As every Belgian division was reduced to ash, the reports were delivered to Li Runshi. Originally, Li had not wished to involve himself in such minute detail, but during He Rui's life, he had inquired about the power of thermobaric weapons. He Rui had described the principles and combat effects of these mass-casualty weapons in a tone of eerie calm.

Initially, Li Runshi had felt nothing was amiss—until he personally visited the front. Beholding the scorched battlefields and the vast carpets of enemy remains that had been incinerated alongside their positions, his view of He Rui underwent a profound shift.

Because of his illness, He Rui had been unable to visit the front lines, leading many to assume he was unaware of the specific realities of the combat. Li Runshi now understood that He Rui had known exactly what was happening—better, perhaps, than most of the officers and men involved.

During the liberation of the British mainland, He Rui had still been alive. He had personally ordered the thermobaric saturation of the coastal defenses, annihilating over 300,000 British troops in one stroke. He had been fully aware of the consequences, and his decision had been made with absolute clarity of mind.

Possessing this realization, Li Runshi forced himself to monitor the Belgian campaign. When he had not understood the depth of He Rui’s awareness, he had felt he could leave the decisions to his comrades on the front. Now, understanding that He Rui’s silence had not been born of ignorance, Li required himself to watch the progress. It was his order; it was his duty to witness its execution.

Every report meant ten thousand Belgian soldiers had been turned to charcoal. Li bore the weight of this visualization until, at last, after the fourteenth battle report, the news he had been waiting for arrived: "The Belgian army has begun to accept surrender. According to our intercepts, the new orders from the Belgian Command no longer demand that units fight to the last man, but allow them to decide for themselves."

A long, pent-up breath escaped Li Runshi’s lungs. He asked for the exact count. "The fourteenth, Chairman," the secretary answered immediately.

Li had thought it was the fifteenth. Learning it was one less than he feared felt like a thousand-pound weight being lifted. One fewer attack meant twenty thousand lives spared from destruction. The objective had been achieved with only fourteen strikes and approximately 300,000 dead. Combined with the 200,000 lost in earlier engagements, the total Belgian casualties were 500,000—far less than the 1.8 million initially calculated by the Military Commission.

Yet Li did not dwell on the numbers. He simply issued his next order: "Inform all officers and men of the World People's Liberation Army: if they resolve the issue of Nazi Germany cleanly and efficiently, it is likely that no further large-scale campaigns will occur. Whether we can deter other nations with ill intent from entering the war depends on our performance in the coming battles! For the sake of peace, I ask our comrades to fight with valor!"

With that, Li Runshi rose and walked out of his office. Outside, the world was awash in the greenery of April. Zhengzhou was in full bloom, pulsating with life. Standing by a window, Li felt as if he could still see He Rui standing there, smoking—that thin figure, radiating a calm self-possession that betrayed nothing of the man who held the fate of tens of millions in his hand.

Li Runshi was a man of exuberant passion; he had always found He Rui too cold, even misanthropic. It wasn't how he thought a leader who liberated the world should look.

Now that the old friend was gone, Li found himself understanding many things he previously could not. It was precisely because he could decide the life or death of hundreds of thousands at any moment that He Rui had carried a burden Li once found unimaginable.

The greatest difference between the two lay in their perception of power. Li Runshi’s experience had taught him to strike the strong from a position of weakness; He Rui possessed an innate mindset of the strong striking the weak.

In hindsight, He Rui’s assessment of the balance between domestic and global forces had been correct. But at the time, no one would have placed China in a position of superiority, let alone possessed the capability to plan on the assumption of genuine Chinese dominance. Not even Li Runshi could do it then; he simply couldn't see where that power was to be unearthed.

Having personally ordered the destruction of 500,000 lives, Li looked at the window where He Rui had so often stood and felt a profound sympathy for the man’s loneliness. He Rui had not believed he could "save" the people, for he believed the people already possessed genuine power—even if much of that power was born of human greed and the evolutionary impulse for status.

Even Li Runshi had once regarded these views as merely "interesting ideas." But once He Rui had unearthed those forces, China’s potential became reality, culminating in the world before his eyes.

He initially reached for a cigarette but decided against it, returning to his desk. He was not a man bound by tradition; though he had inherited everything from He Rui, he had no intention of merely following his rules. He had his own views, his own cognitions. Even out of respect for He Rui, he intended to formulate policy according to his own philosophy, pushing China toward the path he believed in. This was what He Rui had expected. He Rui had indeed established many policies that led people to believe the current economic and social model was exactly what he wanted.

In reality, the status quo He Rui had built was designed to win the Second World War. Had he lived, he would have personally overseen a total transformation of the country. He had chosen Li Runshi because he believed the future Li chose was the one most beneficial to China.

Li did not believe that the debt of gratitude should cloud his political judgment, but his relationship with He Rui was that of a revolutionary comrade and close brother-in-arms. The expectations of a like-minded comrade were the greatest motivation for him to keep moving forward.

Currently, the situation he and He Rui had discussed had returned to a phase that Li could manage with cool-headedness. China lacked the strength to stop the Soviet offensive into Nazi Germany, so they had to consider where to draw the border between the Chinese and Soviet spheres of influence within German-controlled territory.

At the subsequent Military Commission meeting, no one raised the issue of Belgium. It was clear that the destruction of hundreds of thousands of lives weighed heavily on everyone. Even Bai Qi, who had buried 400,000 Zhao soldiers alive 2,200 years ago, had earned a dark reputation for it. Modern Chinese had no desire to take pride in such one-sided destruction.

The Commission skipped over Belgium and turned directly to Nazi Germany. Li Runshi shared his assessment: "Currently, Germany’s main strength is concentrated in the North, centered on Berlin. the Soviet Union is destined to engage in a brutal war with the Wehrmacht in that region. Our forces will strike from the West, through Belgium, and from the East, through Hungary, to converge on Southern Germany. In my view, our forces should enter Austria while avoiding Czechoslovakia as much as possible..."

As Li spoke, several members of the Commission felt a sense of familiarity. He Rui had also been in the habit of outlining the broad direction and key points before inviting questions.

The issue at hand was clear. Xu Chengfeng asked, "Chairman, do you intend to cede Czechoslovakia to the Soviets? Or have they already requested it?"

As he finished, Xu noticed looks of disdain on the faces of many of his colleagues. Zheng Silang even chuckled.

Li Runshi asked with a lighthearted air, "Comrade Silang, what are your thoughts?"

Zheng Silang, always direct, replied: "I’ve dealt with the Mongols and the Russians. They aren't as straightforward as Chengfeng here. In my view, the USSR has almost certainly already launched an offensive into Czechoslovakia. But they definitely won't touch Austria. They wouldn't dare. And the hallmark of their culture is to grab whatever they aren't afraid to take."

As if to prove Zheng’s point, the latest intelligence was delivered to the members. Sure enough, the Red Army had entered Czechoslovakia but had not sent a single soldier toward the Austrian border.

Even without Zheng’s analysis, the report proved that Li Runshi’s assumptions matched reality. Xu Chengfeng asked bluntly, "Czechoslovakia was the industrial heart of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Do we truly intend to let the Soviets control it?"

"If we give it to them, they won't be grateful," Li explained. "But if we don't, they will certainly hate us." He did not enjoy this game of imperialist maneuvering, but reality left him little choice.

Xu Chengfeng accepted the explanation, though he couldn't help but wonder how He Rui would have handled it. Still, he didn't think Li’s approach was flawed; He Rui had always been a master of "prioritizing the big and letting go of the small," avoiding strategic burdens for China.

Czechoslovakia was too far away; China's reach was limited. To force a presence there would be a losing proposition. Years ago, after the Japanese revolution, He Rui had simply built the East Asian Coal and Steel Community to develop the Japanese economy, rather than forcing Japan into absolute submission. To do the latter would have drained Chinese resources—something He Rui never did.

If he had done so with Japan, he would certainly not let China take on a strategic burden in Czechoslovakia.

Thinking of this, Xu asked, "In that case, should we be wary of France trying to fish in these troubled waters?"

The question turned everyone's eyes back to Li Runshi. It was indeed a major concern. Li answered readily: "France very much wants to, but its Parliament will never allow it."