Japan's consulate in Fengtian.
The atmosphere was oppressive.
Sato Kenichi knelt on the tatami, holding a cup of tea that had gone completely cold.
Before him, an intelligence officer in a suit bent at the waist, not daring to raise his head.
"You're saying the rifles carried by Zhang Xueming's escort on the wedding procession are far superior to our Type 38s?"
Sato Kenichi's voice was perfectly even, giving nothing away.
But the calmer he sounded, the faster the intelligence officer broke into a cold sweat.
"Hai!" He bowed sharply. "Based on our observers' close-range reports, those rifles have a shorter bolt pull and a higher rate of fire. And their accuracy when firing on horseback... is abnormally high."
"Abnormal?" Sato Kenichi set down his teacup and adjusted the round glasses on the bridge of his nose. "How abnormal?"
"Beyond a hundred meters, they hit the mark almost every time. That's far beyond the capabilities of ordinary Feng Army troops. We suspect they may have received secret military aid from one of the Western Great Powers, or perhaps... even a full military advisory mission."
"Baka!"
Sato Kenichi slammed his teacup to the ground, sending porcelain shards flying in every direction.
"Aid? An advisory mission? The Americans or the Germans? What right does that country bumpkin Zhang Yuting have!"
His chest heaved violently. This news had completely thrown his plans into disarray.
In the Empire's eyes, the Feng Army were nothing but a rabble with outdated weapons, ants that could be crushed at any moment.
But now, those ants had quietly grown fangs.
"Investigate! Find out which country is pulling the strings!"
Sato Kenichi rose and paced back and forth across the room, his gaze sinister.
"Send a telegram to the General Staff back home at once! Report what we've discovered! Tell them we must accelerate the development of New Weapons. We cannot let some local Warlord outshine us!"
"Also, have the Ministry of Foreign Affairs people spend more time with the British and American Embassies. Sound them out!"
He stopped, a venomous glint in his eyes.
"If we can't do it openly, we'll do it in the shadows. Those Old Qing Loyalists have been pretty active lately, haven't they?"
The intelligence officer understood at once. "They've always wanted to restore the Great Qing. They see Zhang Yuting as a usurper."
"Excellent." Sato Kenichi's mouth curled into a cold, cruel smile. "Give them a little hope, give them some support. Let them cause trouble for Zhang Yuting, set his own backyard on fire. A bunch of useless fools who can't get anything done but can ruin everything—they're perfect for stirring up shit."
After a pause, he asked, "How are the two Mixed Brigades stationed in East Manchuria coming along?"
"Everything is ready. They can move out at any moment!"
"Keep the soldiers on combat alert. Didn't Zhang Yuting send his precious son to Jilin Province to suppress bandits? A playboy like him—what does he know about war? I'll be waiting for news that he's failed to suppress them. Once Jilin Province falls into chaos, our army can enter to 'maintain order' with every excuse in the book."
"When that happens, all of Jilin Province will be in the Great Neon Empire's hands!"
Marshal's Mansion, Great Green House, Tiger Hall.
A huge tiger skin hung on the wall, its claws bared and its jaws agape, a truly fearsome sight.
Zhang Yuting, Governor-General and Governor of Fengtian, was turning a brand-new rifle over and over in his hands.
He worked the bolt, and the crisp click of the mechanism echoed through the spacious room.
"Fine rifle. A truly fine rifle!"
Zhang Yuting stroked the cold barrel, reluctant to let go, then looked up at Zhang Xueming across from him.
"Boy, how many of these things can your Armaments factory make in a month?"
Zhang Xueming held a cup of tea, lounging lazily in his chair. At the question, he didn't even lift an eyelid.
"Who knows? Eight or nine hundred at most."
He blurted out a lie.
He had to keep even his own father in the dark about the factory's actual output.
This was his trump card; the fewer people who knew about it, the better.
Zhang Yuting shot him a glance and snorted.
"You little rascal, you're still keeping secrets from me. A couple days ago, I sent Old Wang from the Anshan General Factory over to take a look, see if he could copy it. Guess what he said when he got back?"
Zhang Xueming's heart gave a jolt, but his face stayed calm. "What did he say?"
"He said, 'Well, I'll be damned! I've never even seen a production line like that. Those German machines are like Treasured Ones. Forget copying them—if I took them apart, I couldn't put them back together.' Where'd you get a magical production line like that, boy?"
Zhang Xueming laughed inwardly. That thing was decades ahead of its time. Of course you wouldn't understand it.
He put down his teacup and launched into a solemn, straight-faced lie. "Dad, it's not the production line that's amazing. It's the man. I paid a fortune to bring over a top industrial consultant from Germany. His head's full of high-tech stuff none of us understand. He designed this whole thing himself. Patented technology. Get it?"
"I'm telling you, you can't hand these rifles out just anywhere. Give one to this uncle today, another to that older fellow tomorrow, and the next thing you know, one will turn up in some bandit den. If they steal the technology, we won't know where to cry."
Zhang Yuting listened and nodded, deeply convinced.
He knew all too well what kind of men the generals under him were.
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