Chapter 170: Tense Atmosphere

9 p. m., Deguo Consulate.

The atmosphere in the study was completely different from that of the afternoon reception room. No tension, no diplomatic language, only cigar smoke and the aroma of Riesling wine.

Major General Muller was not in uniform today, but in dark civilian clothes. He poured wine for Chen Feng, his movements as practiced as an old friend's gathering.

"Mr. Chen, how was today's meeting?" he asked in German.

"As expected," Chen Feng replied in fluent German, "the British and the French are the same old routine: threats, pressure, then bargaining. But they know clearly that Europe's situation does not allow them to venture in the Far East."

Muller smiled, a complex emotion in his smile: "You see very clearly. In Berlin… they judge the same way."

He set the wine bottle down, walked to the desk, and picked up a document:

"This is the Imperial General Staff's latest assessment. They believe that if a European war breaks out, Britain will pull the main force of its Far East fleet back home, leaving only a symbolic presence in Singapore. France's fleet in Indochina is even weaker, not worth worrying about."

Chen Feng took the document and skimmed it quickly. It was all in German, but that posed no obstacle for him. The content was very detailed, even estimating the speed, firepower, and endurance of each ship in Britain's Far East fleet.

"This intelligence..." he looked up at Muller.

"It's a gift," Muller sat down. "Berlin wants Lanfang to understand that the Empire regards you as... an important partner, especially in containing British and French forces in the Far East."

He spoke very plainly.

Chen Feng set the document down, lifted his glass and gave it a swirl. The golden liquid left fine tear-like streaks on the glass wall.

"Major General, I'll be frank as well," he said, looking at Muller. "Lanfang will not voluntarily get involved in the European war. Our core interests lie in Borneo and the Persian Gulf. As long as Britain and France do not threaten those interests, we will not clash with them."

"But what if they do threaten?" Muller asked. "For example, if the British Far East fleet really sails north, or if the French forces in Indochina truly land in Borneo?"

"Then we fight," Chen Feng replied decisively. "We have four Bismarck Class ships, eighty submarines, and five divisions stationed in Borneo. I can't say we will definitely win, but we can make them pay a cost they cannot bear."

Muller nodded, and took an envelope from the drawer:

"This is the second gift."

Chen Feng opened the envelope; inside were three photographs. The first was a line drawing of a British Elizabeth Queen Class battleship, annotated with main dimensions and armor thickness. The second was a side view of a French Brittany class. The third… was a construction progress photo of a Japanese Kongō class, clearly taken inside the Barrow shipyard in Britain.

"These are..."

"These are the latest findings of the Imperial Navy Intelligence," Muller lowered his voice. "Elizabeth Queen Class: Britain is building four, the lead ship entering service next year. Brittany Class: France three, entering service the year after. Kongō Class: Japan four, three built domestically."

He paused:

"Mr. Chen, I know your Bismarck Class is very advanced. But the arms race will not stop. Britain, France, and Japan are all racing to build ships. If Lanfang wants to maintain an edge, it must continue to invest."

Chen Feng stared at the photos, especially the Kongō one. The warship in the picture was already formed, the outline of the main gun turret clearly visible. It bore eight 356 mm guns, smaller than the Bismarck Class's 380 mm,

"Major General, what are you trying to say?"

"What I want to say," Muller leaned forward, "the Empire is willing to provide further assistance. Krupp can transfer more advanced armor steel technology, Siemens can supply the latest fire‑control systems, Mauser can provide design drawings for automatic guns. There is only one condition—"

He stared into Chen Feng's eyes:

"If a European war erupts, Lanfang must ensure a continuous oil supply from the Persian Gulf and… at the appropriate time, exert pressure on British and French Far Eastern interests."

"What kind of pressure?"

"For example, submarines harassing their merchant shipping lanes. Or creating friction at the border to tie down their colonial troops. No need for full‑scale war, just to distract them."

Chen Feng fell silent. He sipped his drink slowly, watching the palm trees in the consulate garden outside. Moonlight cast their shadows on the ground, swaying with the wind.

"Major General," he finally said, "you are a soldier, I am a practical man. Let us make this clear: if Deguo and Britain and France go to war, Lanfang can do the following—"

He raised a finger:

"First, the Persian Gulf oil, Deguo may purchase at market price, and we guarantee supply. Second, our submarines will not proactively attack Deguo merchant ships, but will not publicly attack British or French merchant ships—unless they strike us first. Third, we will maintain a military presence on the border of Borneo and the Malay Peninsula, containing British and French colonial forces."

He lowered his hand:

"But beyond that, Lanfang will not formally enter the war, will not publicly declare support for Deguo, and will not allow Deguo to use our ports and bases to attack a third party. That is the bottom line."

Muller thought for a moment, then nodded: "Very fair. Berlin will accept it."

Two glasses clinked.

"To cooperation," Muller said.

"To peace," Chen Feng replied.

Both laughed—both knowing how luxurious the word "peace" was in the summer of 1914.

Finishing his drink, Chen Feng prepared to take his leave. As he reached the study doorway, Muller suddenly called him back:

"Mr. Chen, there is something… consider it my personal curiosity."

"Please, go ahead."

"Do you really think Europe will erupt into a great war?"

Chen Feng stopped at the doorway, his back to Muller. The study's light stretched his shadow long.

"Major General, have you read history?" he said without turning, "When two great powers both believe they must win, and both think they can win, war becomes hard to avoid. The current situation in Europe is…"

He turned around:

"Deguo believes it must break Britain's maritime hegemony, otherwise it will forever remain a second‑tier power. Britain believes it must suppress Deguo's challenge, or the empire will decline. France seeks revenge, to reclaim Alsace‑Lorraine. Russia seeks expansion, to control the Balkans. Austria‑Hungary seeks to maintain, to deter the Slavic peoples."

He paused:

"Everyone thinks they are right, everyone is prepared. At that moment, all it takes is a spark—perhaps a border clash, an assassination, even a misunderstanding—and the whole powder keg will explode."

Muller remained silent, his fingers unconsciously tapping the tabletop.

"If it really does explode," he asked softly, "what will happen?"

Chen Feng looked at him, the German Navy Major General, the man who might soon don a uniform and go to the front.

"Many will die," he finally said. "More than anyone can imagine. The nature of warfare will change—no longer cavalry charges, no longer lined‑up executions, but machine guns, poison gas, tanks, aircraft. The battlefield will extend from the front to the rear, and civilians will die alongside soldiers."

He took a deep breath:

"Major General, if that day truly comes, I hope you will live to see the war end. Then tell future generations: some battles are not worth fighting."

Having said that, he pushed the door open and left.

The corridor was quiet, only his footsteps echoing. Outside, Dubai's night sky was speckled with stars, no different from usual.

But Chen Feng knew that some things were about to change immediately.