Chapter 135: The Stakes on the Negotiation Table

In July, Dubai, a heat wave rose from the sea surface of the Persian Gulf, enveloping the whole city in a thick humidity. Inside Conference Room No. 3 of the Administrative Building.

Chen Feng sat at the head seat of the long table, his fingertips lightly tapping the smooth tabletop. He was dressed in a deep‑gray stand‑collar Zhongshan suit, the collar buttoned impeccably, a black steel pen attached to the left breast pocket. Outside the window, the distant shipyard's cranes rose like a steel forest, and farther away, the silhouettes of two giant ships under construction were slightly distorted by the heat.

Those were the first two of the Bismarck Class.

"President, they have arrived," Wang Bo said, pushing the door open, his voice low.

Chen Feng nodded, not standing. When the door opened again, the Yingguo consul Howard and the Faguo consul Dupont entered one after the other, each followed by their own translator and recorder.

"Mr. Chen," Howard said in his standard Oxford‑accented English, a diplomatic smile on his face, "I hope we are not disturbing your important affairs."

"You're being courteous, Consul," Chen Feng gestured to sit, "Wang Bo, bring tea. Use the Iron Goddess Oolong that we produce ourselves in Fujian."

The aroma of tea quickly filled the conference room. Howard lifted his bone‑china teacup, gently blew the steam, but did not drink. Dupont was more direct; he took a sip and said something in French to his translator.

"Consul Dupont says this tea is special," the translator, a young Frenchman, said, his English bearing a noticeable accent.

"Iron Goddess Oolong from Anxi, Fujian, a semi‑fermented process," Chen Feng said calmly, "just like today's negotiations—requiring the right amount of heat."

Howard set down his cup, pulled a thick dossier from his briefcase. "Mr. Chen, after careful consideration in London and Paris, we can formally respond to your loan request."

Chen Feng leaned forward slightly, "Please go on."

"First, regarding amount and term," Howard opened the file, "the Yingguo Empire is willing to provide a 50‑million‑pound loan, and the Faguo Republic a 30‑million‑pound loan. Both terms are five years, counted from the signing date."

"What about the interest rate?"

"The Yingguo portion, annual interest 3.2%," Howard paused, "the Faguo portion, 3.5%."

The conference room fell silent for a few seconds. Chen Feng lifted his cup, took a leisurely sip, then looked at Wang Wenwu. The commerce minister immediately replied:

"Mr. Howard, Mr. Dupont. This rate… is half a percentage point higher than we expected. By international market standards, a loan of this scale and term should carry an annual rate between 2.5% and 3%."

Dupont answered directly in French, his translator following: "Minister Wang, this is not merely a commercial loan. It includes a political‑risk premium—after all, the Lanfang Republic has not yet received universal recognition from the international community."

"But we have already signed a formal diplomatic agreement with your country," Wang Wenwu said, unmoving.

"An agreement is one thing; actual recognition is another," Howard took over, "Mr. Chen, be frank. London and Paris are willing to provide this massive loan because they see Lanfang's industrial potential and strategic location. But we also need sufficient guarantees."

Chen Feng set his cup down, hands crossed on the table. "What kind of guarantees?"

Howard turned to page three of the document and slid it across. "If after five years Lanfang cannot repay principal and interest, repayment must be made in kind."

Chen Feng took the file, his eyes quickly scanning the neatly printed English clauses. Wang Bo handed over a reading glass, but waved it away and read aloud directly:

"First, provide the complete design drawings and construction license for a Hood‑class battlecruiser."

"Second, allow Yingguo and Faguo to have priority construction of that class at Lanfang's shipyard, with Lanfang receiving cost price plus a fifteen‑percent profit."

"Third, for the next three years, any new warships designed by Lanfang grant Yingguo and Faguo first purchase rights."

Finishing, Chen Feng looked up, his face unreadable. "Hood‑class… you've even decided on the name?"

"It's just a code name," Howard said, "referring to a battlecruiser of the same class as the Restoration Ship. We know Lanfang is already designing the next generation of capital ships, whose performance will surpass the existing Restoration‑class."

Dupont added, "Of course, if Lanfang repays on schedule, these clauses become void automatically. It's merely a… insurance measure."

Chen Feng handed the file to Wang Wenwu, who skimmed it quickly, his brow furrowing. "President, these conditions…"

"I need to consider," Chen Feng interrupted, turning to the two consuls, "but before that, I have a request."

"Please go ahead."

"The loan being denominated in pounds is fine," Chen Feng said evenly, "but at repayment we reserve the right to convert the amount into gold at the gold price on the borrowing date."

Howard and Dupont exchanged a glance. The request caught them off guard.

"Why?" Howard asked.

"Currency depreciates, gold does not," Chen Feng said simply. "If after five years the pound's purchasing power falls, we still repay the original amount, increasing the real burden. Is that fair?"

Dupont's translator whispered a few explanations to him. The Faguo consul thought a moment, shook his head, "That does not conform to international practice. Loan contracts are always denominated in currency; currency value fluctuations are a commercial risk."

"Then add a hedging clause," Chen Feng insisted, "or we can accept a lower rate—2.8% for the Yingguo portion, 3% for the Faguo portion. In exchange, we waive the gold‑conversion request."

The negotiations reached an impasse.

Outside, the port's cargo‑ship horns sounded long and muffled. The conference room's air‑conditioner still hummed, but the atmosphere had noticeably cooled.

"Mr. Chen," Howard finally said, "we need to consult our government."

"Proceed as you wish," Chen Feng stood, "but please tell London and Paris— we have also presented the same loan request to Berlin. Deguo offered a rate of 2.8% and attached far fewer conditions."

The words fell like a stone into calm water.

Dupont's complexion changed. "Deguo? Mr. Chen, you are playing a dangerous game."

"No, Consul," Chen Feng moved to the window, back to them, "I am fighting for the best terms for my country. Three hundred thousand—no, now one‑million‑five‑hundred thousand Lanfang people, they need schools, hospitals, factories, railways. All of that requires money."

He turned, his gaze sweeping the faces of the two consuls.

"I can give you a figure: over the past three years Lanfang's industrial output has grown at an average of 42% annually. Our shipyards have delivered twelve capital ships, steel production has multiplied sevenfold, and immigration has tripled. This loan is not begging; it is investment—investment in a rising market, an investment in a trade partner for the next thirty years."

Howard recorded in silence. Dupont stared at Chen Feng, seemingly weighing the weight of his words.