162: Chapter 72 The Emperor's Piece of Rice

The second year of Yongan, the second day of the second lunar month, the Dragon Raises Its Head.

The city of Jinling welcomed its liveliest day since the beginning of spring.

In the newly completed press conference hall of Qingxia University, every one of the two hundred seats was filled.

The back row was packed with cameras resembling long guns and short cannons; some reporters were testing their shutters, others were flipping through their notebooks, and some were gnawing on cold steamed buns while keeping their eyes on the door.

Seated in the front row were the envoys of various nations to the Tang Country—Ambassador Hermann of the German Empire had come in person, wearing his usual smile, followed by four attendants who stood tall with sharp gazes; Ambassador Smith of Meijian Country looked slightly nervous, constantly wiping his glasses, which were fogged up; Ambassador Johnson of Great Britain leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed, his relaxed, spectator-like posture hiding a hint of scrutiny; representatives from France and Russia whispered to each other, occasionally glancing at the empty chair on stage, their fingers tapping lightly on their knees.

At nine o'clock in the morning sharp, Li Ling appeared on stage.

He wore a new-style dark gray military uniform without any medals, adorned only with a brass button engraved with the characters "Tang · Yongan."

His hair was combed meticulously, his eyes were bright and sharp, and a faint, elusive smile played on his lips.

He stood behind the podium, hands resting lightly on the surface, his relaxed posture radiating the composure of someone in total control.

No one dared to underestimate this twenty-six-year-old man—five years ago, he defeated Japan; three years ago, he forced the United Fleet of the Great Powers to retreat; one year ago, he ascended the throne as Emperor and established the Tang Country.

Now, he stood here to announce an even grander plan to the whole world.

Behind him was a massive velvet curtain; a few specks of dust were faintly visible on the deep red fabric under the lights.

The curtain trembled slightly, as if something was waiting behind it to break out of its cocoon.

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends who have traveled from afar," Li Ling tapped the microphone, his voice clear and powerful, "I did not invite you here today to listen to me read from a script. You already have those numbers, plans, and blueprints in your hands—the booklet I gave you yesterday that's thick enough to be used as a brick. That's right, that one. I suggest you don't throw it away; it will increase in value later."

A low ripple of laughter spread through the room; a few reporters looked down at the three-hundred-page plan in their hands and shook their heads with wry smiles.

Ambassador Hermann of the German Empire was the first to applaud cooperatively, and other envoys followed suit, but the applause was sparse; most were waiting for what he would say next.

"Today, I only want to talk to you about one thing—what kind of Tang Country you will see in five years."

The curtain behind him slowly drew open, the rustling sound of silk friction particularly clear in the silent hall.

A massive oil painting, covering the entire back wall, was revealed.

It was a futuristic cityscape—broad streets bustling with traffic, streamlined iron-shelled cars driving on straight roads, their bodies reflecting a metallic sheen in the sunlight; in the distance were rows of tall factory buildings, chimneys standing tall but without thick smoke, only wisps of white water vapor drifting from their tops; further away was a busy harbor where massive ocean-going cargo ships were loading and unloading, the steel arms of tower cranes drawing powerful arcs in the sky; several silver-white aircraft hovered above the city, gliding across the skyline like giant birds, the lights under their wings flickering in the twilight.

The sky was azure, the sun was bright, and the faces of the pedestrians on the road wore happy smiles.

In the bottom left corner of the painting, a child was looking up at the aircraft in the sky, the balloon in his hand drifting gently in the wind.

The room fell silent; everyone was stunned by the painting.

Some leaned forward subconsciously, some gaped, and others dropped their pens on the floor without even realizing it.

Even Ambassador Johnson of Great Britain, who had maintained a detached expression, couldn't help but sit up straight, his fingers gripping the armrest of his chair tightly.

"This is Jinling five years from now." Li Ling walked to the painting and pointed at the street depicted on it, his finger tracing the surface of the oil painting as if touching the future, "The road you see is called Yongan Avenue; it is sixty meters wide and lined with French plane trees. Construction will begin next spring. By then, your carriages won't have to bounce along muddy roads until your backsides ache. The Tang Country's extensive road network will allow your goods and carriages to travel much faster."

His finger moved to the factories in the painting: "Those factories will produce the first batch of domestically-made cars, tractors, and generators within five years. I know some of you think this is a dream, but remember—five years ago, you also thought it was a daydream when I defeated the United Fleet."

His tone was light, even slightly teasing, but that air of calm confidence acted like an invisible anchor, compelling everyone present to listen seriously.

Under the lights, his profile was sharp, and his eyes held a near-stubborn certainty.

"Five years from now, the Tang Country's railway mileage will exceed ten thousand kilometers. From Jinling to Shanghai, half a day; to the capital, two days; to Yangcheng, three days."

He paused, as if recalling something amusing, his smile deepening, "By then, when you envoys return to your countries to report, you won't have to spend two months drifting at sea. You can take the train, travel along the Trans-Siberian Railway, and reach Europe much faster."

He made an exaggerated expression: "Although it's a bit expensive, it's worth it, right?"

The laughter from the audience grew louder, and the atmosphere visibly relaxed.

Ambassador Hermann of the German Empire even took the lead in applauding, the sound ringing out particularly loudly in the hall.

His secretary was recording rapidly, the tip of the pen scratching across the paper with a rustling sound.

"However—" Li Ling shifted his tone, which suddenly became serious, his voice like a stone thrown into calm water, "I want to tell you that these are not the things most worth celebrating. The most worth celebrating is that in five years, every child in the Tang Country will be able to attend school for free; every sick citizen will be able to afford a doctor; every farmer will be able to plant improved seeds and use fertilizer, doubling grain production!"

He slammed his hand onto the podium, the sound causing the water cup in front of him to jump, ripples spreading across the surface of the water: "Fifteen years from now, the Tang Country's total industrial output value will surpass Great Britain! Twenty years from now, the Tang Country's scientific level will catch up with the German Empire! Twenty-five years from now, the Tang Country will become one of the strongest countries in this world!"

The room fell into a silence so profound that one could hear the faint sound of a camera shutter spring relaxing in the corner.

A reporter from Meijian Country was the first to raise his hand and asked in Chinese with a heavy accent: "Your Majesty! Many people feel that the goals you just mentioned are unrealistic! How do you respond to such doubts? For example, regarding the railways, the Tang Country currently cannot even produce many decent rails; how do you intend to build ten thousand kilometers of railway within five years?"

Li Ling had anticipated this question.

He nodded with a smile, signaled for the reporter to sit down, and then unhurriedly took a gleaming silver coin from his pocket, spun it on his fingertips, tossed it into the air, and caught it steadily.

His movements were fluid and natural, as if he had rehearsed them countless times, the coin refracting a brief arc of light as it flipped in the air.

"This reporter asked a good question. I will answer you—with this." Li Ling held the coin and displayed it to the entire room, turning his fingers slightly so that light from different angles hit the face of the coin, "This is the Tang Country's newly minted silver coin, with a purity of ninety percent—the silver content is ten percent higher than that of Great Britain's coins. What it represents is the fifteen large iron mines, eight large coal mines, and three large oil fields that the Tang Country has already surveyed. These mineral resources mean that our steel costs are only half that of Great Britain's, and our coal costs are only two-thirds that of the German Empire's. With energy and raw materials cheaper than yours, the cost of railways will naturally be lower."

He paused and added: "Furthermore, I have already signed technical cooperation agreements with the German Empire and Meijian Country—your engineers can come to the Tang Country, and students from the Tang Country can go to your countries for exchanges. This is called trading market access for technology. Fair, right?"

The room was in an uproar.

Reporters were burying their heads, writing furiously; some even stood up directly to raise their hands, firing questions like a machine gun: "Your Majesty! Where are the oil fields you mentioned? Is it public information? How large is the production?" "Your Majesty! You just said you signed a technical agreement with Meijian Country; what are the specific details?" "Your Majesty! Are you not afraid of the Great Powers joining forces to contain the Tang Country?"

Li Ling raised his hands, signaling for quiet: "One at a time. I don't have much time, so don't waste it."

He first answered that reporter from Meijian Country, his gaze falling on the man's sweat-dampened forehead: "The location of the oil fields is temporarily confidential. However, the production is sufficient for the Tang Country to be self-sufficient, with a surplus for export—provided you can afford the price and are willing to exchange it for the equipment the Tang Country needs."

He then answered another reporter, his voice steady, as if reciting an answer prepared long ago: "The specific details of the technical agreements involve commercial secrets, so it is not convenient for me to disclose them. However, you can ask the embassies of the German Empire and Meijian Country. If they are willing to speak, I will not stop them."

Finally, he looked at a tall reporter who had stood up in the corner.

The man was wearing a traditional Great Britain trench coat, his hat brim pulled very low, revealing only a jawline with hard, cold lines: "As for the issue of containment by the Great Powers—the Tang Country only wants to develop itself; we do not look for trouble, nor are we afraid of it. Our doors are always open to friends, but if you are an enemy—we also have plenty of knives and guns. However many you want to buy, we have them."

He said this lightly, as if discussing the weather, but that air of tough confidence was like an invisible knife laid across the table.

Ambassador Hermann of the German Empire was still smiling, but there was a hint of deep thought in his smile, and his fingers tapped the tabletop twice; Ambassador Smith of Meijian Country stopped wiping his glasses; the fog on the lenses had not yet cleared, but his face had turned slightly pale; Ambassador Johnson of Great Britain lowered his crossed legs and sat up straight, his hand unconsciously reaching into his pocket, his fingertips touching the cold case of his pocket watch.

After the press conference ended, Li Ling did not leave immediately but turned and walked toward the backstage.

His footsteps were fast, the soles of his boots making rapid sounds on the wooden steps.

An adjutant hurried to catch up and handed him an encrypted telegram, the paper rustling in the drafty corridor: "Your Majesty, urgent report from the northwest border."

Li Ling took the telegram, and after just one glance, his brows furrowed slightly.

The telegram was from General Wang Zhenhai of the Western Garrison, the handwriting scrawled, obviously written in an emergency situation: A large number of unidentified armed personnel have been discovered operating on the northwest border, suspected to be infiltrators from foreign forces. There are about three hundred of them, well-equipped and well-trained, and they are establishing strongholds near the border line. According to statements from captives, they are acting under the instigation of remnants of the Russian Empire, attempting to take advantage of the Tang Country being busy with the "First Five-Year Plan" to cause trouble in the northwest and drain the Tang Country's energy. According to scouts, they are digging fortifications, setting up barbed wire, and building firing bunkers, and the construction is progressing rapidly.

"Remnants of the Russian Empire?" Li Ling folded the telegram and stuffed it into his pocket, muttering to himself, his voice carrying a hint of coldness, "It seems some people don't want us to build our nation in peace."

He looked up and pushed open the side door of the backstage; the cold wind rushed in, causing his coat hem to flap loudly.

In the distance, the sky to the northwest was gray and hazy, like a massive curtain hiding something unknown.

A gray eagle was circling in the clouds, its wings motionless in the cold wind, like a nail suspended in mid-air, coldly overlooking the earth.

"Pass the order." Li Ling's voice turned cold, like ice shards falling into an iron plate, "Have Commander Zhao Tieshan's Special Forces move out first. I want to know the background of those people—how many there are, what equipment they have, and who is behind them. Once you have figured it out, wait for my command."

"Yes!" The adjutant stood at attention, saluted, and hurried away, the sound of his boots rapidly disappearing at the end of the corridor.

Li Ling stood under the eaves, staring at the northwest direction for a long time.

The cold wind rolled up a few withered leaves, swirling them into the distance, hitting the pillars and bouncing back.

In the distance, the outline of the city wall gradually blurred in the twilight, like a faded ink painting.

He tightened the collar of his military coat and walked down the steps with large strides, his military boots making steady, rhythmic sounds on the bluestone slabs, one step after another, fading into the distance.

"The first phase has only just begun." His voice was very low, as if speaking to himself, torn into shreds by the wind, "This game of chess still has a long way to go."