Kirov’s exchange with Li Runshi lasted fifteen minutes. By the end, he felt that while he and Li shared many similarities, they were also worlds apart.

Senior officials in the West often viewed the Soviet model as rigid yet effective. Many within the Soviet Union shared this view. Kirov, however, found such an assessment simplistic. From the time of Lenin, the Party's governing line had actually been quite fluid. Driven by a traditional Russian focus on results, the Soviet Union never minded adjusting its policies or methods. The fundamental principle was that any adjustment had to yield immediate results.

In his conversation with Li Runshi, Kirov sensed the same realist streak, yet he also perceived a deeply idealistic side to the man. In this respect, Kirov understood Li perfectly, for he was cut from the same cloth.

Yet despite their similar temperaments, Kirov felt that Li Runshi had witnessed and participated in far more momentous events than any Soviet leader. This gap was not for lack of effort on the part of the Soviet leadership. Trotsky, the radical, had proposed a theory of global revolutionary division of labor: every nation would handle its own revolution, while the Soviet Union provided the materials, equipment, and funds.

This line, built upon the exhaustion of the Soviet Union itself, had been too radical and was eventually overturned by Stalin. Stalin’s "Socialism in One Country" was designed to concentrate strength on domestic construction. The subsequent five-year plans, with their massive importation of global technology and equipment, were aimed at that singular goal.

Malenkov had once remarked on Soviet construction: "We have truly achieved something great. Had we known at the start the effort and price required, we might not have dared to choose this path."

Kirov agreed wholeheartedly. The achievements of Soviet construction were unprecedented in Russian history, and the price paid was actually far less than in the Tsarist era.

Yet compared to China's achievements, those of the Soviet Union paled. After the defeat of the Trotskyites, Soviet domestic construction naturally returned to the standard of "immediate results." Consequently, the Party feared directly intervening in global affairs.

The He Rui government had been entirely different. From 1923 to 1927, China had been either at war or preparing for it—often fighting domestic and foreign wars simultaneously. Such a course would never have passed the Soviet Central Committee, yet He Rui had executed it.

After the Sino-British War ended in 1927, China had simultaneously pursued full cooperation with France and a diplomatic war with the United States, while also facilitating the Japanese revolution.

During the economic crisis of 1937, He Rui’s government had employed "counter-cyclical investment," utilizing massive debt to invest heavily in industry and raise the national education level. By 1939, China had identified Nazi Germany as its enemy and, in 1940, had successfully pressured Britain into declaring war first.

The Soviet Central Committee could understand the logic behind these moves in hindsight, but they could never have brought themselves to imitate them.

Thus, it was no surprise that Li Runshi possessed a vision far broader than that of the Soviet leadership. Over the past twenty years, he had served as Vice-Governor of Upper Burma, Director of Propaganda, President of the Party School, Vice Premier, and Vice Chairman of the Military Commission. He had been a full participant in the upheavals that had reshaped the world.

Compared to the transformations Li Runshi had overseen—calculating in terms of a billion people—the experiences of the Soviet Party seemed almost small-scale. The experience and vision accumulated by the two leaderships were fundamentally different.

After much thought, Kirov was forced to admit two things. First, the Soviet leadership could not match the experience or vision of their Chinese counterparts. Second, the inertia of Soviet policy-making would likely remain conservative for a long time.

Realizing this left Kirov despondent. He truly wished the Soviet Party could keep pace with the times and possess the same pioneering spirit. But as things stood, unless he could oversee a transition of power as smooth as China’s—moving from Stalin to himself—the Soviet Union would continue along its current path.

Yet a transfer of power was something Kirov dared not even contemplate, let alone promote. He had judged that while Li Runshi and the younger generation in the He Rui government were truly being cultivated as successors, he himself was merely a tool in Stalin's hand. In fact, every member of the Central Committee was a tool in Stalin's eyes. In the current Stalinist system, there was no room for the cultivation of a future heir.

Under such a political model, the Soviet Union would only change if Stalin himself chose to learn from the Chinese experience. Otherwise, anyone who jumped out to propose a policy adjustment would be struck down—Kirov included.

Having reached these disappointing conclusions, Kirov felt, if not total despair, then a profound loss of spirit. It was in this mood that he attended He Rui’s funeral.

After Lenin's death, his body had been preserved for future generations to pay their respects. The Chinese Civilization Party had made the same decision. Even if it went against the deceased's personal wishes, a founder bore the duty of remaining a national representative. Thus, there was no cremation; the final farewell was the last step.

Kirov passed before He Rui’s remains, which lay upon the party flag and were covered by the national flag. Beneath the crimson banners, He Rui’s features were solemn. He had died at only fifty-five, and his skin bore no signs of age or dullness. With firm, pale skin, a sharp-featured face, closed eyes, and long eyelashes, he looked noble and elegant.

Observing the new leadership of New China, Kirov noted that every one of them was young. While they showed sadness and regret, there was no trace of secret joy or fumbling uncertainty. The complete transfer of power had occurred smoothly before He Rui's death. His passing had caused no chaos within the new government; if anything, it had reduced potential instability.

Kirov could think of no smoother transition of power in history. A Soviet transition would certainly never look like this.

After paying his respects, Kirov stepped out of the hall. The area outside was carpeted with wreaths from world leaders and representatives of all walks of life in China. The sea of flowers was a grander spectacle than Kirov had ever seen, yet he felt it was entirely deserved. Although the Second World War was not yet over, had He Rui been willing to compromise with the West, it would have ended much earlier. China stood at the pinnacle of the world, dominating Asia and Africa, occupying Canada in North America, and controlling the entire Pacific.

Of all the conquerors in history, none could rival He Rui. This posthumous glory was well-earned.

As he was lost in thought, a voice behind him spoke in French: "Mr. Kirov, an era has ended."

Turning, he saw the French Premier. In the space of a few months, this man had traveled to China twice—first to sign a new treaty of friendship, and now to personally pay his respects to He Rui.

Kirov answered in his somewhat halting French, "It is the end of an era, but also the beginning of a new one."

The French Premier's eyes brightened. He pondered for a moment before issuing a decisive invitation: "Could I interest you in a cup of coffee?"

There were few coffee shops in the Chinese capital, and the local taste for coffee had been largely Sinicized. Outside China, coffee was a bitter, invigorating beverage. But the Chinese loved sweet drinks, and coffee here had been transformed into a coffee-flavored dessert.

Fortunately, the Russians also loved sugar. To Kirov, the taste was acceptable, if not quite sweet enough.

The French Premier took a sip, clearly finding the Chinese-style coffee unstimulating. He asked calmly, "Mr. Kirov, the trade volume between the Soviet Union and China is immense, accounting for the vast majority of Soviet foreign trade. I wonder if the Soviet side has conducted a comparative study between the traditional Russian trade structure and the current Soviet one?"

"Has France conducted such research?" Kirov asked steadily.

The Premier nodded emphatically. Though the French were known for their exuberant gestures, this move was not exaggerated. Yet Kirov felt that compared to the Chinese, the French Premier seemed somewhat less serious.

But he couldn't blame France. Their population was only forty million, while China’s was seven hundred million. If one included Korea, Upper Burma, and Assam—regions considered overseas provinces with closely related populations—the total reached eight hundred million. That was twenty times the population of France. It was only natural for the Chinese leaders to be more somber and composed.

Unaware of Kirov's thoughts, the Premier spoke of France's findings. In the Tsarist era, Russia's largest physical trade partner had been Germany, while its primary partner for finance and technology had been France. Trade with Europe had always been the core of the Russian economy.

"...Europe will no longer blockade or sanction Russia. Given the length of the trade lines and the nature of the trade itself, the Soviet Union remains a European nation."

Kirov had heard such discussions before. Escaping dependence on Chinese trade was a recurring viewpoint within the Soviet Central Committee. But it was the West that had blockaded the USSR. When the Soviet Union had been isolated, China had been its only channel for trade and finance. Setting aside national interest, China had been remarkably restrained in its trade with the USSR, avoiding any move—intentional or otherwise—to turn the Soviet Union into a dumping ground for Chinese goods.

Instead, China had constantly expanded the scope of trade, particularly in heavy industry. They had cooperated with the USSR to develop industrial standards and transferred technology to allow the Soviets to build their own heavy industrial base. China had even placed orders with these new enterprises and provided technical assistance to minimize the trade imbalance.

Kirov voiced the consensus within the Party: "The Soviet Union has no intention of weakening its trade with China."

The French Premier nodded in agreement. "The Soviet Union has a great need for Chinese trade. France is merely willing to provide more trade options and financial services to help develop the Soviet domestic economy."

Since France was not there to undermine the Chinese relationship, Kirov began to talk economic cooperation with the Premier. France had lost its vast colonies, every European nation had its own industrial system, and even Germany, the most populous, had fewer than eighty million people. There was immense room for trade between the Soviet Union and France.

Sensing the potential for cooperation, the French Premier asked, "How does the Soviet Union wish to handle Germany?"

"That is a matter for the Central Committee. In my view, Germany must be thoroughly de-Nazified and de-militarized. It must be restored to a 'normal' nation."

The Premier smiled but said nothing. The rise of Nazism in Germany might only go back twenty years, but Germany had followed a militaristic path since the Prussian era. As Napoleon had once remarked, "Prussia was hatched from a cannonball." To enforce de-militarization in Germany was hardly a return to a "normal" state. A non-militaristic Germany would, in fact, be a historical anomaly.

But there was no point in saying so. The Premier took Kirov's remark as proof of the Soviet Union's intent to thoroughly conquer Germany. That was enough.

Finishing his coffee, the Premier rose and shook Kirov’s hand. "I look forward to visiting the Soviet Union."

This was a clear signal. A state visit by the French Premier to Moscow would mean the normalization of Franco-Soviet relations. In the current European context, a rapprochement between the two would greatly influence the continental situation and the standing of both nations.

"I will convey your wish to the Central Committee," Kirov stated firmly. He hadn't expected that a task Stalin had intended for Molotov would be accomplished so casually.

"I look forward to seeing you in Moscow," the French Premier said meaningfully.