July 14, 2025—an important day. It was two days before my son Sima Xiaoyu's first birthday, and also the national day of the French Republic. France held its customary National Day military parade. President Emmanuel Macron reviewed the troops, and the procession at Place de la Bastille proceeded as usual. After the festivities, just as the French people expected another "joyous and harmonious" holiday as always, President Macron delivered an unannounced televised address without warning. This became historically known as the "Thermidor Address."
Reuters issued an exclusive report (of course "exclusive," because I made all of this up). The full text of the report follows:
[BREAKING] Macron delivers emergency televised address, announces nuclear umbrella for Ukraine and establishment of "European Aid to Ukraine Super Committee"
Reuters, Paris, July 14, 2025 — Report by Chief Chronicler Sima Xiaoqian
At 10:30 AM Paris time on Monday, without any prior notice, all major French television networks suddenly interrupted their regular morning programming to broadcast an emergency presidential address from the Élysée Palace. President Emmanuel Macron appeared on screen and delivered a speech of profoundly subversive content, plunging post-war Europe's security order into uncharted waters.
In his address, Macron, in an unprecedentedly resolute tone, announced that France would, "in the name of the shared destiny of European civilization," extend a unilateral, explicit nuclear umbrella over Ukraine. He simultaneously announced that France would immediately join with Germany, Poland, and the Czech Republic to spearhead the creation of an entirely new supranational body—the "European Aid to Ukraine Super Committee" (SCEAU). This committee would wield unprecedented powers, employing a "weighted simple majority" decision-making system to coordinate member states' actions in fiscal, diplomatic, and military domains. Its primary and urgent mission would be to formally establish and authorize the deployment of a "European Volunteer Force" under the committee's framework, to aid Ukraine "by all necessary means" until its full sovereignty was restored.
"The age of waiting is over," President Macron stated bluntly, his expression grave. "Washington's strategic ambiguity and Moscow's imperial delusions have pushed our civilization to the abyss. Europe can no longer play the beautiful princess awaiting rescue. We must take up the lance ourselves and become Saint George, the dragon-slayer. Our destiny must be written by our own hand."
His tone then shifted to the heights of history and philosophy. The office behind him was softly lit but heavy with atmosphere; a reproduction of the Declaration of the Rights of Man hung on the wall, half-visible in shadow.
"From the radiance of the Enlightenment, to the spread of the Napoleonic Code, to the dream of unity rising from the rubble of two world wars—Europe has never been merely a geographic concept. She is a spirit, a civilizational subject that ceaselessly questions and reshapes itself through suffering and glory."
Macron gazed into the camera, his voice deep and forceful: "Today, this subject must once again confirm its existence in the flames of war. European subjectivity will be tempered and reborn in the ice and snow of Kyiv, on the scorched earth of Donbas. This is not only for Ukraine—it is for ourselves. So that the children and grandchildren of Paris, Berlin, Warsaw, and Prague may live in a Europe defined and defended by Europeans."
At the close of his address, a barely perceptible, almost Gallic-rooster-like smirk of pride appeared at the corner of the president's mouth—a man otherwise known for elegance and rationality.
"History will remember today. Some allies may be surprised, even unsettled." He paused, as though giving the world time to absorb. "But we French have never been pushovers." He stared directly into the camera and, in a near-proclamatory tone, completed the sentence word by word: "...before surrendering."
The broadcast cut immediately back to the studio, where anchors' faces were written over with shock and bewilderment. The entire geopolitical landscape of Europe—indeed, the world—had been rewritten on a quiet Monday morning.
(End)
Today we know this marked the beginning of the European state-building movement, but on the National Day itself, the public reaction was overwhelmingly one of confusion, bafflement, and skepticism. Television stations invited international relations experts who debated from noon until night, ultimately telling viewers: sleep well—the sky has neither dawned nor fallen. The most representative media commentary came from Alain Bonnot, Professor Emeritus of Sciences Po, speaking on France 24:
"First, let us not over-interpret the term 'nuclear umbrella.' The 1994 Budapest Security Assurances Memorandum already promised Ukraine security guarantees from five nuclear powers. What President Macron did today is essentially to take an existing political commitment and repackage it with more theatrical flair. Yes, this time in the name of 'the shared destiny of European civilization'—it sounds more lofty. But the essence hasn't changed. As for whether Russia would use nuclear weapons—personally, I believe that as long as Washington and Beijing continue to consider this a line that cannot be crossed, Moscow will not risk it. This is more of a political gesture than a military reality.
"Second, regarding this 'Super Committee.' Frankly, Brussels has never lacked committees. Of course, I concede that after the Trump administration drastically cut or even froze military aid to Ukraine, Europe was indeed forced to shoulder the primary responsibility for aiding Ukraine, and we do need a more efficient coordination mechanism. This committee may serve some purpose, but only that. It still must contend with each country's complex domestic political agendas, particularly budget approvals. The challenges President Macron faces in Paris are no fewer than those Chancellor Scholz faces in Berlin.
"Finally, 'European Volunteer Force.' This sounds very much like the president's latest attempt at his old dream of a 'European army.' We all know that Ukraine's International Legion has been operating for some time. Perhaps under a new framework, this force might be somewhat larger, but how much larger can it really get? Historically speaking, it's still the Ukrainians who can handle the Russians—those Cossack cavalrymen were quite fierce, ha ha ha ha.
"In summary, my view is: this is more of a grand 'political performance' than a genuine 'strategic revolution.' President Macron is working hard to convert Europe's forced burden of greater responsibility into political capital for France and himself personally. This is understandable, but it won't fundamentally change anything."
In the comments section, my compatriots wrote in Chinese with even less charity. The top-voted comment read: "The Gallic rooster never eats vegetarian, but after surrendering they eat whatever they're told to eat," and "The moment Saint George raises the lance, Paris is already looking for the white flag."
International reactions to the address also seemed to confirm Professor Bonnot's "calm waters" thesis. Washington's response was measured. When asked by reporters, then-President Trump reportedly just impatiently asked an aide: "Super what again? Right, Super Committee. Any committee is fine, as long as the Europeans pay for it themselves." The Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson reiterated the official position that "our stance is consistent—we urge peace and promote negotiations; negotiation is the only way out of the Russia-Ukraine conflict." Germany, Poland, and the Czech Republic quietly confirmed the committee's existence but disclosed no further details. Only former Russian President Medvedev, as was his custom, told media on his social account: "Ready at any moment to use the 'Sarmat' to level the streets of Kyiv and Paris." But the Russian Foreign Ministry promptly stated: Mr. Medvedev's remarks do not represent the official position.
In this atmosphere of widespread belief that "Macron is staging yet another melodrama as a twenty-first-century Napoleon," the agenda of the European Aid to Ukraine Super Committee (le Super-Comité Européen d'Aide à l'Ukraine, SCEAU) advanced rapidly. By the end of July, less than two weeks after the address, the committee was formally established. The parliaments of the four founding nations approved its creation with ease, because it appeared to be, indeed, just an empty shell—with a token operating budget. The committee theatrically held its first meeting in Kyiv, where Macron was duly elected chairman, providing "strong political backing." Committee members comprised cabinet ministers responsible for aid affairs from each country, along with senior military and intelligence representatives. The committee then swiftly announced several measures:
One, establishing an official channel to accept private donations from around the world, with blockchain addresses specifically provided for cryptocurrency donations. Two, committing to execute all non-classified financial transactions on the blockchain, publicly traceable; classified matters would be disclosed with a delay, in accordance with regulations. Three, formally establishing the "European Volunteer Force" under French military leadership and openly recruiting soldiers worldwide.
On the very first day the committee published its donation accounts, a Bitcoin transfer with the note "Pour la République" (For the Republic) arrived via the Ethereum network into the committee's wallet, totaling hundreds of millions of dollars. This provided the necessary initial financial support for the assembly and training of the European Volunteer Force. It was widely speculated that the funds came from a heavyweight business supporter of Macron, but no one could identify who specifically. Later, from a CIA report leaked on LeakNet (a decentralized content network application based on IPFS), I saw the European agent's report to headquarters:
"Source of funds unknown. As for the 'European Republic Foundation,' no such entity exists; even less clear what 'European Republic' refers to. Presumed to be a Macron supporter in European business circles. Although the blockchain financial instruments employed could evade the world's most powerful intelligence agencies, and inquiries to Binance and other exchanges yielded nothing, we have no reason to believe that behind Macron's move there exists a tightly organized commercial-intelligence-political network. Conclusion: Yet another clumsy contemporary Napoleon performance by the Macron kid." (Report No.: EUR-2025-77B)
Though the mysterious funds and the unusually high efficiency of the "Aid to Ukraine Committee" stirred some unease, public and governmental views held essentially as quoted in the report above for several years. No one believed there was any significant backdrop behind Macron's move—until, years later, a screenshot from what appeared to be a decentralized messaging app was accidentally exposed on social media. It was the public's first glimpse of the key figure in Macron's Europeanist network: "The Counselor" (Le Conseiller), who used the Chinese name "Guiguzi" in the screenshot.
I traced this information months later. Through LZ (Lao Zhao), I came to know a "big player" who had been running a Bitcoin mining operation in Guizhou, China, since 2015. This big player said that, months earlier, a French client with the online ID "Jeanne d'Arc" (Joan of Arc) had purchased several hundred Bitcoins through his over-the-counter (OTC) platform, paying in USDT via the blockchain network. A friend of mine with internal channels at Tether later helped me confirm the source of this USDT: it came from a beautiful, buxom French woman named Chloé Lemercier. Her LinkedIn had a standard photo—quite alluring. She had graduated from the École Normale Supérieure in Paris, had served President Macron during his campaign to considerable acclaim, and now served as Chief of Staff to the CEO of a private company called ENS.
It was much later that I learned the specific business of ENS (Eurasia Nexus Stratégie). At the time, I only had a name: Guiguzi Schelling, CEO of ENS. What a goddamn strange name. It was obviously a pseudonym. Through this name, I found his X (Twitter) account—this wasn't difficult at all, because he went by Guiguzi on X too, a moderately popular influencer (tens of thousands of followers). In the years leading up to the "Thermidor Address," he had posted prolifically on X about what he called "New European State-Building"—redefining what Europe is and what it means to be a European citizen, grounded in Enlightenment rationalist values, and on this foundation, through functional cooperation, ultimately spilling over into political unification.
In his signature article, The Return of the Sovereign: On Europe as a Political Decision, he wrote in a near-Nietzschean voice, charged with force:
"Europe is dying. Not from external enemies, but from internal 'self-castration.' We have replaced heroism with consumerism; abused pluralism to deconstruct the foundations of community; traded our strategic will for dependence on the American security order, achieving the complete impotence of our own volition. We have become a beautiful, prosperous—yet undefended museum, left for external barbarians and internal nihilism to deface and plunder at will.
"Redefine what it means to be European? The answer does not lie in bloodlines—that would retreat into the cave of race. The answer lies in decision. A true European is one who dares to stare into the abyss and, through free will, chooses to bind their destiny to that of this continent—a 'political being.' What they affirm is not a skin color, but the path—paved with blood and reason, from the agora of Athens to the guillotine of Paris to the foot of Berlin's Wall—the unbroken pursuit of 'becoming oneself.'
"Therefore, a unified Europe can never emerge from economic 'spillover.' It must, and can only, be forcibly—even painfully—forged from a political revolution launched by a minority elite, aimed at reshaping the 'European will.' What we need is not more committees, but a new 'constituent moment,' a new 'Leviathan.'"
His articles, richly allusive—from Thucydides to Carl Schmitt—brimmed with historical depth and a disquieting rhetorical power that perfectly wed violence and philosophy. His thought was unmistakably kindred to President Macron's public addresses. One could imagine their private meetings: an instant meeting of minds, a regret at not having met sooner, a fish finding water, hearts surging.
Regarding the relationship between Guiguzi and the President: I later learned from an absolutely reliable source (for obvious reasons, I cannot disclose it) that more than a year before the "Thermidor Address," Guiguzi's articles and certain unpublished strategic reports had already appeared on President Macron's desk through specific channels.
Sometime between 2027 and 2029, at an internal event of the "Aid to Ukraine Committee," I infiltrated through Chloé's connections—just to drink some of their expensive wine. At the edge of the hall, I caught a familiar scent: Maotai, from China. Étienne Deville, then head of operations at France's General Directorate for External Security (DGSE), held a tiny Maotai glass and comically clinked it against the wine glass of Culture Minister Isabelle Moreau. He leaned toward Isabelle's refined face, nearly biting her earring, though his voice wasn't exactly quiet: "Hey hey, this liquor is a gift from 'The Counselor.' He says the Red Army drank this stuff before they beat Chiang Kai-shek!"
Seeing the white of Isabelle's rolling eyes, he pressed on more eagerly: "Want to know how the President first summoned the Counselor? During a break in a routine national security meeting, I went to pour coffee and bumped into the President. He asked me, 'Étienne, tell me—this... Gui-what's-it, right right right, Guiguzi—who the hell is this guy?'"
Étienne made no effort to hide his eyes' predatory fix on Isabelle, despite her being a married woman. I heard him say to her with my own ears: "You were born in '85, I was born in '88—age-wise, there's nothing wrong with that, is there?" Madame Isabelle's jaw dropped in shock.
Dear readers, please believe I am not writing these things for personal amusement. Only by connecting these threads can we experience the lightning flash of comprehension, the sudden dawning of truth:
From the "Thermidor Address" onward, President Macron was not theatrically performing as a contemporary Napoleon. This French politician—known for being henpecked and weak, yet who had strangely achieved enormous success—was engaged in a meticulously planned, historic gamble. When he stood before the microphone and uttered his first word, his voice still trembling, it was because in that moment he already knew what we would only learn much later: he had a goal worthy of his place in history, a genius counselor to chart his roadmap, and a political-military-intelligence-commercial network centered on himself and Guiguzi, supplying him with money and the capacity for political action.
Everything he would later gain and lose was beginning to emerge. Who could not feel their heart surge? Who could not tremble?
Today is 2046. Twenty years have passed, and I can no longer fully recall the weather or the scents of that day. What kind of a day was it? What kind of day is sufficient to begin a chapter of history? I ransack my memory and can only recall a poem by Fatima—a poem utterly unrelated to this chapter—yet I have a sense of destiny that this chapter should end here. Her poem goes:
On the other side of the world
at the boundary of light and dark
my cracked bowl is overturned
Darkness flows from within me
ceaselessly
Summer arrives
Please let me be blank once more