On March 6th, the Confederate States of America formally delivered its response to the USA: "The Confederate States of America, as an independent nation, will not surrender. However, based on our long shared history, the Confederate States are willing to establish a 'special state-to-state relationship' with the United States of America."

President Dewey studied the Southern envoy sitting across from him. The boy looked as if he hadn't yet seen his thirtieth year, yet he wore the silver oak leaves of a lieutenant colonel. In Dewey’s experience, the Southern gentry loved nothing more than granting themselves military titles—everyone was either a major or a colonel. Although intelligence reports indicated that this "Lieutenant Colonel Dan" was a graduate of West Point, Dewey preferred to view the rebel across from him as a crude and unrefined Southerner.

After sizing up the relatively lean young man, Dewey asked, "Does the South persist in its rebellion?"

Dan replied with absolute composure: "The Confederate States believe that the North and South can establish a more constructive relationship. A 'special state-to-state relationship' can perfectly accommodate two nations within a single framework."

As a prosecutor, Dewey had dealt with countless mobsters who spoke in riddles and lies. Dan’s words were a transparent attempt to secure Southern independence under a thin veneer of diplomacy. Dewey had no intention of entertaining such games. "The Confederate States do not exist," he continued. "There is only one United States of America in this world."

Facing Dewey’s oppressive gaze, Dan showed not a flicker of cowardice. "That is your opinion, not the view of the Confederate States. The Confederacy exists within our hearts."

Sensing Dan’s intransigence, the corners of Dewey’s mouth curled into a cold, mirthless smile. It was the smile of a tiger about to strike. "Colonel," he asked, "do you understand what your attitude represents?"

Before traveling North, the Confederate Congress had passed a resolution: they would not yield to Northern intimidation. With the backing of his government, Dan felt his resolve steady. He answered politely, "It represents our commitment to defending our freedom with our lives and our courage."

Watching Dan's calm reaction, a surge of fury rose within Dewey. He wanted nothing more than to smash the boy’s head against the desk. But his persona as a prosecutor led him to attack from a different angle. "Colonel, is rebellion the oath you learned at West Point?"

Dan had survived the crucible of the global war; death no longer held any terror for him. But Dewey’s posture of moral superiority grated on him. He answered coldly: "The United States, as the entity that established that oath, was the first to betray the people. When you sent tens of millions of citizens onto the battlefield like chess pieces, you failed to realize that those soldiers were ordinary people—human beings with their own wills. In your eyes, we were merely cannon fodder, consumables. Even now, you have not changed. That is why you refuse to grant power to the states. Because the states, acting in their own interests, would never support your decisions for war."

As he spoke, Dan watched the expressions flicker across Dewey’s face: disdain, irritation, and then a sense of grievance—the reaction of a high-born lord bitten by an ant crawling in the dirt.

Dewey realized then that he had misjudged the man before him. Dan was no mere thug; he was a true rebel. Thugs did not speak of blood and casualties with such level-headedness. Only a warrior who had faced life and death could look so calmly upon a future civil war that promised hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of dead.

Since the South had sent such a man as its envoy, Dewey concluded that they had indeed decided on total war.

"Take Mr. Dan away," he ordered his secretary.

Meanwhile, Li Runshi had received the intelligence and convened a meeting of the Military Commission. Marshal Zheng Silang raised the first question: "Does the Confederacy intend to annex the United States?"

No one present believed the South had such ambitions. The US was a federal system where each state was effectively a sovereign entity. While conflicts between them were common, annexation was impossible under the political principles both sides claimed to uphold. Furthermore, land was not the primary source of conflict; America was vast and underpopulated. What the Americans cared about was the ability to market the products of their land. Disputes over territory were usually centered on water rights or exceptionally fertile soil—resources that were scarce everywhere. The kind of dry land that China considered "decent" was plentiful in America and hardly worth fighting over.

Since their assessments were aligned, the members turned their eyes to Li Runshi. Previously, it had been He Rui who provided the explanations; now, it was Li’s turn.

"The South cannot defeat the North in a conventional, large-scale war to secure independence," Li explained. "If they seek to shatter the federal army, they must utilize regular forces operating from their home soil in a mode of mobile and guerrilla warfare. They must adopt the tactics of: *Enemy advances, we retreat; enemy camps, we harass; enemy tires, we attack; enemy retreats, we pursue.* These tactics were first proposed by Chairman He in his writings, yet there has never been a real-world instance of their application on such a scale.

"Viewed holistically, this is the only path to a Southern victory. Currently, the North requires the South’s markets and resources. To repeat the scorched-earth policies of the first Civil War would deny the North any potential gain while plunging it into a total fiscal crisis. Once the Northern economy collapses, secession will become a settled fact.

"Total independence is the South's highest objective."

Zheng Silang nodded; this was the answer he had hoped for. America was not China. For a Chinese, unification was the only acceptable outcome, making it difficult for Zheng to think in American terms. Li’s explanation resolved his strategic doubts. With his clarity restored, Zheng felt no desire to intervene in the American conflict.

Li looked at the others and saw a similar sense of detached indifference. "Does anyone believe we should intervene?" he asked.

Without even looking at one another, the members shook their heads. They shared Zheng’s view: let the Americans fight it out among themselves; China had no interest in the fray.

Sensing their mood, Li felt a trace of regret. Although He Rui had styled himself a "conservative," as a revolutionary he had possessed an innate, aggressive initiative. Had He Rui faced this civil war, he would never have passed up the chance to intervene. And his intervention would not have been a mere brawl; he would have treated America as a grand chessboard, using the conflict to thoroughly "clean up" his opponents—not out of malice, but out of strategic necessity.

Li admired He Rui’s communist conviction, and he felt his colleagues lacked that same revolutionary initiative.

Looking at the situation thus far, He Rui’s maneuvers had already broken the US into three. The departure and return of the four northwestern states had delivered a fatal blow to American racism, securing equal rights for Black citizens decades ahead of any normal timeline.

While China could indeed stand by and watch the war erupt, a more active approach might trigger further social breakthroughs in America. It was not impossible to strike a crushing blow against the deep-seated American feudalism—perhaps even to destroy the system entirely.

But Li knew his own limitations. His political prestige was not yet at the level where he could command all of China into a total war footing, uniting a billion people in the East and West Pacific for a single objective. To intervene in America now, he lacked both the prestige and the "bottom line" to absorb a failure. Any setback could lead to his rejection by the Party.

Since the Commission was unwilling to act, Li lacked the resources for a grand maneuver. He would have to proceed slowly.

Three days after reaching this conclusion, a letter arrived from Marshal Cheng Ruofan at European Command that made Li’s eyes brighten.

Cheng also mentioned the "Sixteen-Character Formula." Furthermore, he informed Li that he had discovered several senior Wehrmacht officers who had studied these very tactics. He was currently vetting them, preparing to dispatch them to America.

Finishing the letter, Li felt he understood why He Rui had favored Cheng Ruofan above all the other Marshals. Cheng’s greatest strength was his "pure heart"—he simply wasn't afraid of trouble.

If Cheng were the one leading the initiative, Li felt there was a real chance for success.

Ultimately, Li replied with three words: "Understood. Proceed."