Chapter 101: The Chilean Delegation Seems to Have Received a Warmer Reception

The secretary hesitated: "Minister, isn't this too..."

"Too what? Too cold?" Wang Wenwu glanced at him. "This is the tone set personally by the President. Carry it out."

Wang Wenwu ate lunch in his office—a simple chicken salad. While eating, he flipped through the Japanese delegation's roster: Togo Heihachiro, fifty-nine years old, Commander of the Combined Fleet, hero of the Russo-Japanese War. The accompanying staff included the Director of the Technical Bureau of the Navy Ministry, the Chief Designer of the Naval Architecture Headquarters, two translators, and six attendant officers.

An impressive lineup with a clear purpose.

They wanted technology, wanted warships, and might even want to discuss some form of alliance. But Chen Feng would not agree—among Lanfang's three hundred thousand people, at least half harbored a deep-seated hatred toward Japan.

At 1:50 p. m., as Wang Wenwu went downstairs, he saw Togo Heihachiro still sitting on the sofa in the lobby of Building No. 4. The old man sat very straight, hands on his knees, eyes closed, as if meditating. He wore his naval uniform, his chest covered with medals—but the most conspicuous spot was empty, reserved for the rank of Marshal. (The Japanese "Marshal" is not a military rank but a title, so his shoulder boards still read Admiral.)

Wang Wenwu walked over and said in Japanese: "Lord Togo."

Togo opened his eyes, stood up, and bowed slightly: "Minister Wang."

"Sorry to keep you waiting. I did have arrangements this afternoon."

"Understood." Togo's Japanese carried a Satsuma accent, and he spoke unhurriedly. "Then, when can we begin the talks?"

"Tomorrow at ten a. m., here. Today, you may rest or tour the public areas of the port—we have arranged guides."

"Guides?" Togo smiled, the smile so faint it was barely visible. "I'd like to walk around on my own, is that alright?"

"For your safety, it's best to have a guide accompany you." Wang Wenwu smiled as well. "Dubai is still under construction, and some areas are unsafe."

The two held each other's gaze for a few seconds.

Togo nodded: "Then we'll follow your arrangement. But Minister Wang, there's a question I'd like to ask first—the Chilean delegation seems to have received a warmer reception?"

The question was very direct.

Wang Wenwu didn't bat an eye: "Our Chilean friends have come from afar, so naturally we must extend our hospitality as hosts. The guests of the Japanese Empire receive the same regard. It's simply a different style of reception, that's all."

"A different style..." Togo repeated the phrase, then said, "I understand. Then, until tomorrow."

He bowed slightly again and turned toward the elevator. His stride was steady, but Wang Wenwu noticed that the old man's right hand remained on the hilt of the sword at his waist at all times—it was the "Gunto Group" sword bestowed by Emperor Meiji, which he never parted with even on diplomatic occasions. (Borrowed from the Army War College; comrades, please understand.)

A difficult man to deal with.

When Wang Wenwu walked out of Building No. 4, the Chilean delegation was already waiting in the cars. Silva sat in the front passenger seat of the first car, window rolled down, peering through a small telescope at the distant dock area.

"Sorry for the wait." Wang Wenwu got into the back seat.

"No problem." Silva lowered the telescope and turned his head. "Mr. Wang, was that person just now... Japanese?"

"Yes. The Japanese naval delegation."

"Are they here to buy ships too?"

"To discuss cooperation." Wang Wenwu was vague. "Let's go."

The car headed toward the port area. On the way, Silva kept asking questions, from the port's throughput to the steel mill's capacity, from the power plant's output to the railway plans. Wang Wenwu answered selectively, showcasing their strength while keeping core secrets.

Arriving at the port observation deck, the view opened up dramatically. More than a dozen cargo ships were docked at the deep-water pier, cranes loading and unloading containers. Farther away, in the civilian docks, two ten-thousand-ton freighters were under construction, welding sparks scattering like rain.

"These are freighters we're building for Arabian Shipping Company—fifteen thousand tons, speed of sixteen knots," Wang Wenwu introduced. "They use an all-welded process, saving twenty percent in labor compared to riveting, with even higher strength."

"Welding..." One of the engineers Silva brought along had his eyes light up. "You've already applied welding technology across the board?"

"On civilian ships, yes. Warships still need more validation."

"Can we get a closer look?"

"Yes, but please put on your hard hats."

The group walked down from the observation deck and entered the safety zone around the dock's perimeter. The workers, seeing foreigners come to visit, didn't stop what they were doing, only occasionally glancing up.

Silva walked up to a hull section being welded and crouched down to examine the Weld Seam closely. It was a continuous Weld Seam fifteen meters long, smooth and even, with almost no deformation.

"My God..." the engineer murmured. "This craftsmanship... even the best shipyards in Europe couldn't achieve this level of smoothness."

"We have a self-developed automated welding system," Wang Wenwu said casually. "Of course, the core components are classified."

After touring the civilian docks, they went to the third-floor conference room of the port command center. Here there was a film projector imported from Deguo, with a specially made white cloth screen.

"Next, please watch a video clip." Wang Wenwu signaled the staff to turn off the lights. "This is footage of the 'Restoration Ship' during training in the Indian Ocean. Though not the latest, it's sufficient to demonstrate its performance."

The projector whirred to life, the film clicking. Waves rolling across the sea surface appeared on the screen, then the Restoration Ship's enormous hull entered from the right side of the frame.

Silva and the engineers held their breath.

The footage had no sound, but the images were striking enough. The warship sailed at high speed, the wall of water cleaved by its bow rising five or six meters high. Then came a turning shot—the forty-thousand-ton-plus giant carved a graceful arc across the sea, its turning radius unbelievably small.

Next was the Main Gun firing. Though training shells, the white water rings erupting on the sea surface from the muzzle blast were clearly visible. Eight giant guns fired nearly simultaneously, the hull shifting sideways, then quickly righting itself.

Finally came a shot of a data table: speed 31 knots, turning radius 850 meters, Main Gun salvo interval 2 minutes 15 seconds...

The film ended, and the lights came on.

The conference room was dead silent. The Chilean delegation members were all frozen in their seats, eyes still fixed on the now-blank screen.

A full ten seconds passed before Silva slowly exhaled.

"Mr. Wang..." his voice was a little dry. "This ship... is it for sale?"

Wang Wenwu smiled: "The 'Restoration Ship' is the flagship of the Lanfang Navy, not for sale. But based on the same technology platform, we can custom-build a warship for Chile. Though performance will be adjusted somewhat, we guarantee it will have no rival in the South Pacific."

"The price..."

"As discussed this morning—2.8 million." Wang Wenwu stood up. "Of course, if Chile is willing to become our long-term partner in South America, there will be more favorable terms in the future."