Chapter 172: Sarajevo

Liu Yongfu was silent for half a minute, then finally nodded: "I will do my best."

"It's not 'do my best', it's a must," Chen Feng looked at everyone. "Everyone, we've prepared for years, built a fleet, trained an army, reclaimed our homeland. But that's only the beginning. What lies ahead may be a completely different world."

He walked to the window and looked at the bustling city outside:

"Dubai was a desert ten years ago. Now half a million people live here. Borneo was under Dutch rule four months ago; now it's our territory. All of this is because we dared to dream, dared to risk everything."

He turned around, his gaze sharp:

"Now, a new challenge arrives. It could be a crisis, or an opportunity. Whatever it is, we must be ready. Because this time, we are not bystanders; we are participants."

The meeting lasted until 1 p. m.

After the session adjourned, Chen Feng stayed alone with Zhou Tieshan.

"One more thing," he closed the door. "Do we have a real‑time information channel from Sarajevo?"

Zhou Tieshan hesitated: "We have one… but it's unreliable. We relay through a contact in Vienna, and the information is delayed by at least two hours."

"Two hours…" Chen Feng glanced at the wall clock—Dubai time 1 p. m., Sarajevo should be 10 a. m. "Enough. From now on, every hour report to me on Sarajevo's situation. Any news, big or small."

"Understood," Zhou Tieshan paused, "President, do you really think… something will happen today?"

Chen Feng gave no answer. He walked to the world map and pointed at Sarajevo's location.

The Balkan city basked in perfect sunlight. The streets were packed, a military band played, and the Austro‑Hungarian flag fluttered in the breeze.

At a corner of a street, a nineteen‑year‑old Serbian youth, a pistol in his pocket, waited.

History sometimes hinges on moments like this: a turn, a pause, a pull of the trigger.

"I don't know," Chen Feng finally said, "but I know some changes require only a single gunshot."

At 3 p. m., Chen Feng was reviewing documents in his office.

They were routine affairs: the Ministry of Education's school expansion plan, the Immigration Bureau's new resettlement scheme, the Finance Ministry's quarterly budget… but he could hardly focus. His eyes scanned the text while his mind drifted thousands of miles away.

Every hour, Zhou Tieshan knocked and entered to report the latest on Sarajevo—there really was nothing new. The Archduke toured the city hall, gave a speech, then, as planned, visited the hospital to see the wounded. Everything was normal.

Too normal.

Chen Feng set his pen down, walked to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of whisky. He rarely drank during the day, but made an exception today.

The amber liquid swayed in the glass. He recalled many things: the resolve when he went to sea three years ago, the excitement of building the first warship, the joy of a successful test flight, and the tears on the day they reclaimed Kundian.

Now, things may change again.

A knock sounded. This time it wasn't Zhou Tieshan, but Wang Wenwu.

"President, the Deguo consulate called; Major General Müller wants to see you. It's urgent."

"Let him come in."

"Now? This is the Presidential Office…"

"Right now." Chen Feng drained the glass in one gulp, "Tell him to use the back door, don't let anyone see him."

Twenty minutes later, Müller entered the Presidential Office through the back door. He was in civilian clothes, but his complexion was even more grim than that night.

"Mr. Chen," he said without even sitting down, "Berlin just sent an encrypted telegram. Our intelligence from Sarajevo reports… something happened."

Chen Feng's heart sank: "Give details."

"Around 11 a. m. this morning—Sarajevo time—the Archduke Ferdinand's motorcade, on its way to the hospital, was turned at a street corner and shot at close range by a Serbian youth with a pistol."

Müller's voice was hoarse:

"The Archduke was hit in the carotid artery, his wife was hit in the abdomen. Both were rushed to the hospital, but… half an hour ago it was confirmed they both died on the spot."

The office was dead silent.

The city noise outside—car horns, port whistles, distant construction machinery—suddenly seemed far away.

Chen Feng sat down slowly. The whisky's burn rose, but he felt a chill through his whole body.

"What about the assassin?" he asked, his voice unusually calm.

"He's been captured. His name is Gavrilo Princip, nineteen, Serbian, a member of the Black Hand. After shooting, he tried to poison himself, but was subdued."

"What's the Austro‑Hungarian reaction?"

"Not officially announced yet. But in Vienna… it's already in chaos. Emperor Franz Joseph is said to have fainted three times. The pro‑war military is holding an emergency meeting."

Müller walked to the window and looked at Dubai outside:

"Mr. Chen, you said the other day that we only needed a spark. Now… the spark has appeared."

Chen Feng said nothing. He picked up the phone and shook the handset.

"Connect me to Security Bureau Director Zhou. Immediately."

A few seconds later, Zhou Tieshan's voice came: "President?"

"Has the Sarajevo information been confirmed?"

"Just… just confirmed." Zhou Tieshan's voice trembled, "Our informant reported ten minutes ago. The Archduke and his wife… confirmed dead. The Austro‑Hungarian military is now at maximum alert."

"Understood." Chen Feng hung up.

He looked at Müller. The German Major General stood by the window, his silhouette backlit and somewhat vague.

"General," Chen Feng began, "you should return to the consulate now. Berlin will issue new orders soon."

"I understand." Müller turned, "But before that, I have a question for you."

"Go ahead."

"If… if war really breaks out, will Lanfang keep the promise made that night?"

Chen Feng looked at him. This German Navy officer, who might soon step onto the battlefield, now had a complex look—neither fear nor excitement, but a kind of… resignation.

"I will keep the promise," Chen Feng said, "oil, submarines, border pressure. But I also said Lanfang will not formally join the war. That's the bottom line."

Müller nodded, as if relieved, yet also heavier.

"Thank you," he said, "then I shall take my leave."

"Wait." Chen Feng called him back, walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of whisky, "Finish this glass before you go."

The two clinked glasses and drank it all in one go.

The wine was strong, burning from the throat all the way to the stomach.

"Major General," Chen Feng set the cup down, "there is a saying, consider it my personal advice."

"Please, go ahead."

"If war breaks out, tell your naval commanders: do not lightly challenge Yingguo's maritime hegemony. Tell your army commanders: do not underestimate Faguo's will to resist. Tell your emperor… some victories come at too great a cost."

Mu Le gave him a deep look: "I will convey it. Though… it may be useless."