After the Central Committee of the People's Party received the formal request from the Japan Restoration Society established by Kita Ikki, they loaded the 100,000 tons of chemical fertilizer, 400,000 tons of grain, and 500,000 sets of finished denim clothing—which had long been stockpiled in Busan—onto ships bound for Japan.

According to the plan, the Japanese naval forces participating in the Showa Restoration provided a full escort and organized both troops and laborers at various unloading ports to handle the cargo. The Japanese side was somewhat cold towards the Chinese transport personnel but responded with impeccable politeness. The transport staff noticed that the young officers of the "Showa Restoration" did not simply use Japanese yen for payment. The laborers participating in the unloading could choose to be paid in yen, grain, or clothing. The Chinese personnel observed that in the initial shipments, over sixty percent of the Japanese commoners participating in the transport work chose rice and white flour, less than thirty percent chose yen, and about ten percent chose clothing.

By the second wave of shipments, this ratio shifted. The proportion of Japanese laborers accepting rice and flour remained unchanged, still over sixty percent. But those choosing clothing jumped to thirty percent, with only a small minority of Japanese commoners accepting payment in yen.

The third wave saw yet another change. After most laborers had put on the thick, durable finished clothes, the demand split fifty-fifty between grain and yen.

Intelligence analysts concluded that Japan had not yet descended into such chaos that the yen had lost all credit; the social order across Japan was gradually stabilizing.

China's powerful industrial production capacity did not particularly care about these supplies. China had already popularized the use of improved seeds, chemical fertilizers, and pesticides. Basic water conservancy construction was an endless endeavor—the more that was built, the stronger the effect on stabilizing grain production. With total grain output reaching 300 million tons, the supply of eggs, poultry, meat, and condiments was ample. A single new synthetic ammonia production line, supplying 1,400 square kilometers of ordinary farmland yielding 400 *jin* per *mu* for one season, along with 5,000 *mu* of ordinary cotton fields yielding over 200 *jin* per *mu*, could produce enough in one year to cover these aid supplies. For an industrial nation, this was not a significant amount of material.

But for Japan, even if the raw material—air—were free, Japan's synthetic ammonia production in 1936 was no more than 700,000 tons. China's air separation nitrogen industry was tightly integrated with the steel industry. Large steel enterprises all had dedicated matching air separation plants; oxygen was provided to the steel mills, and nitrogen was naturally provided to synthetic ammonia enterprises. Because the scale of the air separation enterprises was so vast, they could even drive the cost of separating inert gases down to an acceptable level. Japanese steel enterprises were small in scale, technologically backward, and lacked the advantage of an industrial chain. Japan also showed signs of industrial cartels, but their overall operating costs were three to five times higher than China's.

As for Japan's agricultural output, which averaged just 200 *jin* per *mu*, the scarcity of land meant there was no large-scale agricultural infrastructure, and cotton fields were even scarcer. The total amount of these supplies aided by China exceeded 5% of the total supplies the Japanese government could collect through taxation and other means. If the Japanese government wanted to produce these materials, the direct cost invested would be at least double that of China's, and the manpower consumed in production and collection would be five to seven times that of China.

After intelligence analysts processed this data, it was submitted upwards. These figures caused quite a stir within the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Gu Weijun was a man whose fingers had never touched spring water; he had left the lower classes to attend school in his youth and later studied abroad. Upon returning to China, he had always remained in the upper echelons. After the fall of the Beiyang government, he was taken to Wuhan and had no real understanding of the changes in China. As a civil servant in New China, although Gu Weijun knew the People's Party's achievements were great, he measured that greatness in terms of military confrontation with foreign powers; he was not clear on the specific changes among the people. The comparison between China and Japan allowed Gu Weijun to directly understand what had actually happened in China.

Thirty years ago, Japan was much more advanced than China; now, compared to China, it was a backward country. Chinese agriculture had even seen the emergence of large-scale agricultural mechanical sowing and harvesting teams, which migrated across China like migratory birds according to the seasons. It was not just industrial production that had been socialized; even agricultural production had begun to be swept into the realm of socialized mass production. Rural labor had been liberated to an unprecedented degree. Cities were growing larger and larger, with residential districts built one after another. Yet labor from the countryside still flooded into the cities like a tide, stuffing those residential districts full. During the busy farming seasons, the cities would quiet down significantly. During the New Year, many new cities became empty towns. Yet even with the massive outflow of rural labor, agricultural output continued to rise. This was because the entire agricultural sector had received comprehensive feedback and support from the industrial sector.

Gu Weijun knew the state planned to abolish the agricultural tax while fully implementing the unified purchase and sale system. This plan had already been formally voted on and passed by the National People's Congress. After a transition period of a few years, the agricultural tax, which had been implemented for thousands of years, would come to an end in 1940. And there was even more miraculous news: it was said that agricultural subsidies might be implemented. Not only would farming be tax-free, but one could actually receive extra money for farming. When Gu Weijun first heard this rumor, he thought either Chen Ke had gone mad, or he, Gu Weijun, was hallucinating.

When the intelligence department talked about Japan—its heavy agricultural taxes, its countless wooden shanty districts—Gu Weijun actually felt a sense of reassurance. Japan's situation was a reality that was easier to accept; China's status quo had already entered a realm beyond human imagination.

For this Japanese revolution, the work regarding Japan was a direct operation of the Politburo, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was excluded. This made Gu Weijun feel somewhat dissatisfied. Even if the situation was troublesome, there was no reason to kick the Ministry of Foreign Affairs aside and have the Party Central Committee take direct charge. After thinking for a long time, Gu Weijun finally decided to arrange a meeting with the Japanese Minister to China.

Gu Weijun did not persuade him directly; he simply took the Japanese Minister on a tour of Henan, in the central province of Zhili. This tour naturally did not go to the mountainous areas but involved driving through the plains.

Japan and China were not friendly nations, and the two sides had fought quite a few battles over the years. Therefore, the movements of the Japanese Minister to China were relatively restricted. After driving personally for two days across the Huang-Huai Plain in Henan, covering over a thousand kilometers, the Japanese Minister was stunned.

There was no need to mention areas with abundant water sources like Zhoukou. Farmland, cut as precisely as if by a knife, was surrounded by rows of trees, and irrigation ditches were extremely developed. In areas where water sources were tighter, there were also rows of trees surrounding neatly cut farmland, but on this land, the Chinese had implemented sprinkler irrigation. Many plastic pipes were dragged across the fields, with sprinkler heads inserted into them. The sprinklers sprayed water evenly. The ground was moistened with a thin layer, and crystal-clear water droplets hung on the emerald green crop leaves—it was indescribably beautiful.

The greatest characteristic was that people were basically invisible in the fields. The beautiful farmland and the tall trees, standing neatly like sentries, were distributed across the vast wilderness. The farmhouses were completely hidden within the woods. A few old farmers wearing straw hats leisurely watched over the mechanical equipment, presenting an aesthetic that made the Japanese Minister to China shudder.

A Japanese person who could rise to the position of Minister to China was absolutely no fool. Seeing such a reality, the Minister understood just how wide the gap between China and Japan was. Gu Weijun's seemingly friendly travel invitation was actually a demonstration of power to the Japanese Minister.

The manifestation of competition between nations could be a comprehensive, tragic war, or it could be the creation of two massive, well-equipped, and well-trained armies standing in a tense standoff. Just as in *Han Feizi: The Five Vermin*: "In the time of Shun, the Miao tribes were unsubmissive, and Yu moved to attack them. Shun said, 'It is not right. If our virtue is not thick, to execute military measures is not the Way.' He then cultivated education and virtue for three years, holding shield and battle-axe in a dance, and the Miao submitted."

The Japanese Army was no longer prepared to "dance with shield and battle-axe" against China. The disparity in equipment, firepower, and tactical skills demonstrated by the Chinese Army and Air Force in the Taiwan Campaign had already driven the Japanese Army to despair. Let alone attacking China, Japan now didn't even have the thought of encroaching on Korea. As long as China didn't "dance" its shields and battle-axes onto the Japanese mainland, the Japanese Army would be thanking Buddha.

As for the status of the Japanese Navy, it was like Wang Xiao'er's New Year—getting worse every year. China's steel production was already fifty times that of Japan. Even if the proportion of steel China used for building warships was only one-fiftieth of Japan's, the tonnage of its newly built warships would still be close to double the Japanese level. What's more, China was putting considerable effort into forging its "shields and battle-axes."

Faced with the immense disparity in strength between China and Japan, the Japanese Minister initially asked about this and that with great interest, but by the afternoon of the second day, he had become dispirited and silent. The "Showa Restoration" within Japan had thrown the Japanese situation into turmoil. If China took this opportunity to invade Japan, the only thing the Japanese Minister to China could do was issue a "most strong protest."

Gu Weijun naturally observed the Japanese Minister's attitude. He smiled and said, "Minister, what I invited you to visit this time are all China's prime regions. It is not strange that they look appealing. However, I am thinking that Japan also has very fertile regions. If Japan's prime regions could also reach China's level, I wonder if Your Excellency would consider that a good thing for Japan?"

The Japanese Minister to China did not answer directly. In diplomacy, these words carried significant weight. It was both a threat and a gesture of goodwill. The Japanese Minister quickly realized that Gu Weijun likely intended to express support for a certain force in Japan and was attempting to persuade the Minister to support this force as well. As for who this force was, there was no need to guess. In Japan, Kita Ikki's reputation as a "non-national" was loud enough. As a recognized pro-China figure, and the instigator and leader of this "Showa Restoration," Kita Ikki was naturally the object of China's support.

"If your country truly hopes Japan can reach your country's level, then how does your country intend to realize your ideas?" the Japanese Minister asked.

"If a country is in a state of comprehensive chaos, it is destined to be unable to conduct self-construction. Similarly, if after a period of upheaval, things merely return to the original state, then what is the value of the spilled blood and the sacrificed lives?" Gu Weijun spoke slowly. "Your Excellency must be aware of my personal history. When the Qing Dynasty fell, I felt nothing, because the Qing was certain to fall. But when the Beiyang government fell, I felt as if the sky had collapsed and the earth had sunk; the China I knew seemed to have perished along with Beiyang. If someone had told me then that ten years later I could become the Foreign Minister of a stronger, wealthier, and more civilized China, I would certainly have thought that person was talking nonsense."

Many things in diplomacy did not actually need to be said so plainly. Since Gu Weijun had already spoken so clearly, the Japanese Minister fully understood Gu Weijun's thinking. This was persuading the Japanese Minister to defect to the "Showa Restoration" faction—and not just to defect alone, but to return and incite as many people as possible to defect to the "Showa Restoration" faction.

The Japanese Minister did not oppose this suggestion. As Gu Weijun said, the Minister was well aware of Gu Weijun's legendary life experience. To serve as Foreign Minister in two successive regimes, and without Gu Weijun himself suffering any accusations of being a "traitor"—this in itself was something very worth pondering.

Perhaps due to a stubborn adherence to the hostile stance between China and Japan, the Japanese Minister quickly calmed down. Although he agreed with Gu Weijun's "past," he also discovered a fact Gu Weijun had cleverly concealed. That was: Gu Weijun had not actively chosen the new People's Party government. When Beiyang fell, Gu Weijun merely acknowledged the fact of defeat and expressed his attitude towards the new government through surrender. If Gu Weijun had chosen to publicly abandon the Beiyang government and actively defect to the People's Party government at the time, his reputation would certainly not be as laudable as it was now.

At any time, a traitor who commits an act of betrayal for profit will be branded with an indelible mark of treachery.

Gu Weijun quickly understood the Japanese Minister's silence. He smiled: "If Your Excellency does not agree with the philosophy of the Showa Restoration, nor wishes for Japan to follow China's path, then you can completely ignore what I have said. If Your Excellency truly agrees with the philosophy of the Showa Restoration faction and truly wishes to do something for the Japanese people, I think Your Excellency will naturally make your own choice."

Those who follow different paths cannot make plans together; this is true for anyone. Gu Weijun himself had only understood the concept of "proletariat" proclaimed by the People's Party in the last few years. For instance, he, Gu Weijun, was a proletarian. As a man determined to make his living in diplomacy all his life, Gu Weijun neither wanted to own capital nor ever thought of monopolizing any power. Of course, from the perspective of personal interest, Gu Weijun also hoped his labor would be acknowledged and receive corresponding compensation.

The People's Party repeatedly talked about class. As a member of the "proletariat," Gu Weijun naturally hoped China's current system could protect the interests of the proletariat. From this class standpoint, Gu Weijun felt that whether it was the land distribution system of land ownership, the power distribution system of power ownership, or the capitalist system of capital ownership, all were institutional enemies of the proletariat.

Although Gu Weijun himself had blood or teacher-friend relationships with landlords, feudal power holders, and capitalists; although Gu Weijun himself, even after awakening his class consciousness, did not generate any feelings of hatred; Gu Weijun already understood clearly that in the struggle between the existing system and the old system, he might sympathize with or even give material help to those who were simultaneously "class enemies and relatives/friends" due to kinship, but he would never again stand on the position of the class adversaries, nor would he support the systems these people hoped to maintain.

Gu Weijun sometimes felt distressed by this realization. Humans are, after all, emotional animals; humans are biological beings with flesh and blood. Purely rational judgments often brought considerable pain to sensibility, and the mental anguish triggered by this sensibility often brought feelings of physical pain. Therefore, Gu Weijun could very much understand the Japanese Minister's silence.

The People's Party was not without "traitors." Shang Yuan, Pu Guanshui, Yan Fu, and many others were true traitors. They had also gained status and prestige within the People's Party, and before exiting the political and life stages, they still held immense power. However, not a single one of these people had betrayed their former object of loyalty in pursuit of status, prestige, or power. The reason they participated in the revolution was simply that they hoped to build a more beautiful China, and they strove unswervingly for this revolutionary ideal. For someone like Gu Weijun, making such a decision was extremely difficult.

While Gu Weijun was attempting to persuade the Japanese Minister to China, Japanese Emperor Hirohito was also feeling immense pain. Kneeling before him was the Chief of the Navy General Staff, Prince Fushimi Hiroyasu. Prince Fushimi was not there to inquire about the Emperor's safety because he had accepted the suggestions of the Showa Restoration faction. Rather, he had been captured during the naval mutiny. The naval mutineers had sent Prince Fushimi as a "gift" to the Showa Restoration faction controlling Tokyo, and he had then appeared before Hirohito through the "goodwill" of the Showa Restoration faction.

Marshal Prince Fushimi Hiroyasu was the eldest son of General Prince Fushimi Sadanaru. His original name was Narukata. He was adopted into the Kachō-no-miya family and renamed Prince Kachō Hiroyasu, but because his younger brother Kuniyoshi, who was slated to inherit the Fushimi-no-miya family, was sickly, he returned to the Fushimi-no-miya family. He was then known as Prince Fushimi Hiroyasu. In 1886, at the age of 12, he entered the 16th class of the Naval Academy, but by September, unable to bear the special treatment given to royalty by the academy, he dropped out and went to study at the Naval Academy in Flensburg, Germany.

Fushimi did not go to Germany just to get gilded; he received a solid education. After finishing the Naval Academy, he even attended the postgraduate course. After returning, he worked at sea again. Since he wasn't close kin anyway, and the Emperor didn't cherish him, others naturally cared even less (and couldn't manage him anyway).

In the Battle of the Yellow Sea during the Russo-Japanese War, he was a Lieutenant Commander and the division officer of the rear battery on the *Mikasa*. He had three ribs broken. After being wounded, he refused treatment from the medic, demanding the medic attend to the heavily wounded first. It was the Gunnery Officer, Lieutenant Commander Katō Kanji, who rushed over and forcibly carried him down. Just like that, he became a hero. Thereafter, he served as the executive officer of the *Naniwa* and *Nisshin*; went to study in the UK in 1907; and after returning, served as Captain of the *Takachiho* and *Ibuki*, Commander of the Yokosuka Naval District (Rear Admiral), President of the Naval Staff College, Commander of the Second Squadron, Commander of the Second Fleet (Vice Admiral), and Military Councilor. In 1922, at the age of 47, he became a full Admiral. His promotion speed was unprecedented in the Imperial Japanese Navy. In 1932, at the age of 57, he entered the Board of Marshals and Fleet Admirals, becoming the first pair of Marshal father and son in the Japanese military (the second pair being Terauchi Masatake/Terauchi Hisaichi).

After the Showa Emperor ascended the throne, he strove to control the military. In 1933, Fushimi replaced Taniguchi Naozane of the Treaty Faction as Chief of the Navy General Staff. Together with the Chief of the Army General Staff, Prince Kan'in Kotohito, they controlled the army and navy from behind the scenes on behalf of the Emperor.

Before seeing Prince Fushimi Hiroyasu, Hirohito had already seen the Chief of the Army General Staff, Prince Kan'in Kotohito. This fellow, who was responsible for purging the army alongside the Tōseiha (Control Faction), had wept bitterly upon seeing Hirohito. Now, although the Chief of the Navy General Staff, Prince Fushimi Hiroyasu, had a fierce temperament, the humiliation brought by being captured by a group of young naval officers made his face ashen, and he looked on the verge of shedding old tears.

With the two princes representing Hirohito to control the military ending up in such a state, Hirohito clearly understood that his efforts to control the military had finally come to an end. Hirohito received quite a bit of outside news from Prince Fushimi. The Tōseiha army had also shouted about storming Tokyo to save the Emperor. Nearly two months had passed, yet the army controlled by the Tōseiha remained motionless. It seemed they couldn't be counted on in the future either. Now the navy had also stood on the side of the "Showa Restoration" faction. The Showa Restoration faction was currently forcing Hirohito to receive those Japanese mud-legs who came to air their grievances, and they were constantly manufacturing the monstrous lie of "The People's Emperor."

The anger was real, yet Hirohito felt a sense of panic, because he discovered that the situation in Japan was increasingly escaping his control and was instead sprinting wildly in the direction hoped for by the "Showa Restoration" faction.

A premonition of failure loomed over Hirohito's heart like a dark cloud.