In culinary terms, "aromatic" often translates to "greasy." But in 1945, with oil and fat in short supply for people everywhere, a whole mutton head was exactly what was needed. Louis and the old gentleman, whose name was Ma Zheyuan, ate and drank with great relish.

"Uncle Ma, has your family bought a house yet?" Louis asked.

"My son is a middle school graduate, and my grandson is still in primary school. We haven't had that kind of luck yet," Ma replied. He clinked his glass against Louis’s. "But my cousin’s son joined the army. He bought a house in Xi'an and works at a machinery plant there."

Louis took a sip of the liquor, feeling the potent kick. Tearing off a strip of meat from the mutton head, he asked, "When Chairman He sent everyone to war, did the people not feel worried?"

"How could the Chairman’s words be wrong!" Ma’s eyes widened. "Chairman He was always on our side. Besides, if you want to join the army and fight, the government has to pick reliable people. They don’t want those who are just trying to dodge work or hide their past!"

Louis’s wife had explained the definition of "upstanding sons" (良家子) to him. In Louis’s understanding, the French equivalent would be a skilled technician in Paris with his own property. While some such men might join the military, they were rarely eager to fight. But from Uncle Ma’s description, the Chinese military *only* accepted such men, showing little interest in those from lower backgrounds.

This realization didn't make Louis think the Chinese government was overly picky; rather, it gave him a clearer sense of China's terrifying strength. Social resources that other nations only tapped into when they reached their wits' end were being utilized with maximum efficiency by the Chinese state.

In France, the inefficiency and incompetence of the government meant human resources were handled crudely. The state either arrogantly sent those it deemed "valueless" to the front as cannon fodder or, in a panic, sent high-value citizens to their deaths.

As the meal progressed and the alcohol took hold, Uncle Ma became more talkative. "Little brother, I was originally worried that with Chairman He gone, China might slide back to the way it was. Those were days no human should have to live through. But now I think... *hic*... now I think it won't happen. You’d have to be a special kind of failure to screw up the Chairman’s legacy. They don't have to do anything new; as long as they don't change the current system... *hic*..."

Louis, too, was feeling a bit lightheaded from the Fenjiu. He hadn't taken out his notebook to record anything; instead, he was simply absorbing the mood of the ordinary Chinese people. The French had little trust in their government, and the French elite expected little support from the public. Consequently, the French people hadn't felt they possessed a "national commander" in over a hundred years.

China had possessed such a commander for the past thirty years—a fact Louis envied. In French history, such leaders never met a good end. Louis was curious about how the Chinese public viewed He Rui, a man who had not only completed the conquest of the world during his life but also achieved the great feat of a smooth transition of power.

To Louis’s surprise, the primary sentiment among the public was one of "not being afraid." As a political science graduate, Louis believed there was no greater achievement than eliminating a people's fear and anxiety. In this cruel world, peace, stability, and development were scarce social commodities. Eliminating a people's fear of the future was a political luxury.

Driven by the alcohol, Louis asked a question that would have been unthinkable in France. Given the nature of French politicians, such a question would have been ridiculous—asking it would have been an invitation to self-ridicule.

"Uncle, do you love Chairman He?" Louis asked.

Uncle Ma was taken aback. It was clear the thought had never crossed his mind. After a moment, he answered hesitantly, "The Chairman was so good to us... I don't think that's the right word."

He pondered for another moment before answering definitively: "I think the Chairman was right when he said it. He was one of us."

Ma’s eyes brightened as he nodded emphatically. "That’s it! He was one of us!"

Louis felt as if something had struck him to the core. To describe a leader as "one of us" was the highest possible praise. In Louis’s estimation, He Rui had cost the Chinese people millions of casualties. From the war with Japan in the Northeast to the land revolution, China had likely lost millions of lives under his leadership, with millions more left permanently disabled.

By European standards, this was far beyond the limit of public endurance. When a people sacrifice so much for a leader, they inevitably develop a sense of exhaustion, even loathing. Yet after He Rui’s death, the people considered him "one of us." This meant that everything he had achieved was recognized by the people as their own. They didn't see themselves as sacrificing for He Rui, but as paying a massive price for their own interests.

As a student of politics, Louis felt nothing but envy and admiration.

Just then, the restaurant’s radio blared with the voice of an announcer: "Citizens, a special announcement. A national memorial service will be held on April 2nd. The service will be broadcast nationwide. Furthermore, all entertainment activities will be suspended for three days starting March 31st.

"In light of the current circumstances, National Chairman Li Runshi has composed a poem to express his thoughts:

*The true path of man is one of great change.*"

Louis’s wife, a Chinese major, had not quite imparted enough knowledge for him to understand the poem by ear alone. Yet, upon hearing the final line, he felt a sudden, profound sense of sorrow. His nose stung, and he found his eyes brimming with tears.

While Louis was immersing himself in local sentiment, Johnny was taking a more investigative approach. Though some were willing to be interviewed, they were visibly wary. Johnny had spoken with three Chinese subjects, none of whom believed they would be unable to repay their debts. A large portion of those purchasing new homes were veterans. The state had specific policies for them, including job placement and ultra-low mortgage rates of around three percent.

When the subject turned to He Rui, the interviewees became even more cautious. The war was not yet over, and the West was still considered the enemy. Most were initially unwilling to discuss their personal views of the late Chairman with a Western journalist.

Johnny promised he would hide their identities and ensure they faced no trouble. The tactic failed. Every person he approached stated they were unwilling to talk to a foreign reporter.

Fortunately, Johnny possessed a dogged persistence. He tried to understand *why* they refused.

China was no longer a stranger to foreigners, and the subjects spoke frankly: "We are still enemy nations. We do not believe your reporting will be fair or accurate."

Hearing the same answer from all three, a frustrated Johnny decided to head to the countryside. Even if the farmers wouldn't provide high-level analysis, seeing their lives would add depth to his report.

Yinchuan was in the Chinese West. Looking at the yellow landscape, Johnny was reminded of many regions in the American Midwest. Since the 1930s, the Great Plains had been plagued by constant disasters—much of it weather-related, but much of it man-made.

Unchecked cultivation had devastated the vegetation of the Great Plains, leading to the terrifying "Black Blizzards." The US was already a disaster zone for tornadoes; when the dust storms rose, they stripped inches of topsoil from the earth, turning the sky black as if the end of the world had arrived.

But when Johnny reached the rural areas near Yinchuan, he was stunned by what he saw up close. The Chinese Northwest was supposed to be arid; the yellow should have been the color of bare soil. Yet as he looked closer, he saw the truth of the yellow landscape. It was the color of continuous, dried vegetation. The supposedly water-starved Northwest was, in fact, carpeted in greenery.

Meanwhile, Li Runshi was also reviewing reports. He Rui’s final days had not been spent in quiet retirement or waiting for the end. In his final months, he had maintained a high-frequency, high-density contact with China’s various scientific teams.

Li Runshi had personally seen that in fields ranging from aerospace to chip technology, the research teams had received their technical directions and key points from He Rui himself.

Learning of He Rui’s final technical contributions made Li want to weep. To many, a leader providing technical direction seemed like a hollow gesture to gain fame. But Li knew how ridiculous that thought was. R&D carried enormous risks. Given He Rui's status, he had no need for the "political benefits" of the technical field.

In fact, providing technical direction was a drain on his political prestige. To risk one's prestige on a technical failure was political suicide.

Yet looking at the directions He Rui had provided, they were almost all centered on environmental protection. For a politician, this was an even greater gamble—staking everything on a long-term vision.

He Rui had even boldly pointed out the periodic fluctuations of climate change. He believed that since 1930, global temperatures had entered a warming phase that would likely peak in 1960.

Rising temperatures would inevitably lead to a surge in extreme weather events. The interaction between northern high pressure and southern sub-high pressure would create massive rainfall and droughts in the basins between the Yellow and Yangtze rivers.

Thus, He Rui had proposed taking advantage of the increased moisture moving north to clear the Huai River and initiate super-projects to restore massive lakes between the Huai and the Yellow.

Simultaneously, he called for large-scale reforestation in the Northwest, to be coordinated with the development of new energy sources like solar power. Once solar technology broke through its bottlenecks, it would have a vast space for future growth.

Beyond these theoretical guidelines, He Rui had also provided directions for new industries: solar energy, large-scale cheap seawater smelting, and utilizing coal to produce natural gas, methanol, and hydrogen.

Li Runshi felt his own knowledge in these areas was weak. He could understand the simpler technical points, but under He Rui’s pen, the "simple" was anything but.

He Rui was adamantly opposed to reclaiming land from lakes for farming. He demanded the full restoration of the lakes and radically proposed returning the Yellow River to its Han Dynasty course—where the river and the "Bian Canal" existed simultaneously. He even wanted the northern course of the Yellow River restored to its Zhou Dynasty path, hugging the Yan Mountains.

In the north, he sought to restore the Jiluze marshes and the Liangshan marshes. In the south, he prioritized the restoration of the ancient Yunmengze marsh to alleviate the pressure of the Yangtze’s flooding.

*Yunmengze*—a name filled with mystical charm. The modern Jianghan Plain had once been a vast wetland of numerous lakes. Whenever the Yangtze flooded, the waters would pour into Yunmengze, sparing the middle and lower reaches from the full brunt of the deluge. Today, only a few scattered lakes remained of that magnificent wetland.

He Rui’s plans seemed impossibly radical to Li Runshi. He wanted to dredge Yunmengze and many other Yangtze basin lakes into deep-water reservoirs. With such capacity for storage, the Yangtze basin could be managed with human precision, becoming a new "Land of Abundance."

But from the perspective of earthwork alone, this plan seemed like an impossible task for present-day China. Furthermore, He Rui’s opposition to land reclamation meant destroying existing fields to return them to the lake. Li Runshi felt an instinctive resistance to this.

Although China currently enjoyed a plentiful grain supply through foreign trade, the idea of "destroying fields" stirred a visceral opposition in his body.

Nevertheless, Li suppressed his discomfort. He decided not to reject the ideas yet, but to focus on the immediate issues.

The greatest problem facing China was the final resolution of the war in Europe. Only two nations remained determined to fight to the end. One was Nazi Germany, born of populism and possessing a broad public base. The German public refused to accept defeat, believing that by fighting on, they might change something.

Li Runshi had to destroy the Nazi regime completely. To do so was not only to carry the revolution through to the end but also a test for his own government. He Rui’s achievements were too numerous to list, but the deepest impression he had left on the Chinese people was that of an unshakeable "strongman." As his successor, Li could not afford to leave the people with an impression of being "soft."

If Li were seen as weak, his political career would suffer a devastating blow.

Beyond Germany, the tiny nation of Belgium was displaying an indescribable "lone courage." As a nation that had gained windfall benefits from the European colonial wave, the Belgians could not deny their past. To do so would leave them with nothing.

Thus, this minuscule nation had managed to organize an army of three million, including female soldiers, and was prepared to fight the WPLA to the last.

The Military Commission’s analytical department had yielded a result that stunned Li: their models predicted that Belgium would suffer over 1.8 million military casualties in a head-on clash. In the most extreme assessment, 1.8 million would die.

If Belgium truly lost that many men, the country would not perish, but it would take thirty years or more to recover.

Li Runshi had no interest in killing so many people. But in the face of destruction, the Belgians had shown no flexibility in switching sides; instead, they had publicly declared they would fight to the last person.

The so-called "flexibility" of the Belgians was an eye-opener for Li!

While he did not wish to annihilate them, the situation was another test of his resolve. To the Chinese public, if Belgium had stated that the death of its entire population was acceptable, then China should let them die.

Until the Belgians took the initiative to surrender, any decision by Li to spare them would be interpreted as "weakness."

Had He Rui still been alive, Li could have used political propaganda to reduce casualties. But He Rui was gone, and there was no one left to shield Li from the pressure.

Currently, not only did the Chinese military loathe Belgian arrogance, but the WPLA itself was seething with the desire to wipe Belgium from the map.

These pressures left Li in a passive position. He was still in a "probationary period"; his political prestige was enough to order the army to win the war, but it was not yet enough to allow him to forgive an enemy that resisted to the end.

Ultimately, he could only hope the Belgians were not as stubborn as the legends claimed, and that they would surrender after receiving a heavy enough blow.

Many years later, when Li Runshi recalled the decisions he made at the start of his administration, he would sigh at his own "naivety." He would realize he had been young, lacking in insight into the world. Had he been willing to pay the price to replace the attacking WPLA units with the regular Chinese Army, many things would have turned out differently.

But in late March 1945, beyond discussing the future world order with visiting heads of state, Li had to make decisions on economic development.

Just as he instinctively opposed the destruction of fields for lakes, he instinctively opposed any decision involving massive expenditures.

Whenever he felt this way, he would remind himself: He Rui seemed unrestrained in his spending, but the reason was simple. He knew that if the cost were not met, no matter how good the intention, the result would never be positive.

The price of building a new era was so vast that most people living through it subconsciously assumed it was controllable—that with good intentions, the goal could be reached at minimal cost.

Only those who were mistaken for "anti-social" or "anti-human" could reach an assessment of the cost that approached the truth.

In the military field, it was said that only the truly wise and the truly foolish understand strategy. The wise are forced to admit that only the strategic direction is consistent with objective law. The foolish never even imagine another path.

Both do the same thing: they cast aside their own emotions and ignore what is commonly called "humanity." They simply follow the objective laws of the time to execute a plan that accords with those laws.

Many criticized He Rui, both in life and in death. They called him treacherous, cunning, and cold-blooded. Yet these critics, intentionally or otherwise, overlooked one thing: He Rui was a pure man. His treachery, cunning, and coldness were merely manifestations of that purity in different environments.

If destroying Belgium were necessary to complete the cause of liberating humanity, He Rui would destroy it. He would not love the Belgians as fellow humans, nor would he hate them.

The destruction of Belgium would have nothing to do with the Belgians themselves, nor with He Rui’s personal feelings.