Chapter 136: The Moroccan Crisis Won

"We need two days," Howard said finally.

"Fine." Chen Feng gave a clear deadline, "By 5 p. m. on July 10 I need a final answer. Otherwise we will focus on Deguo's proposal."

After seeing off the two consuls, Wang Wenwu closed the door and let out a long sigh. "President, did Deguo really offer 2.8%?"

"Not yet." Chen Feng walked back to his seat, lifted the already‑cooled tea, "But Major General Muller will come tonight. He will give it."

Wang Bo brewed a fresh pot of hot tea. Chen Feng, watching the unfurling leaves in his cup, suddenly asked, "Wenwu, what do you think the world will be like in five years?"

Wang Wenwu was taken aback. "This… is hard to predict. But given current trends, the contradictions among the European great powers are deepening. The Morocco incident has been pacified, yet the Deguo lost face, the Yingguo are unyielding, the Faguo think they've won…"

"Indeed." Chen Feng interrupted, "Everyone thinks they've won, or thinks they've lost. Such emotions, if they keep building up, will explode someday."

He lifted the cup but did not drink, merely watching his own reflection on the water's surface.

"Five years later, 1916. If by then Europe is already locked in an all‑out war, who will have the mind to press for this tens of millions of pounds debt? As for the Restoration Ship……, by that time our Bismarck Class will already be in service."

Wang Wenwu's eyes brightened, "So that's why you agreed so readily?"

"It's not about being pleased, it's calculation." Chen Feng set down the cup, pulled a document from the drawer, "Take a look at this."

Wang Wenwu, after reading, inhaled a cold gasp. "Whose analysis is this…?"

"Me." Chen Feng folded the document and locked it back, "So, the conditions we promised them. In five years those clauses may be just empty paper. But now we need eighty million pounds—four Bismarck Class ships cost forty million, dock expansion twenty‑five million, steel‑plant upgrade fifteen million…"

He paused, his voice lowering slightly.

"And immigrants. Every month tens of thousands come from the Chinese coast; we must provide them housing, food, jobs. All that costs money."

Outside the window, the setting sun began to sink westward, turning the port's cranes golden. Farther away, two Bismarck Class hulls loomed in the dusk like sleeping giants.

"Money is a tool." Chen Feng concluded, "We use it to buy time; as for the price… we'll calculate that in five years."

At night in Dubai Harbor, the heat had eased slightly. The Deguo consulate sat on the western side of the harbor, a three‑story Baroque building contrasting sharply with the surrounding Arab‑style houses. At nine p. m., a black sedan slipped silently into the rear yard.

When Chen Feng stepped out of the car, Major General Muller was already waiting at the door. The German Navy officer wore no uniform today, just a dark suit, yet his straight back and precise bearing still revealed his profession.

"Mr. Chen, please." Muller said in German, then switched to stiff Chinese, "I am honored."

"No need for courtesy, General." Chen Feng replied fluently in German.

That made Muller visibly pause, then smile, "I didn't know your German was so good."

"I've studied a bit." Chen Feng brushed off, — in fact, it stemmed from his past‑life accumulation as a military‑history enthusiast.

The two crossed a corridor carpeted with Persian rugs, arriving at a heavy oak door. Muller turned the key, and as the door swung open, Chen Feng smelled a blend of cigar smoke, old books, and machine oil.

It was a study, or more precisely, a private museum. The walls were lined with naval photographs: the ironclad "Prussia," the battleship "Brunswick" class, and the "Nassau" class that had just been launched last year. Glass cases displayed various ship models, from sailing battleships to the newest submarines.

Most striking was the oil painting centered in the room—German Emperor Wilhelm II in naval admiral attire, standing on the deck of the yacht "Hohenzollern," with Kiel naval base in the background.

"Please sit." Muller gestured to the two high‑back chairs before the fireplace.

The fireplace was unlit; July in Dubai doesn't need one. Yet the mantel held several exquisite bronze sculptures, all shaped like warships.

Wang Bo was left in the outer room; only Chen Feng and Muller remained in the study. After the servant brought two glasses of Riesling, Muller waved him away and locked the door.

"First, congratulations." Muller raised his glass, "The peaceful resolution of the Morocco incident is good for everyone."

Chen Feng clinked glasses with him, "But I heard Berlin wasn't satisfied with that?"

Muller's smile froze for a moment, then turned bitter. "You heard about it?"

"The Congo jungle, the withdrawal of the 'Leopard' gunboat." Chen Feng took a sip, "What did the German papers say? 'Exchanged the empire's dignity for a swamp'?"

Muller set down his glass, let out a long sigh. "Mr. Chen, do you know what is most disappointing? They were right. The Navy held three emergency meetings over this, and Admiral Tirpitz almost resigned. But…" He spread his hands, "The Army said something is better than nothing. Your Majesty ultimately adopted the Army's view."

The study fell silent. In the distance, the faint sound of a port whistle drifted.

"So you invited me tonight," Chen Feng said slowly, "to obtain compensation? Something to answer Berlin with?"

Muller stared at him, "Yes. Mr. Chen, I need a plan that will make Your Majesty nod and silence the Navy. Otherwise…" He paused, "I won't remain in this position much longer."

Chen Feng leaned back in his chair, fingers lightly tapping the armrest. The mantel clock ticked rhythmically, each tick sounding like a calculation of time.

"I can give you three things." he finally said.

Muller leaned forward, "Please speak."

"First, if—I'm saying if—England and Deguo were to go to war in the future, Lanfang could secretly sell twelve U‑IX type submarines to Deguo."

Muller's eyes lit up instantly. "Submarines! At what price? How will they be delivered?"

"Twenty‑five thousand pounds per vessel, settled in gold." Chen Feng said clearly, "Delivery in three batches: four by the end of 1912, four in mid‑1913, four early 1914. Transfer points at Las Palmas, Spain, disguised as merchant ships."

"Twenty‑five thousand…" Muller calculated quickly, "Three million pounds for twelve submarines. That's at least a third cheaper than building them ourselves. But Mr. Chen, if war actually breaks out, how will you guarantee delivery? The Yingguo Navy will block the routes."

"Hence the need for disguise." Chen Feng said, "The submarines can be broken down for transport, or masquerade as civilian research vessels. We have a way."

Muller pondered briefly, nodded, "Continue. The second thing?"