Chapter 104: You Want to Eat Shit?

"His Excellency Dongxiang, did you rest well last night?" Chen Feng lifted the teapot, slowly pouring tea into two cups. The tea was amber‑colored, a Zhengshan Small Red tea from Fujian, its fragrance gently spreading in the air.

"Very well, thank you for the hospitality." Dongxiang took the cups with both hands, his fingertips touching the rim—the temperature was slightly hot, just enough to keep one alert, "The construction speed of Dubai is astonishing. Three years ago this place was still just a fishing village in the desert, wasn't it?"

"Three years ago this place wasn't even a fishing village." Chen Feng lifted his own cup, did not drink, but felt the temperature with his palm, "There were only a few Bedouin tents, and the thirty marching tents we set up when the first batch arrived."

"From thirty tents to the Scale today…" Dongxiang paused, "It reminds me of Tokyo in the early Meiji era. The reformists also built a new capital on a wasteland."

Chen Feng lifted his eyes: "The difference is, you overthrew the shogunate. What we aim to reclaim is a home that was seized."

The first sentence cut straight to the core.

Dongxiang's fingers brushed the rim of the cup. He was fifty‑nine, having lived through the Satsuma‑British War, the First Sino‑Japanese War, and the Russo‑Japanese War, and had seen countless negotiation tables. Usually a meeting of this level begins with at least ten minutes of small talk—weather, travel, harmless pleasantries. Yet the young man before him chose the most direct route.

"Your Excellency the President," Dongxiang set down the cup, pushing one folder across the table, "this is the draft Memorandum of Technical Cooperation between Japan and Lanfang, drafted by the Imperial Japanese Navy Ministry. Please review it."

The folder slid over the smooth wooden tabletop, stopping a foot away from Chen Feng. Chen Feng did not reach for it.

"What does it contain?"

"It mainly consists of three parts," Dongxiang's voice was steady, as if outlining a battle plan, "First, joint development of a new high‑speed cruiser. Japan will provide hull design expertise, and you will provide propulsion and fire‑control technology. Second, a technology‑exchange mechanism. Each year twenty engineers will be exchanged for a six‑month study. Third, procurement intent. Japan wishes to order two capital ships of the same class as the Restoration Ship, budget… four million pounds per ship."

After finishing the last sentence, Dongxiang stared directly into Chen Feng's eyes. Four million pounds—that number is absurd.

Chen Feng finally lifted the folder. He did not open it, but ran his thumb over the leather‑covered cover, feeling the paper's texture. Then he pushed the folder back.

The folder slid back to Dongxiang's side, stopping at exactly the same spot.

"Minister Wang's words yesterday represent the Lanfang government's stance," Chen Feng said.

The conference room fell silent for five seconds. The old wall clock emitted a regular "tick" sound, each tick seeming to count.

Dongxiang did not touch the document. He placed his hands together on the tabletop, a posture that made him look as if he were meditating.

"Your Excellency the President," Jisong Maotailang could not help but speak, his Japanese tinged with a hurried Tokyo accent, "please allow me to explain that this memorandum has been repeatedly negotiated by the Navy Ministry, the Foreign Ministry, and the Cabinet—"

"Jisong," Dongxiang said without turning, merely calling his name softly.

Jisong Maotailang fell silent at once.

Dongxiang continued looking at Chen Feng: "I understand the emotional obstacles caused by historical grievances. But between nations, real interests must ultimately take precedence. After the Russo‑Japanese War, the Japanese Empire became the most important power in the Far East. Cooperation with Japan would grant Lanfang international recognition, financial support, and a voice in Asian affairs."

"His Excellency Dongxiang, you have participated in the Household War, right?" Chen Feng asked suddenly.

The question came abruptly. Dongxiang's eyelid twitched slightly.

"Yes. At that time I served as captain of the 'Naniwa'."

"During the Battle of Toyoshima, when the troop transport 'Koushou' was sunk, what did you see from the bridge?"

Dongxiang was silent for two seconds. On the morning of July 25, 1894, a thin mist lay over the Yellow Sea; the British troop transport billowing black smoke, the cries of drowning soldiers drifted on the sea breeze…

"That is war," Dongxiang said, his voice a bit lower than before, "the unavoidable in war."

"Of the one thousand Qing soldiers, fewer than two hundred survived." Chen Feng lifted his cup and finally took a sip. The tea should have been cold, but he drank slowly, as if savoring something, "International law stipulates that vessels flying a neutral flag may not be attacked. The 'Koushou' was a British ship."

"At that time the Qing forces had already declared war."

"But before the sinking, you gave the crew and soldiers no time to evacuate," Chen Feng set down his cup, the bottom producing a faint "click" as it touched the table, "That's not the point I want to make. The point is, since then I've understood a principle."

He leaned forward slightly, crossing his hands on the tabletop. The posture made him appear as if sharing a secret.

"When one side possesses absolute technological superiority, the rules are merely words on paper. The 'Naniwa' is a 4,000‑ton cruiser, speed 18 knots, equipped with a 260 mm Main Gun. The 'Koushou' is a 2,000‑ton merchant ship, unarmed. So the rules are irrelevant; what matters is who holds the gun's handle."

Dongxiang's finger tapped lightly on the tabletop. It was an unconscious habit when he was thinking.

"Your Excellency the President, what would you like to say?"

"I want to say," Chen Feng leaned back in his chair, "the current 'Restoration Ship' is like the old 'Naniwa'. And the Japanese Navy is like the old 'Koushou'. The difference is, we will not fire. We simply choose not to do business with you."

The sentence was spoken calmly, yet each word was like a steel nail tempered in fire, each one driving into the air.

Jisong Maotailang's complexion turned iron‑blue. Lieutenant Xiaoye's shorthand pen halted on the paper, the ink spreading into a blot.

Dongxiang Pingbalang closed his eyes. After three seconds he opened them, his eyes showing no emotional fluctuation.

"So, regarding this memorandum…"

"There is no basis for negotiation," Chen Feng said, "Lanfang's warships will not fly the Rising Sun flag. They didn't in the past, they don't now, and they never will."

"Even if we offered five million pounds per ship?"

"Even ten million."

Dongxiang exhaled a long breath. The exhale was slow, as if emptying all the air from his chest. Then he performed a move that surprised Jisong and Xiaoye—he lifted the memorandum, grasping both sides of the paper, and, slowly yet firmly, tore the document in half from the middle.

Rrrr—

The sound of the leather‑covered paper tearing was especially harsh in the quiet conference room. Dongxiang tore it carefully, first folding and ripping it in half, then folding again and ripping it into quarters. The fragments were neatly stacked on the tabletop before him, like paper offerings at a small funeral.

"I understand," Dongxiang said, a hint of fatigue finally emerging in his voice—the fatigue of a fifty‑nine‑year‑old—"Then, allow me to ask the final question."

"Please speak."

"What is Lanfang's ultimate goal? To rebuild the Lanfang Republic in Kundian? Or… a greater ambition?"

Chen Feng did not answer immediately. He turned his head toward the ancient map of Kundian on the wall and stared at it for a long time. The bluish‑green mountains on the map glimmered in the morning light, and the rivers traced by silver lines seemed to flow for real.