On the eve of the fall of Liaodong, he led his troops in a remonstrance against the young marshal.

Toshiro, the Japanese concession.

Guo Rugui sat in the telegraph room, with a solitary table lamp in front of him. The bulb was covered with a layer of dust, and the light it emitted was dim and murky.

His finger hovered above the telegraph key, hesitant to press it. The door behind him was tightly shut, and the curtains were drawn shut.

The only sounds in the room were the faint hum of the radio transmitter and the distant sound of the Huangpu River ship horn coming from outside the window.

The paper spread out in front of him was a list of conditions personally written by the Japanese ambassador, Kotaro Nakamura, during the negotiations earlier.

The handwriting is messy yet powerful, each stroke as if carved on the paper with the tip of a knife.

"Compensate the Kingdom of Bhikshu with 300 million taels of silver for military expenses, to be paid in installments over ten years, and cede the entire Jiaodong Peninsula, including Qingdao Port and all rights and interests along the Jiaoji Railway."

"The Kingdom of Bhikkhu may not pursue the sovereignty issues of Lushun and Kwantung Province, but the Nanjing government must pay additional compensation, the specific amount of which shall be agreed upon separately by both parties."

"If the above terms are not accepted, the Bhikkhu Empire Navy will immediately blockade all coastal ports of China, and the Imperial Army will launch a full-scale offensive again."

Guo Rugui translated the conditions word by word into Morse code, his fingers trembling with each word he translated.

Three hundred million taels!

The Qing Dynasty's indemnity of 230 million taels of silver from the First Sino-Japanese War had already bankrupted the entire country's finances. What does 300 million taels of silver even mean?

This is no longer a reparation; it's like skinning and dismembering the entire Chinese nation.

But he sent it anyway.

He only has the right to negotiate, not the right to make decisions.

.......

Jinling.

When the telegram was delivered to the Ministry of National Defense, the Chairman was in his office reviewing official documents.

Gu Zhutong stood beside him, holding a freshly brewed cup of Longjing tea. Just as she was about to hand it over, she heard hurried footsteps outside the door.

He Yingqin pushed open the door and entered, clutching the newly translated telegram in his hand, his face ashen as if he had just swallowed a dead rat.

"Chairman, it's Toshiro calling."

The Chairman took the telegram and unfolded it.

After reading the telegram, he suddenly stood up, crumpled the telegram into a ball, and slammed it to the ground. The cup of Longjing tea was swept away by his arm, shattering on the floor and splashing tea everywhere.

"Three hundred million taels! The Jiaodong Peninsula! Why don't they just rob it?!"

His roar pierced through the office walls, and the secretaries and adjutants in the corridor all stopped in their tracks, huddled in the corners, trembling and not daring to breathe.

Gu Zhutong bent down, picked up the crumpled telegram from the ground, unfolded it, and read it word by word.

After reading it, his expression darkened, but he did not get angry like the chairman.

He placed the telegram on the table, flattened it with a paperweight, and then calmly began to speak:

"Chairman, calm down."

The chairman turned his head sharply, his eyes blazing with fury:

"Calm down? How can you expect me to calm down? Thirty million taels! The Jiaodong Peninsula!"

"If these conditions get out, I will be the second Li Hongzhang! A sinner against China for all time!"

Gu Zhutong remained unmoved, pushing the telegram back in front of him and pointing to the lines of conditions with his finger:

"Chairman, the more aggressively the Japanese demand, the more insecure they seem."

"They were utterly defeated by Zhang Xueming in the Northeast, losing all their elite army and their navy dared not approach the northeast coast. Goguryeo's defenses were wide open, and the entire empire lost face."

"They're venting all their anger at the negotiating table, which is why they're asking for exorbitant prices."

He paused for a moment, then emphasized his words:

"But on the other hand, the fact that they are willing to sit down and talk is a good thing in itself."

The chairman's breathing gradually calmed down.

He stood there, his chest still heaving, but the anger in his eyes had mostly subsided.

Gu Zhutong is right.

Although the conditions offered by the Japanese were arrogant, they were essentially a negotiable stance.

If handled properly, these conditions can be reduced.

The chairman sat back down in his chair, placed his hands on the table, closed his eyes and pondered for a moment, then opened his eyes and slowly said:

"Sixty million taels of silver, to be paid in ten years, and one port, Hucheng Port, to be opened to them to expand their concession. In exchange, they must cease hostilities. Not an inch of the Jiaodong Peninsula will be ceded."

He glanced at Gu Zhutong and He Yingqin, then tapped the telegram on the table with one finger:

"Tell Guo Rugui that this is our final offer."

"If the Japanese accept it, both sides can sit down and sign the agreement."

"If you don't accept it... then let's go to war."

Gu Zhutong nodded and turned to draft a reply telegram.

.......

After receiving the reply, Guo Rugui contacted Nakamura Kotaro overnight.

Both sides agreed to hold the third round of negotiations at the Longfeng Tea House in the French Concession.

The decision to choose the French Concession over the Japanese Concession was Guo Rugui's idea. He believed that negotiations should not take place in the Japanese Concession, as this would only embolden the Japanese.

The Longfeng Tea House is located in a back alley of Avenue Joffre in the French Concession. It is an old-fashioned three-story brick and wood building.

The storefront is small, but the interior is extremely well-decorated, with rosewood tables and chairs, Jingdezhen porcelain, and several Ming and Qing dynasty paintings and calligraphy that are difficult to distinguish from genuine ones on the walls.

The owner's surname is Zhang. He is a man in his fifties from Northeast China who makes authentic Biluochun tea.

But today, the entire teahouse has been booked.

There were no guests in the lobby on the first floor, only two rows of guards in plain clothes. One side was from the Japanese consulate, and the other side was from Nanjing. They stood on opposite sides of the room, looking each other over a dozen meters apart, the atmosphere as cold as an ice cellar.

Guo Rugui and Nakamura Kotaro sat in a private room by the window on the second floor, each with a steaming cup of Biluochun tea in front of them, but neither of them touched it.

Kotaro Nakamura was a lean, middle-aged man with his hair neatly combed and wearing a dark gray suit with a perfectly tied tie.

A half-smile played on his face as he looked down at his superior, confident of victory.

"Guo Sang, I've reviewed your terms."

"Sixty million taels, to be spread over ten years? Is your Chairman trying to fob us off like a beggar?"

He picked up the teacup, smelled it under his nose, then put it down. "The Empire's condition is three hundred million taels, not a penny less."

"The Jiaodong Peninsula must be ceded; there is no room for negotiation."

Guo Rugui clenched his fists, suppressing his anger and trying to calm his tone as he spoke:

"Mr. Nakamura, the figure of 300 million taels is comparable to the 230 million taels paid in the First Sino-Japanese War."

"Do you think China can come up with 300 million taels of silver given its current financial situation? We absolutely cannot agree to this condition."

"Oh?"

Kotaro Nakamura raised one eyebrow, his smile widening. "Guo-san, you need to understand, it's you who are here to beg for peace, not us to beg you."

"What your chairman is afraid of is something we both know perfectly well."

"He was afraid that Zhang Xueming would become too powerful, and even more afraid that the Biqu Empire would hold him accountable."

Guo Rugui did not respond to this question.

He picked up his teacup, using the act of drinking tea to conceal his expression, but his mind was racing.

He needs to change his strategy.

"Mr. Nakamura, you are a wise man. You know the financial difficulties of China without me having to tell you."

"Sixty million taels, to be honest, is a sum that can only be come up with if you tighten your belt."

"You want 300 million taels of silver? Even if you dismantle and sell the entire Nanjing government, you still can't raise that amount."

"What good will it do your country if you don't get the money and instead bear the stigma of aggression?"

This tug-of-war lasted from 3 p.m. until 9 p.m.

Guo Rugui held firm to the price of 60 million taels.

After six hours of heated debate, the final figure was settled at 65 million taels of silver, to be paid in installments over fifteen years. The Jiaodong Peninsula would not be ceded, but the port of Hucheng would be opened to the Japanese, and the Japanese concession would be extended eastward by two kilometers.

For the chairman, the result was even better than he had expected.

The telegram was sent back to Nanjing, and the Chairman's reply consisted of only three words:

"Okay! Sign it quickly."

As Guo Rugui looked at the reply, a sense of inexplicable sorrow welled up in her heart for some reason.

Sixty-five million taels, to be spread over fifteen years, meant that for the next fifteen years, a sum of money from China's fiscal budget would always flow into the pockets of the Japanese.

This money could have been used to build factories, railways, schools, and support the army.

But he was just Guo Rugui, a man who was following orders.

He has no right to slam his fist on the table and refuse to sign, nor does he have the right to say that this is wrong.

All he could do was sign the treaty and leave.

Guo Rugui and Nakamura signed and sealed their documents on the second floor of the Longfeng Tea House.

When the two sides exchanged texts, Nakamura smiled and extended his hand. Guo Rugui hesitated for a moment, then also extended his hand.

Their hands clasped together; Nakamura's hands were dry and cold, like the skin of a snake.

"Mr. Guo, it's a pleasure working with you," Nakamura said.

Guo Rugui remained expressionless, but inexplicably uttered a single sentence:

"It's a pleasure working with you, and I wish the Ambassador a long and healthy life!"

Nakamura Kotaro paid no attention, and walked out of the Dragon and Phoenix Tea House with the signed treaty documents tucked under his arm, completely satisfied.

The black sedan parked at the entrance had already started, its headlights casting two dim yellow glows under the gloomy streetlights of the French Concession.

He bent down and climbed into the back seat, placed the documents on his lap, patted them lightly with his fingers, and a smug smile played on his lips.

The mission was successfully completed.

The 120,000 men lost by the empire in the Northeast could not be recovered with bayonets, but they were recovered with silver.

The car was traveling east along Avenue Joffre at a moderate speed, but not too fast either.

The streets of the French Concession were very quiet at this time of day; apart from the occasional policeman or stray cat passing by, there were hardly any pedestrians to be seen.

The driver was a veteran who had lived in Hucheng for five years and knew every alley in the area by heart.

He skillfully turned the steering wheel, turning from Xiafei Road into a small alley called Shikumen Lane, a shortcut that would save him the ten-plus minutes of travel that would have taken him around the Bund.

The alley was narrow, with old-style Shikumen houses on both sides. The walls were covered with dried ivy vines, which made a soft rustling sound in the night wind.

The streetlights were broken, and the entire alley was pitch black, with only the headlights of cars casting two pale beams of light.

Suddenly, the car headlights shone on a person.

A person wearing a dark cotton robe stood in the middle of the alley, facing the direction of the car.

He kept his head down, his hat brim pulled low, obscuring his face.

The driver instinctively stepped on the brakes, and the car's speed suddenly decreased.

He pressed the horn once, and the sharp honking echoed through the narrow alley.

But the person didn't move an inch.

Then, three more people walked out from the stone gate openings on both sides of the alley.

Then, two more.

There were six people in total, standing in a row, blocking the entire alleyway.

Kotaro Nakamura, sitting in the back seat, saw the figures through the windshield.

His smile froze, and cold sweat seeped from his forehead, trickling down his temples.

His hand unconsciously pressed down on the treaty document on his knee, holding it tightly as if those few pages were his talisman.

"Reverse! Reverse!!" he yelled at the driver.

The driver hurriedly shifted into reverse and was about to turn the wheel around when he saw another row of six figures in the rearview mirror.

The twelve people blocked the car in the middle of the alley.

"Bang bang bang!"

"Bang bang bang!"

The bullet entered Nakamura Kotaro's right temple and exited above his left ear, leaving a cloud of dark red blood.

His body lurched to the left, and he slumped back into his seat, his eyes wide open and his face filled with disbelief.

On his deathbed, he had only one thought.

"Who are they? How did they know they would be in the French Concession tonight?"

There was no answer, only the sound of gunfire.

The treaty document slipped from Nakamura's loosened hands, the words on the cover stained dark red with splattered blood.

The driver screamed in terror, pushed open the car door and tried to run, but after only two steps he was hit in the vest by two bullets and fell to the ground.

Twelve gunmen closed in from both the front and back.

Someone opened the back door, reached inside, and took the treaty document from the knees of Nakamura Kotaro's body.

Another person checked Nakamura's pockets and found all the documents he was carrying, including negotiation records, copies of telegrams exchanged between the two sides, and Nakamura's own diplomatic credentials.

The gunman leader opened the treaty document, checked its contents by the faint light of the car's headlights, then closed the document and stuffed it into a hidden pocket inside his cotton robe.

He straightened up and made a brief gesture to his companions.

The twelve people disappeared quickly into the darkness of the Shikumen alley, just as they had come, leaving behind only broken car windows, two corpses, and the lingering smell of gunpowder and blood in the air.

Twenty minutes later, police officers from the French Concession arrived at the scene.

They blocked off both ends of the alley and put up yellow and white police tape, but it was too late.

The news reached the Shanghai Municipal Council of the International Settlement within an hour.

Two hours later, the news reached the consulates of various countries in Hucheng.

Three hours later, the entire town knew that the Japanese ambassador to the town, Nakamura Kotaro, had been killed in the street in the French Concession, and his briefcase had been looted.

When the news reached Nanjing, the Chairman was in his study at his official residence.

He was ready to go to bed, wearing pajamas and a cotton robe over his clothes.

Gu Zhutong knocked on the door and rushed in, his voice hoarse and urgent:

"Chairman, something terrible has happened! Nakamura Kotaro is dead! The treaty has been stolen."

The chairman's hand holding the microphone froze in place.

A chill ran from the soles of his feet straight up to the top of his head, making his scalp tingle, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over his head.

"Who did it?"