The 43rd All People's Congress was to occur shortly, a prestiguous ceremony preceding the vaunted 50th year anniversary of the People's Republic. An important date, perhaps, in the Western Calendar, but one which would pass by President Zhao's eyes almost unnoticed.
She was preparing for war, she knew. Not some external conflict against foes from without, but a more dangerous battle of the fates against foes from within. The fair lady of the East may court people of Kadikistan, but the toxic ideology of Ivar had, through the Political Consultative Committee, sunk its teeth into the government and threatened to rest power away from her and the Dorgönists. She had no qualms with Ivar, nor the Pact, but she had greater aspirations than being a lackey.
The Triumvirate of power at the top of the Xinhaiese government represented the tenuous balance of power between the two main Marxist-Leninovist factions. One which sought to see Xinhai become a world power, she thought. And one which sought to make Xinhai little more than a puppet. The last thought accompanied a furious rapping of her fingers on her desk as she looked out across Yi'an, a city nestled atop mountains. Frost and snow had settled in, and would not depart, not for several months. The temperatures had already plunged, only rising above freezing for a few hours a day, when the sun loomed highest.
Five more days and then there would be a covert war the likes of which Xinhaiese politics had not witnessed in decades. Madame Zhao was not a woman to share power. Ivar's lapdogs would kowtow, or they would be purged; she would rule over Xinhai, whether it was a nation of wealth or of corpses and ash. Her eyes relaxed as they scanned the scenery, catching by chance a young couple taking a photograph of the Presidential estate. She wondered briefly if they could see her. If, perhaps, they admired her. It was her desire to etch her name in Xinhaiese history that drove her, to make people respect, even fear, her.
It was fitting, perhaps, that the West focused so intently on the conflict in Crotobaltislavonia. A fitting opiate to fixate the attention of her foreign enemies, and even allies, giving her flexibility in how to best handle the true threat: Sakya Chögyal, the Premier of Xinhai and official head of government.
She was preparing for war, she knew. Not some external conflict against foes from without, but a more dangerous battle of the fates against foes from within. The fair lady of the East may court people of Kadikistan, but the toxic ideology of Ivar had, through the Political Consultative Committee, sunk its teeth into the government and threatened to rest power away from her and the Dorgönists. She had no qualms with Ivar, nor the Pact, but she had greater aspirations than being a lackey.
The Triumvirate of power at the top of the Xinhaiese government represented the tenuous balance of power between the two main Marxist-Leninovist factions. One which sought to see Xinhai become a world power, she thought. And one which sought to make Xinhai little more than a puppet. The last thought accompanied a furious rapping of her fingers on her desk as she looked out across Yi'an, a city nestled atop mountains. Frost and snow had settled in, and would not depart, not for several months. The temperatures had already plunged, only rising above freezing for a few hours a day, when the sun loomed highest.
Five more days and then there would be a covert war the likes of which Xinhaiese politics had not witnessed in decades. Madame Zhao was not a woman to share power. Ivar's lapdogs would kowtow, or they would be purged; she would rule over Xinhai, whether it was a nation of wealth or of corpses and ash. Her eyes relaxed as they scanned the scenery, catching by chance a young couple taking a photograph of the Presidential estate. She wondered briefly if they could see her. If, perhaps, they admired her. It was her desire to etch her name in Xinhaiese history that drove her, to make people respect, even fear, her.
It was fitting, perhaps, that the West focused so intently on the conflict in Crotobaltislavonia. A fitting opiate to fixate the attention of her foreign enemies, and even allies, giving her flexibility in how to best handle the true threat: Sakya Chögyal, the Premier of Xinhai and official head of government.