows were half-open, and a warm breeze carrying the scent of leaves and earth made one drowsy.

Slava sat in the passenger seat for about five minutes without speaking, waiting for the right moment to begin. Dealing with Chinese diplomats requires a balance of being too hasty and too pretentious—too hasty and they'll think you're overly calculating; too pretentious and they'll think you lack sincerity. The Chinese conversational style is to start with casual chatter before getting down to business, using the small talk to gauge each other's understanding before naturally bringing up the main issue.

"Director Yu, is this your first time in Moscow?" he asked in Russian, his tone as casual as a taxi driver chatting with a passenger.

“No, I came once in the late 1970s,” Yu Hongliang replied casually. “At that time, I came with a delegation to participate in some kind of cultural exchange activity. I don’t remember the specifics very well. What impressed me most was that the bread in your state-run stores was really big, like a pillow.”

Slava chuckled, then suddenly switched to Chinese, with a Russian accent that he himself was unaware of.

"Why don't you take another look now? Although the bread in the store is a bit smaller, there are even more people queuing up now, haha."

There was a two-second silence in the back seat. Yu Hongliang pushed up his glasses and gave the short man sitting in the passenger seat a second look.

“You speak Chinese very well.” Yu Hongliang also switched to Chinese, and the eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses held a more scrutinizing look.

“I suppose so,” Slava leaned back in his chair and adjusted his posture so he could turn to the side and talk to the person behind him. “It’s a long story, but I know a little about the situation on both sides.”

Director Nian drove expressionlessly from the driver's seat. She knew that this was currently a testing phase between Slava and Yu Hongliang, and that she didn't need to interfere.

"Did Comrade Andropov send you?" Yu Hongliang asked, without beating around the bush.

“He arranged this meeting, but he didn’t specify what we would talk about,” Slava replied directly.

He was there to "chat," which is the safest and most effective identity in diplomacy.

"I know that there has been little progress in the formal consultations over the past five days. There are three major obstacles, and both sides are aware of them and have said everything that needs to be said."

"Since you know this, you should understand that if these three problems are not solved, the road ahead will be very difficult."

Slava nodded and looked out the window. The convoy was leaving Moscow and entering the suburbs. On both sides were continuous birch forests and the occasional wooden house. An old man was leading a cow slowly along the roadside, the cow's tail swishing in the setting sun.

"Director Yu, of the three major obstacles, which do you think is most likely to be addressed first?"

In a formal setting, any diplomat would have deflected the question with the statement, "All three issues are equally important and none can be omitted." But this was not a formal setting; it was the back seat of a Volga traveling on a highway outside Moscow, and the person speaking was an advisor to Andropov.

Yu Hongliang remained silent for a long time.

He had to judge whether the person in front of him was worthy of his truth. Both sides remained patient, the birch forest outside the car window turning into a blurry golden-green band of light in the twilight, and the joints in the road making a rhythmic thumping sound.

“Cambodia,” he said.

Slava made a mental note of it. Of the three major obstacles, Afghanistan was directly related to the core interests of the Soviet Union and was unlikely to be touched in the short term; the Mongolian garrison involved too much of the Soviet Union's Far East military deployment; only the issue of Vietnam in Cambodia had relatively little room for maneuver, because it was essentially Vietnam's behavior rather than the Soviet Union's, and the Soviet Union could indirectly push Vietnam to withdraw its troops from Cambodia by adjusting its support for Vietnam, without having to make direct concessions itself.

“Well, if Moscow could send some positive signals on the Cambodia issue,” Slava carefully chose his words, “such as adjusting its position in the relevant UN votes, or conveying some kind of message to Hanoi through bilateral channels—not necessarily through public pressure, or even through explicit statements, but simply letting Hanoi know that Moscow’s support for their actions in Cambodia is not unconditional and indefinite—do you think Beijing would accept such a signal?”

“I can’t accept it,” Yu Hongliang answered decisively, “but it’s definitely enough as a start.”

"Then how about starting with trade?" Slava followed up, seizing the opportunity while the other's frankness was still fresh. "The three major obstacles are political issues, which take time, but trade and cultural exchange can be addressed first—"

You need industrial equipment and technology for your reform and opening up. The alliance's advantages in heavy industry are irreplaceable by the West in many areas in the short term, especially in energy equipment, chemical equipment, and metallurgical technology.

If both sides can establish cooperation in these areas first, even if political negotiations fail to reach an agreement in the short term, at least the fundamentals of the relationship will improve, and it will be more difficult for conservatives on both sides to resist—after all, no one would dare to say, 'I'm against doing business with my neighbor.'"

Yu Hongliang adjusted his posture in the back seat and moved his briefcase from his lap to the seat next to him.

“Trade is negotiable,” Yu Hongliang said, “but you have to understand that Beijing’s position is to resolve the political obstacles first before discussing anything else. If Moscow wants to use economic and trade cooperation to bypass the three major obstacles, that won’t work—Director Deng’s attitude on this issue is very clear.”

“I understand, I completely understand. But please note one point, Director Yu—I am not talking about using trade to bypass obstacles, but about promoting trade while resolving obstacles.”

We should take a two-pronged approach, separating politics from trade, allowing them to proceed simultaneously without interfering with each other. This way, even if political negotiations progress slowly—and given the current situation they will likely be slow—bilateral relations won't completely stagnate.

Moreover, this approach provides a satisfactory explanation to the leaders of both sides: politically, negotiations continue and there's no sign of giving up, while substantive economic cooperation has already begun, demonstrating clear progress.

Director Nian was focused on driving and didn't say a word, but she glanced at Slava in the rearview mirror with satisfaction, as if to say, "You're pretty good, kid."

Yu Hongliang remained silent for a while. The view outside the window had changed from a birch forest to a more open grassland. In the distance, the outline of the guesthouse could be seen—a two-story wooden building with warm yellow lights shining at the entrance. Several cars had arrived one after another, and people got out of the cars and stood chatting on the lawn.

“Your line of thinking,” Yu Hongliang said, his usual bureaucratic tone honed by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had faded considerably, revealing the judgment of a veteran diplomat who had worked on Sino-Soviet relations for decades.

"There is no contradiction in principle. We should walk on two legs. The central government also intends to do so. Otherwise, why would it have already begun to loosen its stance on border trade before the resumption of political negotiations? Small-scale trade between Heihe and Manzhouli has been slowly recovering since last year. Although the scale is not large, the direction is correct."

He paused.

"But the key issue is sincerity. Moscow needs to show Beijing something tangible, even if it's just a small change."

Comrade Brezhnev's speech in Tashkent in March was a good sign, but what happened afterward? Were there even a single battalion of Soviet troops reduced on the Sino-Mongolian border? Was military aid to Vietnam reduced by even a single ruble? And the situation in Afghanistan is even more concerning. Beijing values ​​action; as Director Deng clearly stated—it's about what you do, not what you say.

Slava nodded. He knew that Yu Hongliang was telling the truth, and he had made similar assessments in his own reports. The problem was that Andropov was not yet the General Secretary, and the actions he could push forward were limited—he could only extend goodwill within his authority, and could not make major strategic decisions for Brezhnev, such as reducing troop deployments on the border or cutting aid to Vietnam.

"Director Yu, may I ask you a question?"

"You said."

"If—and I mean if—there are some changes in Moscow in the coming months, changes in leadership, and if the new leader sends some positive signal about Cambodia relatively early in the year—not a public statement but a verifiable signal delivered through reliable channels—how would Beijing react?"

Slava's zero-frame opening move really stunned Yu Hongliang.

Comrade Brezhnev isn't even dead yet, and they're already making preparations for his passing?

Although he couldn't understand the daily operations of the Slavic Abstract Region, Yu Hongliang still pushed up his black-rimmed glasses and looked at Slava through the lenses.

A veteran diplomat who had worked in Sino-Soviet relations for decades couldn't possibly be unaware of the implications of "leadership change"! Brezhnev's health was known worldwide, and while his successor hadn't been officially announced, diplomatic and intelligence systems in various countries were conducting their own assessments. Andropov was one of the leading candidates—and now, Andropov's associates were sitting across from him, discussing in Chinese the potential direction of Soviet policy towards China following the leadership transition.

That alliance is really sincere in this move.

Before answering, Yu Hongliang glanced out the window again. The guesthouse was very close; the car in front was slowing down on the circular driveway in front of the entrance. He knew that after getting out of the car, there would be a reception with Sherov and other Soviet officials, and it would be inappropriate to say such things there.

“Then Beijing will take this signal very, very seriously,” he repeated, emphasizing, “if it is true.”

“We hope so too,” Slava said.

The convoy drove past the row of neatly trimmed holly hedges in front of the guesthouse and stopped one by one on the circular driveway. The people in the first few cars had already gotten out. Sherov was standing on the steps in front of the guesthouse talking to a vice president of the Soviet-Chinese Friendship Association. Several waiters were setting up cocktail tables on the lawn, and warm yellow light shone from the guesthouse windows onto the cobblestone path in front of the door.

Director Nian parked the car steadily in the last parking space, turned off the engine, glanced back at Yu Hongliang in the back seat, and then looked at Slava.

"arrive."

Yu Hongliang picked up his bag, opened the car door, and after stepping on the ground with one foot, he paused for a moment, then turned to look at Slava.

Do you have a Chinese name?

Slava was taken aback.

For more than two years, no one had asked him this question. In the Soviet Union, he was Velikoslav Ivanovich Ivanov, Slava, and Andropov's advisor and prison mate.

But he has another name, a name that belongs to the future, to the programmer coding in his cubicle, to the ordinary person who never imagined before his time travel that he would one day be sitting in Moscow discussing geopolitics with high-ranking officials.

“Luo,” he suddenly blurted out his surname, “my Chinese name is Luo Nan.”

Yu Hongliang nodded, shook hands with Slava, then got out of the car, closed the door, straightened his collar, and walked towards the guesthouse.

Slava sat in the car for a while longer. Director Nian turned off the engine, and the car became quiet.

"Sometimes I feel quite emotional. When I think back to how pathetic you were when we first came to Moscow, and then look at you now—humph, you've finally become something."