Chapter 158: We Need an Excuse, Not a Massacre

Chen Feng returned to the car and said to Liu Yongfu, "Do you see? This is the future. This little boy won't think of himself as an 'Arab' or a 'Chinese'; he'll think of himself as a 'Lanfang person.' He will be proud of Zhou Afu—a Chinese pilot."

Liu Yongfu fell silent. After a long while, he softly said, "I understand, President."

The car continued moving, heading toward the administrative building.

The sky darkened, and the city's streetlights came on one after another. The harbor lighthouse began to rotate, its beam cutting through the night sky.

At eight p. m., Chen Feng returned to the office.

The desk was already piled with documents awaiting approval: the Finance Ministry's budget proposal, the Education Ministry's school expansion plan, the Immigration Bureau's new batch of resettlement schemes… He rubbed his temples and picked up the topmost file.

It was a report from the Ministry of Petroleum Industry. Last year, Lanfang actually produced twelve million barrels of oil, of which seven point five million barrels were exported, earning four hundred fifty thousand pounds of foreign exchange. The remaining four hundred fifty thousand barrels were split evenly between domestic consumption and strategic reserves.

At the end of the report was a line of handwritten small characters: "As of December 31, 1913, strategic oil reserves have reached twenty‑eight million barrels. At the current consumption rate, they can meet the nation's three‑year demand." (Civilian cars are few; most are military.)

Chen Feng nodded in satisfaction. This was one of the trump cards he had prepared for the future.

The sound of knocking came.

"Enter."

The door opened, and Wang Bo entered carrying a tray, on which lay a bowl of hot noodle soup and several small side dishes.

"Young Master, you haven't eaten dinner yet," the old man said, placing the tray on the coffee table. "I've cooked a bowl of noodles; you should eat it while it's hot."

Only then did Chen Feng feel the emptiness in his stomach. He walked to the coffee table, sat down, and picked up his chopsticks. The noodles were hand‑rolled, the broth had been simmered all day with chicken bones and ham, and it was topped with a few pieces of greens and a fried egg.

"Wang Bo, please sit," Chen Feng said, gesturing toward the sofa opposite.

Wang Bo hesitated briefly, then sat down. He was sixty‑eight this year, his hair completely white, his back slightly hunched, yet his eyes remained bright.

"Wang Bo," Chen Feng said after a few bites of noodles, suddenly, "the Transport Fleet departs on February 4."

The old man's body gave a slight shudder.

"You… really intend to go?" Chen Feng looked at him.

Wang Bo remained silent for a long time. The clock in the office ticked, and from outside the window came the distant whistle of the harbor.

"Young Master," he finally spoke, his voice a little hoarse, "I am old, but I still want to do something for Lanfang."

Chen Feng rose, walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of brandy, and handed one to Wang Bo.

"Take a sip."

Wang Bo took it, his hand trembling. He gulped it down, coughing as it burned.

"Forty‑four years," he said, catching his breath, his voice steadier, "Every Qingming I burn paper toward the South Ocean, offering it to my father, to the villagers who died at the hands of the Dutch. No matter how far the ash flies, it never returns to Borneo."

He lifted his head and looked at Chen Feng:

"Young Master, you said you would take us home, and I, the old man, believe you. Over these years I've watched you build warships, construct factories, train a new army; I know you are serious. Now the ships are about to set sail, and you want the old man to stay behind waiting for news? I cannot wait. I must return, I must stand where my father fell and tell him: Father, your son has returned. Not only have I returned, we have also brought back a fleet, we have brought back a great army. The Dutch flag should be taken down."

Chen Feng looked at him, at the old man who had cared for him since childhood. In Wang Bo's eyes was a light Chen Feng had never seen before—not the cloudiness of old age, but a youthful blaze and resolve.

"The sea is harsh, Borneo is dangerous," Chen Feng said, "You are advanced in age…"

"My body knows its limits," Wang Bo interrupted, "I can still walk, I can still bear weight. Besides, I'm not being sent to fight; I would just take a ship over, step ashore and look around. Even if… even if there is a chance I might die on the way home, that is better than dying on a foreign bed."

At that point, Chen Feng knew further persuasion was useless.

He returned to his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a gold‑plated badge. The badge was simple: one side bore Lanfang's yellow dragon flag, the other side was engraved with the characters "Return Home."

"This is the commemorative badge of the 'Return Home Operation,'" Chen Feng placed the badge in Wang Bo's hand, "I originally intended to issue it after success, but you… you deserve to have it now."

Wang Bo cradled the badge, his hand trembling even more. The badge glimmered with a warm light under the lamp.

"Young Master…"

"Go then," Chen Feng patted his shoulder, "depart with the Transport Fleet. I will instruct Li Te and Ami Er to look after you. But you must promise me one thing—"

He stared into Wang Bo's eyes:

"Return alive. When we formally retake Borneo, we will build a memorial hall in Kundian to honor all who sacrificed for Lanfang. Then you will stand at the entrance of the memorial hall and tell the children the stories of those days, tell how we returned home."

Wang Bo's tears finally fell, landing on the badge.

"Old man… I promise you," he choked, "I will definitely return alive, and I will definitely pass the story on."

The old man left, and the office fell quiet again.

Chen Feng walked to the window and gazed at the night view. Dubai's lights stretched all the way to the sea, and over at the harbor, the silhouettes of four Bismarck Class ships flickered faintly in the moonlight.

He recalled many years ago, also in this office, when he told Wang Bo, Wang Wenwu, Liu Yongfu, and the others, "We will go home."

At that time, no one dared to fully believe it. The Dutch were one of the European great powers, having operated in the East Indies for three hundred years, with a fleet, an army, and forts. What did Lanfang have? Three hundred thousand refugees, eight small shipyards, two thousand old guns.

But now they possessed four world‑class battleships, a population of several million, a complete industrial system, and a well‑trained army of two hundred thousand.

The distance to the dream now left only the final step.

Chen Feng picked up the phone and shook the handset.

"Connect to Navy Headquarters General Li Te."

After a few seconds, Li Te's voice came from the other end, "President?"

"Li Te, the plan is advanced," Chen Feng said, "Special Mixed Fleet departs February 1, Transport Fleet departs February 2. All deployments are moved up three days."

"Why so urgent?"

"Because Wang Bo can wait no longer," Chen Feng said, looking out the window, "I can wait no longer either. We have waited too long; each day has been a torment. Now the fleet is ready, the army is trained, it's time to go home."

The line was silent for a moment.

"Understood," Li Te replied, "I will immediately redraw the schedule. On February 1 at 8 a. m., the fleet will depart the port on time."

"Alright," Chen Feng hung up.

He dialed another number.

"Connect to Security Bureau Zhou Tieshan."

"President, please give instructions."

"Notify the side in Borneo that the plan is advanced. The rally on January 28 will be held earlier. Have them prepare; the Dutch will certainly suppress it, and there must be a bloodshed incident—but keep the scale controlled, avoid massive casualties. We need an excuse, not a massacre."

"Understood. Anything else?"

Notify all overseas intelligence stations: starting tomorrow, raise the alert level. Monitor closely the reactions of Yingguo, Faguo, Japan, and the United States. Pay particular attention to the movements of the Yingguo Far East Fleet and the Japan Combined Fleet.

Already in progress. The Yingguo Far East Fleet's main force is in Singapore, with no abnormal movements. The Japan Combined Fleet is conducting spring exercises at Wu Port, and there are currently no signs of a southward move.

Maintain monitoring. Any changes, report directly to me.

Yes.