Chapter 1: Ten Dreadnought-Class Battleships

This book is more of a quasi‑documentary; there is no scenario where the protagonist single‑handedly beats the whole world, though he does leverage others, scheme against people, and act schemingly. The main timeline follows nation‑building, defeating Little Japan, causing Little Japan into an economic crisis, the male lead steps in to help Little Japan, establishes the Lanfang Labor Company, sends the now‑idle Little Japan's militia to Europe as mercenaries, and the male lead not only earns small money from Yingguo, Faguo and Deguo, but also takes a cut of Little Japan's labor fees.

Note: The treatment of Little Japan is after chapter 170!!!!!!

Note 2: Because this book involves Little Japan, it may be locked in a little black room, so comrades, please add a bookshelf to prevent it from being lost!!!

The core of this book is not "how to win a battle" but "war itself is a business, and international politics is a survival competition." It deeply exposes the operational logic of imperialism, colonialism and nationalism, weighing "human lives," "dignity," and "national interests" on a scale, and is full of realist cruelty and reflection.

Note 3: This section involves multiple national political systems, the World War I background, and naval technical terminology, which presents a certain reading barrier for readers unfamiliar with this period of history or who prefer urban feel‑good fiction. Readers need to calm themselves and read with full concentration.

The salty sea breeze carried the characteristic heat of the Persian Gulf, brushing the crude wooden pier of Dubai Port. Chen Feng stood on a newly built concrete observation deck, his gaze sweeping over the line‑up of steel behemoths before him, and a hint of a truly relaxed smile, unseen for three years, finally lifted the corner of his mouth.

Ten ships.

All ten Dreadnought-class battleships, as if measured by a deity's ruler, were neatly moored on the blue waters of the Persian Gulf. Each hull exceeded 160 meters in length, 25 meters in width, and displaced 18,000 tons. Ten twin‑turret 305 mm Main Gun turrets glimmered with a cold metallic sheen under the June 1905 sun.

"Young Master, the sea breeze has strengthened."

An aged yet respectful voice came from behind. Chen Feng knew without turning that it was Wang Bo—his most trusted person in this era, one of the few surviving elders of the Lanfang Republic, now serving as his chief steward.

"Let them watch a little longer." Chen Feng did not turn, his gaze still fixed on those steel giants, "For the past three years, all of us have been waiting for today."

Three years ago, Chen Feng was "exiled" from his job as a 21st‑century library administrator to this era. The system provided an Industry 1.0 base and a laptop whose memory was packed with data downloaded from Baidu Baike, ranging from metallurgical processes to ship design, from internal‑combustion engine principles to chemical production.

There was no internet, but there was enough knowledge.

More crucially, the body he possessed—also named Chen Feng, twenty years old, descended from high‑ranking families of the South Ocean Lanfang Republic. After the Dutch annexed the Lanfang Republic at the end of the 19th century, the Chen clan fled abroad, and by his generation he had become the nominal leader among the Lanfang orphans.

"The system's choice of this identity was truly painstaking," Chen Feng once bitterly smiled at the desert night sky. The Lanfang Republic—a Chinese state that existed from 1777 to 1884 on Borneo—has perished, yet its scattered South Ocean diaspora still numbers hundreds of thousands. They retain the Chinese language, the memory of their lost homeland, and the humiliation and resentment of being expelled by colonizers.

Three years ago, Chen Feng issued a summons in the name of "Restoring Lanfang" to various parts of the South Ocean. The response was unexpectedly massive—30,000, 50,000, 100,000… In three years, over 300,000 Lanfang exiles or their descendants crossed the Indian Ocean to the then‑almost unnoticed southern shore of the Persian Gulf.

"Osman Diguo's control here is limited to collecting a tax once a year," Chen Feng once explained. "The Yingguo are busy managing India and Egypt, the Faguo are stirring trouble in North Africa, the United States hasn't extended its hand that far. As for oil…" Chen Feng shook his head, "that black gold won't be discovered on a large scale for another decade or so. But now, it's all ours!"

Heavenly timing, advantageous terrain.

Human harmony, and there are 300,000 Lanfang people yearning to rebuild their homeland.

"Has the last batch of workers been withdrawn from the shipyard?" Chen Feng finally turned and looked at Wang Bo.

The elder wore a simple gray robe, his hair silvered yet meticulously groomed. "All were withdrawn yesterday. The ten battleships, built to Young Master's design, are fully completed. The magazine is stocked, the coal bunkers are full, the fresh‑water system has passed testing." He paused, "but…"

"But what?"

"It's just that these ten ships have too deep a draft. Most of the Persian Gulf's waters are not deep enough; they can only berth in this small deep‑water zone now." Wang Bo pointed to a tiny area off Dubai Port on the map, "If we truly set out, we must carefully follow the deep‑water channel."

Chen Feng nodded, "That's enough. We're not using them for war—at least not yet."

He stepped down from the observation deck onto the wooden deck of the pier. Three years ago this was a barren beach; now three massive dry docks, five piers, and an industrial zone stretching several kilometers have been erected. The steel mill's smokestacks belched black smoke, the machine‑shop echoed the rhythmic pounding of steam hammers, and the power plant's steam turbines ran continuously, twenty‑four hours a day.

Three hundred thousand people.

Among them, 50,000 were various skilled workers—among South Ocean Chinese there is never a shortage of artisans. Carpenters, blacksmiths, shipwrights, mechanics… Under Chen Feng's guidance with modern knowledge, they achieved in three years what the early Industrial Revolution would have taken twenty to thirty years to accumulate.

"Have all the letters been sent?" Chen Feng asked.

"According to Young Master's list, all have been dispatched." Wang Bo pulled a list from his coat, "Yingguo Navy Department, Faguo Navy Department, Deguo Navy Department, Osman Diguo‑Austro‑Hungarian Empire Navy Department, Italy, the United States, Japan, Russia, Argentina, Brazil, Chile… a total of seventeen nations."

"What about replies?"

Wang Bo's face showed a hint of complexity: "Only three are willing to come."

Chen Feng halted, "Which three?"

"Deguo, the Austro‑Hungarian Empire, and Argentina." Wang Bo handed him a telegram, "The other nations either gave no reply or politely declined. The Yingguo Navy Department's response was the briefest: 'The Royal Navy of the British Empire has no interest in ships not built by Yingguo.'"

Chen Feng took the telegram, glanced at it, and suddenly laughed. He naturally knew that the Yingguo had already begun tinkering with Dreadnoughts, but their Dreadnoughts were still on the drawing board, with the first Keel not to be laid for another three months!!!!!!

"Young Master, not disappointed?"

"Disappointed about what?" Chen Feng returned the telegram to Wang Bo, "The Yingguo are now the world's top power; it's normal they disdain others' products. The Faguo are of the same ilk as the Yingguo. Japan and Russia are locked in a Far‑East clash, with no time for matters thousands of miles away. The United States is pursuing Monroe Doctrine, keeping a wary eye on European arms dealers."

He looked at the ten hulking ships on the sea: "Three clients are enough. The Deguo are frantically building ships to challenge the Yingguo, the Austro‑Hungarian Empire seeks a foothold in the Mediterranean, and Argentina and Chile are engaged in a naval arms race— they will all come."

"But ten ships, three clients…"

"Wang Bo, do you know what a Dreadnought-class battleship means to today's navies?" Chen Feng interrupted him.

The elder shook his head.

"It means they are obsolete." Chen Feng said astonishingly, "It's not these ships that are outdated, but every active capital ship in the world's navies— all of them are obsolete."

He pointed to the nearest battleship: "A 305 mm Main Gun, steam turbine propulsion, 21 knots, fully armored. What are today's capital ships? Mixed‑caliber guns, twin‑steam engines, 18 knots at best, with ill‑distributed armor." He paused, "The Yingguo's Dreadnought‑type battleship they are now designing won't have its Keel laid until this October, will launch next year, and enter service the year after. As for us—"

He spread his arms, "We already have ten."

Wang Bo inhaled deeply, "I understand. Young Master intends… to lead the trend?"

"No." Chen Feng shook his head, "It's to fetch a good price. With the money from these ten ships we'll build more factories, smelt more steel, construct more vessels. Then…" He looked east, "Lanfang needs a real piece of land, and the South Ocean will eventually be reclaimed."