Chapter 107: Expansion

This time it was Dong Xiang's turn to be silent. He looked at the young captain before him, at those clear yet resolute eyes, and suddenly recalled his own appearance thirty years ago. The same confidence, the same fascination with technology and tactics, the same belief that the warship in his hand could change the world.

"Thank you for your candor, Captain Lin," Dong Xiang said, donning his straw hat, "Wishing you a safe voyage."

"May Your Excellency have a smooth journey."

The two nodded to each other. Lin Hai turned toward the port office, his steps still light. Dong Xiang watched his receding back until he vanished around the warehouse corner.

"General," Ji Song Mao Tai Lang whispered, "this Lin Hai… is too young. He looks under thirty."

Dong Xiang stared at Lin Hai's back and said, "Age matters not. What matters is the ship at his feet and the nation rising behind him."

He cast one last glance at the Restoration Ship. Afternoon sun slanted onto the hull, casting deep shadows on the armored deck. The shadow outlines were sharp as knives, hinting at the power hidden beneath the steel plates.

"Let's go," Dong Xiang turned, "'Spring Day Maru' must be waiting anxiously."

The three walked toward the passenger pier. There a transport boat arranged by Lanfang waited, to ferry them to the open sea to transfer to a Japanese mail ship.

Before boarding, Dong Xiang took one last look at Dubai Port. Cranes, warehouses, railways, factories puffing light smoke, and faint silhouettes of new ships in distant shipyards. All of this rose from the desert in three years, as if by magic.

But this is not magic.

It is the result of resolve, planning, technology, and the day‑and‑night toil of hundreds of thousands. It is a steel‑forged declaration of a displaced people: we will return home, and this is the ticket home.

The transport boat's engine roared to life, chugging away from the pier. Dong Xiang stood at the stern, watching Dubai Port recede, shrinking, until it became a gray speck on the horizon.

"General," Ji Song Mao Tai Lang asked softly beside him, "how shall we report back?"

Dong Xiang did not answer at once. He stared at the increasingly vague coastline, and after a long pause spoke in a voice only the two could hear:

"Report three matters. First, Lanfang's industrial capacity far exceeds expectations; within three years it could become one of the top three shipbuilding nations worldwide. Second, their leadership is young yet extremely resolute, with hostility toward Japan rooted in history and not easily resolved in the short term. Third—"

He paused, the sea wind ruffling his graying hair:

"Third, we have at most five years. Within five years Japan must build warships capable of countering the Restoration class. Otherwise the balance of power across the Western Pacific will be shattered completely."

"Five years…" Ji Song Mao Tai Lang murmured, "is it enough?"

"Even if it's too late, we must make it in time," Dong Xiang's voice suddenly grew stern, "After we return, I will personally meet Minister Shan Ben Quan Bing Wei. The shipbuilding budget must be doubled, R&D accelerated. If necessary… we can consider cooperating with Yingguo."

"Cooperate with Yingguo?" Ji Song Mao Tai Lang asked in surprise, "Will the Yingguo people give us their latest technology?"

"Before they wouldn't. But now with Lanfang, they'll reconsider," Dong Xiang said, casting one last glance at the coastline that had vanished completely, "When faced with a common threat, even enemies can temporarily become friends. That's politics."

The transport boat entered open waters. In the distance, the smokestack of the Spring Day Maru was already clearly visible.

Dong Xiang removed his straw hat, letting the sea wind hit his face. June in the Persian Gulf was hot and humid, yet his heart felt as if something had frozen inside.

He recalled Lin Hai's words: "Technological progress is a leap."

Japan missed the first leap—from "Pre‑Dauntless" to "Dauntless". It cannot miss the second.

Otherwise, the next encounter at sea will be more than a clash at the negotiating table.

4 p. m., the top‑floor conference room of the administration building.

When Chen Feng pushed the door open, everyone was already present. Wang Wenwu, Liu Yongfu, Zhou Nian, Wang Bo, Li Te—five people sat on one side of the long table, notebooks and documents spread before them. In the center of the table sat a pot of strong tea—this time Yunnan pu‑er, its deep red infusion rippling in the glass pot.

"All here," Chen Feng said as he walked to the head seat and sat down, without small talk, "Let's begin."

Wang Bo rose to pour him tea. The elder had changed into a new long robe today, though the cuffs were still worn white. His hand was steady, spilling not a drop.

"Dong Xiang left?" Wang Wenwu asked.

"He left. The transport boat took them to the open sea to transfer to a Japanese mail ship," Chen Feng lifted his teacup, blew the steam, "Before departing, he met Lin Hai at the port. The two exchanged a few words."

"What did they talk about?" Li Te asked immediately. As a navy elder, he was sensitive to any contact with foreign naval officers.

"He asked a few technical questions, and Lin Hai handled them well," Chen Feng took a sip, the scalding tea reviving him, "More importantly, Dong Xiang saw our port, saw the Restoration Ship, saw how this city operates. He will bring these back, turn them into a report, and place it on the Japanese Navy Minister's desk."

"And then?" Liu Yongfu pushed his glasses. The chief engineer looked especially exhausted today, deep eye bags, clearly having stayed up late again.

"Then Japan will do two things," Chen Feng set down his cup, raising two fingers, "First, accelerate its shipbuilding program. Second, employ every means—diplomatic pressure, tech embargoes, sowing discord among the great powers—to delay or even halt our growth."

The conference room fell silent for a few seconds. Only the low hum of the air‑conditioner—new equipment imported from Deguo that could keep the room at twenty‑five degrees even in midsummer—could be heard. (Air‑conditioning existed since 1902.)

"So we must be faster," Zhou Nian began. The infrastructure chief's voice was hoarse; he had just rushed back from a railway site, his work clothes still dusty, "Fast enough that they can't react in time."

"Right," Chen Feng nodded, "That's why I've gathered everyone today: to officially launch the Rock Solid Plan."

He pulled a document from his briefcase and spread it on the table. It was a massive blueprint of Dubai Port, densely marked with red‑ink annotations.

"The current eight large dry docks," Chen Feng's finger traced the eight rectangular boxes on the blueprint, "must be expanded to ten. Each dock's dimensions should be uniform: length 300 m, width 50 m, depth 12 m."

Liu Yongfu immediately produced a ruler and did quick calculations on the paper. After a few seconds, he looked up:

"President, this means each dock must be equipped with at least four hundred‑ton gantry cranes, and underwater construction depth must increase by two meters. Moreover… the existing seven docks are already at full capacity, and the expansion will severely affect current order progress."

"Then we do it in phases," Chen Feng said, "First expand the unused Dock 8 while simultaneously constructing Docks 9 and 10. The existing docks will be renovated one by one after completing the current batch of orders. The total construction period… I intend to finish within three years."

"Three years?" Zhou Nian frowned, "Just the foundation work takes a year and a half. Large dock foundations need piles driven at least fifteen meters deep, plus waterproofing. The Persian Gulf's geological conditions…"

"I know there are difficulties," Chen Feng cut in, "But it must be done. Wang Bo, send the data to everyone."

Wang Bo rose and handed each person a form. The forms listed all current orders: