(For Chapter 1-163, go to (https://chrysanthemumgarden.com/novel-tl/awbtv/))
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As the contents of the telegram were read aloud, the entire newsroom of The Eastern Daily froze, as though time itself had been suspended.
That brief moment felt both fleeting and agonizingly long.
Chu Yunsheng saw the editor who had leaned over to read the telegram take in a deep breath. His eyes reddened, his cheeks tightened as he clenched his jaw, every muscle trembling with suppressed fury.
But that restraint quickly shattered.
"The Eastern people are utterly shameless!"
The shout was like a spark landing in a barrel of gunpowder — in an instant, the silence exploded into chaos, the room filled with heated voices and outraged discussion.
"Is this news true?"
"How could it be false? It came from Beiping! Read the rest of the telegram — it says the matter has already made it into the local papers there!"
"Wenhe, you studied in the East, didn't you? Tell us, how could the Eastern people stoop to such vile, despicable behavior!"
"So it's true then... what are we supposed to do now?"
"Such an outrageous demand — it must not be accepted! The conference isn't over yet; perhaps there's still room to turn things around, as long as the delegation stands firm—"
"Even if they stand firm, it's probably useless. Didn't you see what the telegram said? Refusal may be invalid, protest may be invalid! Look at the state of our country — just a few months ago, our delegation made a laughingstock of itself as soon as it reached Ouhua. Disunity from within — what strength do we have to fight with?"
"Then what, are we supposed to just sit here and wait for death?"
"Mr. Fang!"
Amid the uproar and indignation that filled the newsroom, every gaze turned toward Fang Jiming, editor-in-chief of The Eastern Daily and a patriotic intellectual whose influence reached across many circles.
At some point, Fang Jiming had already risen to his feet. Under the weight of all those expectant eyes, he opened his mouth and said only,
"Bring me the telegram."
The editor holding it hurried forward, handing over the now crumpled sheet that had been clenched too tightly in his hands.
Fang Jiming placed the paper containing the brief notes on antibiotic results facedown on the desk, then took the telegram and read it carefully, word by word. Though the message was only a few lines long, he stared at it for a long time before finally speaking, his voice hoarse:
"This telegram was sent by Mr. Song Yongnian."
A young editor murmured blankly, "Then... it must be true. But, Mr. Fang, didn't we win that war in Ouhua?"
Another editor cut in sharply, "When power serves only itself, what reason or justice is there left to speak of?"
At once, silence fell again across the newsroom.
Chu Yunsheng's gaze swept over the faces of the editors.
He still remembered — just a few minutes ago, when he and Yu Jingzhi had first entered this place, every one of these young faces had been alight with vigor and idealism, brimming with boundless energy, ready to devote themselves to progress, to burn their youth and strength for a cause.
But now, those same faces had dimmed — like flames about to go out, like candles flickering in the wind.
Chu Yunsheng understood that this confusion and despair were only on the surface. Deep down, the fire still burned within them — they still wanted to cry out, to charge forward. Yet, even so, the helplessness and disillusionment of this moment were painfully real.
They could not foresee the future — could not know whether the path they were paving with their own bodies would lead into an endless abyss, or become a bridge to a new world.
"Cancel the front-page article we planned before."
The telegram in Fang Jiming's hand came down hard against the desk with a sharp slap.
He sat back down, tore off the nearly full sheet of manuscript paper before him, and picked up his fountain pen, writing with fierce, forceful strokes.
Just then, a rush of hurried footsteps sounded from outside the newsroom.
Chu Yunsheng looked up — the newcomer was Zheng Yuansheng, who had come in a hurry wearing only a shirt, having forgotten even his coat. He, too, carried a telegram in his hand.
The moment he stepped inside and saw the room's heavy mood, he knew that The Eastern Daily had already received the same news.
Seeing Fang Jiming bent over his desk writing, Zheng Yuansheng stopped by the side, not interrupting.
Fang Jiming wrote as if the fire in his chest were consuming him. The piece was short — only a few hundred words — but when he finally set down his pen, every stroke of ink pressed deep into the paper, each word brimming with fury, sharp and cutting as a blade.
"Mr. Fang, I have something to discuss with you," said Zheng Yuansheng.
Fang Jiming gave him a glance, handed the finished article to one of the editors, and then pulled open a side door. Behind it was a small lounge room for the staff — two narrow beds, a few tables and chairs, where editors often stayed overnight after working late into the night.
No one had invited Yu Jingzhi, yet he followed them in without hesitation. Seeing this, Chu Yunsheng naturally went after him as well.
Once the four of them entered the rest room, Zheng Yuansheng went straight to the point: "Mr. Fang, you've heard the news from Ouhua — and you still remain unmoved?"
Fang Jiming sat heavily in a chair, his expression grave. Instead of answering, he asked in return: "Yuansheng, the conference in Ouhua still has three months before it ends. Do you think there's any chance of turning things around?"
Zheng Yuansheng's brows furrowed tightly. After a long pause, he said with difficulty,
"Slim."
He began pacing, his legs stiff with tension.
"There's always a delay in news reaching us at home. By the time we received this telegram, at least two more rounds of meetings must have already taken place in Ouhua. Some officials and foreigners here in Haicheng probably got wind of it a day or two before we did — but look at how they've reacted."
"Besides, for to raise such a demand — it must have been premeditated. Our country… I'm afraid we simply don't have that much say."
At that moment, faint sounds drifted from the newsroom just beyond the door.
Zheng Yuansheng paused, listening for a few seconds, before continuing in a low voice: "Perhaps… if this matter were made known to the entire nation, if we could unite the strength of four hundred million people—"
Fang Jiming cut him off. "Not difficult, Impossible."
Zheng Yuansheng froze, whipping his head around to stare at him. "Mr. Fang—"
"Even if we had not forty million voices, but twice that, ten times that, a hundred times that — it would make no difference. At best, it might stiffen Beiping's resolve and keep them from signing. But beyond that — nothing. Do you know why that is?"
Fang Jiming went on: "Do you know where all that opium came from? How those allied forces arrived? How those treaties were forced upon us? How the very foreign concessions beneath our feet came to be?"
"The state of the world, both inside and out — can you really not see it clearly?"
"Do you think they refuse to speak to us of justice and principle because they don't understand such things? No — it's because they believe we are unworthy of them."
"I think about it often — when I sit, when I lie awake, even when I write my articles. I think about the future of Huaguo, about the future of you young people. But no matter how much I think, I can't see a way forward. Every road feels like a dead end."
"You're always arguing in my ear — politics and economics are both rotten, you say, so the whole system must be changed. Some insist on revolution, some on gradual reform, each calling the other extreme or backward. You quarrel and you shift, over and over, yet nothing gets better. We still don't know which way to go — or whether the road we're on is right or wrong."
At those words, Zheng Yuansheng stopped pacing. His expression grew fierce with emotion as he exclaimed: "Mr. Fang, we may take the wrong path — but we cannot refuse to walk at all! If we don't even have the faith and courage to seek a road forward, to fight for it, to bleed for it — then Huaguo is truly finished!"
This time, Fang Jiming did not argue as he usually would. Instead, he let out a long sigh.
"You're right,"
Then, looking at Zheng Yuansheng, he added slowly: "The Eastern Daily's principles will not change. But as for me personally — I am willing to support certain endeavors. Not for any other reason, only because I cannot bear the thought that, when the next conference like this comes, I might have to see another telegram like this one."
His gaze shifted at last to Yu Jingzhi.
"Jingzhi, I know what you're asking for. I can agree to it."
Following Fang Jiming's gaze, Chu Yunsheng turned to look at Yu Jingzhi.
Ever since the telegram had arrived, bringing with it the thunderclap of devastating news, Yu Jingzhi had remained silent, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
When it came to foreign affairs, his access to information was not much faster than Fang Jiming's or the others', so his shock and fury upon hearing the news were no different from theirs.
Chu Yunsheng could see the veins standing out on the back of Yu Jingzhi's hand, the tautness of his shoulders and back — every muscle drawn tight in that first instant. Yet Yu Jingzhi did not let the anger consume him, nor did he sink into helpless despair.
He was the kind of man who would not give up — not even when the hope left to him was faint and fragile.
And now, unlike before, he had the changes Chu Yunsheng had brought him.
"Sir," Yu Jingzhi said, "perhaps things haven't yet reached the point of no return. Have you forgotten that sheet of paper from earlier? We still have some leverage — though whether it can move the other nations at that conference, I don't know."
Fang Jiming froze for a moment, then his face lit with a flicker of astonished hope. "If that's the case… then perhaps there is a chance."
Seeing the sudden change in Fang Jiming's expression, Zheng Yuansheng looked puzzled — but before he could ask, Fang continued: "Still, the situation in the Northeast has worsened greatly over the past half year. I can't shake a sense of unease. You showed me that paper before — wasn't it because you intended to send it north along with those other medicines?"
"There can't be much of that stuff, can there?"
Yu Jingzhi replied calmly, "It can be mass-produced. And, sir, you may have misunderstood me — I don't intend to use the antibiotics directly as our bargaining chip. I plan to start with the traditional Chinese medicines first."
To reveal one's trump card too early — was to lose everything.
As he spoke, Yu Jingzhi glanced toward Chu Yunsheng, seeking his opinion — after all, the prescription belonged to Chu Yunsheng.
Chu Yunsheng, of course, had no objection. Yet he didn't believe that the outcome of that conference would change much because of a few formulas — whether traditional medicines or antibiotics. Yu Jingzhi likely understood this as well, which was why he hadn't revealed the antibiotics outright.
The war in Ouhua had ended, but in the northeast of Huaguo, the cannons still thundered.
The Eastern people had already taken the Northeast, and now they were reaching for the Jiaozhou Peninsula — clearly laying out their next move.
Even if the traditional medicines or antibiotics impressed the other nations, Dongyang would not sit idly by. So long as they refused to relinquish their grip on Huaguo, they would simply offer greater benefits to win back the support of those countries.
And once the Eastern people offered enough — the others would have no qualms about stealing or seizing Huaguo's medical formulas and antibiotics for themselves. They could use or study them as they pleased; there would be no need to negotiate for such "bargaining chips."
A weak nation has no justice.
A weak nation has no diplomacy.
That was simply the way of the world — reason had no place in it.
Fang Jiming sat in thought for a long moment before finally nodding, letting out a sigh. "Then let's give it a try. The day after tomorrow, I'll be meeting with Mr. James from Meidi. Jingzhi, come with me."
(TN: 美帝 (Meidi) — America / the U.S.)
At the mention of traditional medicines, Zheng Yuansheng's face lit with sudden understanding. Joy and hope flickered in his eyes, and he asked no further questions.
When the conversation ended, Chu Yunsheng and Yu Jingzhi left the now even busier newsroom of The Eastern Daily.
As the car engine started and began to roll forward, Chu Yunsheng watched the scenery sliding backward outside the window and suddenly asked, "Has the site for the munitions factory been decided yet?"
Yu Jingzhi paused, a hint of weariness lifting from his face. "Not yet,"
Chu Yunsheng's gaze remained calm, but his tone carried a quiet weight. "Decide on it as soon as possible."
As if understanding what Chu Yunsheng truly meant, Yu Jingzhi slowly closed his eyes. His slightly long hair fell forward, casting a deep shadow over his brow.
In the days that followed, Yu Jingzhi once again plunged into relentless work and travel.
Chu Yunsheng moved out of the hospital and into a two-story Western-style house just a few hundred meters away. The surroundings were cleaner there, and it was easier for Yu Jingzhi to arrange certain security measures.
The next day, The Eastern Daily and all the other major newspapers in Haicheng simultaneously published the news on their front pages.
The entire city was in an uproar — the whole nation, shaken.
From Beiping came reports of student demonstrations; people from every walk of life were rallying in patriotic fervor. In Haicheng as well, countless voices rose in protest and indignation. Newspapers were printed like falling snow, spreading calls for boycotts, strikes, and marches.
On the short walk from his residence to the hospital, Chu Yunsheng could see groups of young men and women waving banners, shouting angrily as they marched down the streets.
Some, too enraged to restrain themselves, smashed Dongyang-owned restaurants and shops, leaving the police exhausted and overwhelmed. Violent clashes surged overnight, and Chu Yunsheng's hospital soon overflowed with the wounded — almost all of them young.
In a first-floor examination room, Chu Yunsheng watched a student yelp in pain as a nurse tended to the gash on his arm — a familiar face among the many who had become regular visitors to the hospital these past few days.
The gentle, middle-aged nurse frowned as she dabbed antiseptic on the wound and scolded softly: "The streets are in chaos. You all should just focus on your studies — what are you doing joining these rallies? This time someone fired into the air; next time, someone might actually shoot. You're still so young — how many lives do you think you have?"
The student grinned: "Too bad I've only got one! If I had another, I'd be up on that stage too, giving a speech — protesting!"
The nurse asked, "Protesting what, exactly?"
"Sister Xu, you don't know?" the student said. "We're protesting the signing!"
"It's caused such an uproar — of course I know," the nurse sighed. "But what good will all this do? The world is what it is."
"I don't believe that."
The student's expression turned earnest. "I believe things will get better. The world will improve, the future will improve, and our Huaguo will improve. But that kind of future won't come to us if we just sit and wait — someone has to speak, someone has to act. Even if I don't get to see that better world, my sons and grandsons will — someday they will."
"I believe that one day, everyone will be equal. There will be peace and safety, and no one will ever look down on us again!"
As he spoke, his own words stirred him into passion. Then he glanced toward Chu Yunsheng, who had paused by the doorway, and with a bright grin called out,
"Dr. Chu, do you believe it too?"
Chu Yunsheng hesitated for a moment, then answered, his voice calm yet steady: "I believe."
Since arriving in this tangled, turbulent world, he had long understood how limited and powerless he was.
Against the wheels of history, the tides of global change, the uncertain fate of the nation — the strength of one man, or even of him and Yu Jingzhi together, might well be as futile as an insect trying to stop a cart. Fragile, almost meaningless.
But even so — they were not alone.