Balance (4)
The talks wrapped up quickly, and I was on my way back.
Father’s gone.
The reality hadn’t fully sunk in, and my head was already a mess.
Grief? My heart feels like it’s got a hole punched through it, but I’m so damn exhausted my eyes can’t even muster tears.
“Your Highness,” Roman called.
“What?” I snapped.
“The Tsar’s final order came through the Communications Ministry.”
“Spit it out.”
“His Majesty commands the Crown Prince to complete all assigned tasks before returning. That is all.”
“…”
That’s the kind of man he was. Even on his deathbed, trying to do what a father could for his son.
Gratitude, guilt—those must be the feelings swirling in me.
Truth is, I knew from the start.
In the original history, Father dies right as November hits.
And I came to the Far East knowing that.
But now, looking back…
Father must’ve known, too.
That’s why he held on longer than he should’ve, only passing now.
Even at the end, he was pushing me forward.
“Your Highness, will you return immediately?” Roman asked.
“One week. I’ll delay just one week,” I said.
“But St. Petersburg awaits Your Highness’s return—”
“It’s Father’s final order, isn’t it?”
By now, the capital’s cathedral is probably hosting Father’s Orthodox funeral, his coffin surrounded.
Everyone’s taking turns opening it, saying their last goodbyes, sending him off.
I should be there more than anyone, but…
Rushing back now would be like spitting on his final arrangements.
All I can do is be grateful. My chest started to warm again, just a bit.
I can’t waste the last bit of time Father gave me.
“Roman, listen up. I’m gonna teach you fast, so don’t miss a word,” I said.
“Huh?” he blinked.
No breaks from here on out. We move.
“Since Sergei Witte became Finance Minister, where’s the fastest-growing industrial region in the empire?” I asked Roman.
“Uh, the port cities, right? Trade’s been booming,” he replied.
“Nope. The Donetsk Coal Basin,” I corrected.
Back in Khabarovsk, I started schooling Roman on his fate: he’s gonna be buried in the Far East.
“Coal’s the oxygen of industry. No coal, no progress. And the Far East? It’s drowning in coal,” I explained.
Primorye—called Yeonhaeju in Korea—has seven active coal mines right now. But twenty-one have been found.
Throw in some miners, and you’re pulling out endless hauls. The reserves are so massive, even the future couldn’t gauge them.
In reality, just around Vladivostok—not even the whole Far East—they’re hauling twenty million tons a year, and it’s nowhere near tapped out.
“You’re not totally wrong, though,” I admitted. “Donetsk’s got the Black Sea, so its ports drive growth, too.”
“Sounds a lot like here,” Roman noted.
“Coal, ports, and one more thing—railways.”
A place linking inland to the sea.
Rich in resources, buzzing with trade.
That’s the shared DNA of Primorye and Donetsk.
“But Donetsk was famous for salt mines even before the empire took over. It’s way ahead of here,” Roman countered.
“Exactly. That’s why you’re needed,” I said.
Donetsk, already developed through trade with the Ottomans and others, keeps breaking industrial records yearly. Industrialists there drive growth on their own.
But the Far East?
It’s a big fat nothing. Just a bunch of runaways from their own countries.
Some call it permafrost, but it’s more like “dead land”—places without a trace of human life.
“Donetsk didn’t grow because the empire did anything special. We just kept it from being overrun, and it took off,” I said.
“So I just keep this place safe, and—” Roman started.
“No. Here, the state’s gotta step in and develop it. More precisely, the governor’s office has to,” I cut in.
It’s a weird concept for this era, but I’m talking state-led development—economic planning.
Sure, the governor’s office isn’t some efficiency machine.
Hell, if we’re too heavy-handed, the immigrants who fled here might just bolt again.
“Your job’s to set the big picture and policies. The rest? Those guys will handle it,” I said, gesturing.
We were poring over a map, watched by another group—veterans who arrived here before me.
“Uh… turning soldiers into industrialists overnight? Sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Roman said skeptically.
“It won’t crash. This place is built to grow if money flows,” I assured.
“But the Japanese indemnity payments ended this year. The empire’s not gonna pour unlimited cash here, right?” he pressed.
“It’s not just that money,” I said.
Roman tilted his head, like What, is there a literal gold mine in this wasteland?
But we’ve got a crap-ton of cash in hand.
“…No way,” he said, catching on.
“Yup. That money,” I grinned.
“Highness, did you come to the Far East just for—” he started.
“Think what you want,” I cut him off.
After the final talks, our share was 120 million taels—about 180 million yen.
“Witte will throw a fit, saying it’s for reforms, but don’t worry. It’s not going to the capital,” I said.
“…We’ll use the funds discreetly,” Roman promised.
“What’s that mean?” I laughed.
What, afraid of being the nail that gets hammered? Or that Witte’s gonna clutch his pearls?
“Nah, the opposite. This place is loaded. We just scored two years of Japan’s budget from the homeland. Time to shout, ‘Come grab the free money!’” I said.
“Won’t that just attract scavengers?” Roman asked.
“Those scavengers are your industrialists,” I shot back.
The Far East runs on a governor system, not much different from a colony.
No laws, but no regulations either.
No cities, but no competitors.
And money? We’ve got a gushing fountain of it.
If industrialists can’t see this place’s potential, they’re not cut out for it.
“Forget the Russia you know in Europe. This place is a whole different beast,” I said.
The New Deal worked like this. South Korea did, too.
Every state-led economic boom I’ve seen followed this playbook.
The biggest player—the state—opens its wallet wide.
That’s the core of “state-led development,” right?
No need to overthink trickle-down efficiency.
My frame is simple: a land where money flows—the Far East.
Ugh, this is starting to feel like the Governor’s Office could turn into Japan’s colonial Tōtaku vibes…
But even Japan’s Tōtaku raked in massive profits, didn’t it?
“Let’s get to specifics. Your first job,” I said.
“Yes, what is it?” Roman asked.
“We’re not building a Hoover Dam here, but I’ve got a task for you,” I said.
“Li Hongzhang mentioned something. He’s offering railway construction rights in South Manchuria if we can link it to their lines.”
Finally, the Far East—full of tax-dodging farmers—might get some workers to tax.
Polotsk Military Academy, Engineering Academy, General Staff School, Nikolaev Engineering Institute.
Roman, who studied at all of them on full scholarships, soaked up my instructions like a sponge.
His economics knowledge wasn’t top-tier, but I’d stick an advisor on that. As a soldier, he just needs to lock onto my vision.
It’s tough now, but Roman’s destined for the governor’s seat. First, he’s gotta meet someone.
“You could’ve secured most of Manchuria,” Sergei said.
“It’s still raw land. It’ll roll into our hands soon enough, so don’t sweat it,” I replied.
Manchuria’s still the Qing’s, but that sandcastle’s getting swamped by the tide.
When the water recedes, Russia’s the one planting the flag.
“Governor Sergei, five years max. Keep an eye on Roman, and I’ll call you to the capital,” I said.
“In truth, Your Highness is already the Tsar in spirit. I’ll follow any order,” Sergei replied.
I felt a bit bad for Sergei. I only learned his name coming to the Far East.
Roman’s proven ability makes him the better bet, with so much riding on this.
Like a good soldier, Sergei didn’t seem to resent my choice, but I changed the subject anyway.
“How’s Belen? Heard he’s sharp, coming from logistics,” I said.
“Many you sent here struggled like kids dropped from the sky, but not him. He once said the only place cheaper than the army for labor is here,” Sergei chuckled.
“…That’s the kind of guy he was in his unit, too,” I said.
A former logistics officer, Belen’s still tied to military work even after leaving.
For now, he’s handling small-scale food and material deliveries for new bases, but he’s got serious growth potential.
“The Far East is like that. The empire’s dumping ground. All responsibility, no investment,” I said.
“I still don’t get what potential Your Highness sees here. The homeland offers no expectations, no support, no plans, yet you tell me to build an army,” Sergei said.
Outside, soldiers bustled, probably engineers building new barracks.
“It’s a policy in itself. Military units are pure consumers—perfect customers, right?” I said.
“That’s not the whole story, is it?” Sergei pressed.
Three days from now, I head back. When will I see this land with my own eyes again?
“Governor Sergei,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Even after the treaty, I can still smell war lingering,” I said.
Not now, maybe not in five years.
If luck’s on our side, we might dodge the Russo-Japanese War from the original history.
But imperialism will sweep the Far East eventually.
Old man Li Hongzhang tried to solve it like a three-legged stool, balancing Russia, Japan, and the Qing.
It’s costly, but if Russia and Japan keep enough friction, the Qing think they’re untouchable.
Classic Chinese continental thinking.
But me, a lifelong great-power crown prince? I see it differently.
That self-centered diplomatic crap won’t last long.
Russia roped in uneasy neighbor Germany and distant friend France to pressure Japan, but Li’s trying to balance things too easily.
“Sergei, once I’m gone, spread the word to other nations about the railway rights we got from the Qing,” I said.
“What?” he blinked.
Li Hongzhang knows deep down.
Manchuria’s real control will fall to Russia, and even without his nudge, it’ll link to the Trans-Siberian Railway.
So he’s openly pulling us in, banking on Russian labor, tech, and capital to tie his railways to China’s.
The Qing’s only holding on because they’re too big for one nation to swallow—not because they can defend themselves.
That old man’s a piece of work. Dragging in outsiders deeper to save his country.
One misstep, and he’s branded a traitor, his life’s work erased. Yet Li’s got this grand plan behind the railway deal.
Me? I’m not that greedy.
“Every most-favored-nation will come running. They’ll do anything to lay tracks to their concessions, just like we’ve got Manchuria’s,” I said.
“And those without that status?” Sergei asked.
“Who else but Japan? The Qing-Japan Treaty from twenty years ago died with this war,” I replied.
Off the top of my head: Britain, America, Germany, France, Austria-Hungary, Italy.
Some might join, others might miss out, but the powers are drooling to dig in.
If Japan still starts a war soon after this…
I’ll give them props.
I’d hand over Korea clean.
But do they have the guts? Ito just took my money and left, cowed by a new Tsar’s word.
Would Japan, so cautious, really take on all the powers by stretching into the continent?
“Dunno, but the Ito I saw still had some sense in his eyes,” I said.
To erase that and go full imperialist war machine?
They’d need a lot of opium.
Maybe more than the Qing ever did.
