Chapter 23: Chinese Community

He pulled a document marked "Top Secret" from the file folder.

"Preliminary intelligence shows these warships may be linked to a Chinese community on the southern shore of the Persian Gulf."

Confused murmurs rose in the conference room.

"Chinese?" Asquies frowned, "Are you kidding, Fei She Er?"

"I wish so," Fei She Er pushed the document across the table, "but the data shows: in the past three years, over three hundred thousand Chinese immigrants have poured into the border regions of the Osman Diguo on the southern shore of the Persian Gulf. There, industrial facilities of considerable Scale have emerged, exporting crude steel, copper, and chemical products. Meanwhile, Deguo exported large numbers of machine tools and specialty steel to the area."

Marquis Lang Si Dun picked up the report and skimmed it: "Lanfang Trading Company… Lanfang Republic… that Chinese state that the Dutch wiped out?"

"Remnant forces," Fei She Er said, "If they possess shipbuilding capability, and if Deguo supplied technology and funding…"

"Then the warships were built outside Europe," Army Minister Bo Deng added, "Deguo evaded our intelligence surveillance."

"This is merely speculation," Fei She Er admitted, "but it is my only reasonable conjecture at present. I have already ordered the Naval Intelligence Office to dispatch personnel to conduct on‑site investigation in the region."

The Prime Minister pondered for a long while, "If the speculation is true… that Chinese force, enemy or ally?"

"At present, they are merchants," Fei She Er replied, "They sell warships to Deguo, and may also sell to other high bidders. Yet a Chinese state with advanced shipbuilding appearing in the Indian Ocean…" He paused, "That unsettles me more than Deguo building six new ships."

"Why?"

"Because Deguo is a known adversary," Fei She Er's voice was low, "and this 'Lanfang' is an unknown. We don't know their intentions, their ceiling of capability, who their leader is. On the Empire's board, a piece has appeared that no one knows how it will move."

The clock outside struck eleven. The smoke in the conference room grew thicker.

"Continue the investigation," the Prime Minister finally ordered, "but until solid evidence is obtained, this conjecture must not be leaked to the press or the lower house. Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

"Dismissed."

Cabinet members rose and left one by one. As Fei She Er gathered the documents, the Prime Minister called him.

"John, a word in private."

"Prime Minister?"

Kanbei-Bannaman walked to the window, back to the room: "My father fought in the Crimean War. He told me the worst thing on the battlefield isn't the enemy's cannon, but discovering that your rifle is already obsolete. That feeling… is like being abandoned by the times."

Fei She Er stepped beside him, "We feel exactly that now, Sir."

"Can you recover it?" the Prime Minister turned his gaze, "Build twenty new ships in six years to re‑establish superiority?"

"I can," Fei She Er said without hesitation, "provided the Cabinet and Parliament give me the resources."

"Resources will be yours," the Prime Minister whispered, "but time will not. The Deguo Emperor will not wait for us. That… Lanfang, neither. The world is accelerating, John. And our old‑est empires must either keep pace or be left behind."

He patted Fei She Er's shoulder and left the conference room.

Fei She Er stood alone by the window, watching the endless stream of horse‑drawn carriages and early automobiles on Whitehall Street.

His gaze swept over London's rooftops, across the English Channel, and kept looking east.

Persian Gulf. That hot, arid name that almost never appears in Imperial strategic meetings.

Now, it may hold the key to the Empire's future.

Or, it is the final nail in the coffin.

Berlin, the Carefree Palace banquet hall,

"—For this, Your Majesty the Emperor has decided to award Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, Naval Secretary, the Hohenzollern Crown Order!"

Thunderous applause. Tirpitz stepped forward under the spotlight, receiving the order from Wilhelm II. Gold and enamel glittered in the light.

"For Germany!" the Emperor shouted.

"For the Emperor!" the hall echoed.

The banquet reached its climax. The military band played "German Above All", officers raised cups to drink heartily, and industrial magnates flushed with pride.

Tirpitz retreated to a corner, handing the order to his aide, "Keep it safe."

"General, aren't you putting it on?"

"I'll wear it on the day of real victory," Tirpitz whispered, lifting a glass of mineral water from the server's tray—he almost never drinks alcohol.

The Emperor approached, his face flushed with wine and excitement, "Alfred! Why are you alone here? Today you are the star!"

"Your Majesty, I'm pondering."

"Thinking what? The next batch of orders? I've already approved! Four new ships, three million each, paid in gold! Let the British see what German resolve looks like!"

Tirpitz waited for the Emperor's excitement to subside before speaking cautiously, "Your Majesty, I have received a report from the military attaché in London. The Yingguo Cabinet convened an emergency meeting today and may have approved a new shipbuilding program."

"Let them build!" Wilhelm II gestured, "When they finish the first ship, we'll already have ten! When they finish ten, we'll have twenty! Competition? The German Empire never fears competition!"

"But the finances…"

"The Finance Minister will find a way!" the Emperor cut in, "August always manages to squeeze oil from stone. Moreover…" He lowered his voice with a sly grin, "The Russians have agreed to buy our old ships. Four pre‑Dreadnoughts, packaged for four million pounds. With that money we can cover half the deposit for the Chinese."

Tirpitz was slightly surprised, "The Russians decided so quickly?"

"Their Far‑East fleet was wiped out, and the Baltic fleet is decrepit. Tsar Nikolai urgently needs to save face," Wilhelm II said proudly, "And I promised him a year's worth of ammunition and maintenance support. Of course, the price is thirty percent above market—those in a hurry don't bargain, right?"

"Your Majesty is wise," Tirpitz said outwardly, though he felt uneasy. Selling old ships to the Russians would indeed recoup funds, but might also anger the British—Russian naval rebuilding would inevitably alert the British in the Mediterranean and Far East.

But the Emperor clearly disagreed. He clasped Tirpitz's shoulder, "Alfred, do you know what I admire most about you? Not your strategic vision, not your organizational skill, but…" He leaned in, wine mist on Tirpitz's face, "You dare to dream. To dream of a German fleet that roams the globe."

Tirpitz remained silent. He knew the Emperor at that moment needed a listener, not counsel.

"The British have ruled the seas for three hundred years," Wilhelm II gazed into the void, eyes unfocused, "Three hundred years! My great‑grandfather's era, Napoleon's era, even earlier… the Royal Navy was like a deity of the sea, untouchable. But now?"

He turned, his eyes flashing with fanatic light, "We have challenged them! And we have proven they are not gods! Their ships become obsolete, their technology is surpassed, their hegemony… can be broken!"

The band timely played a majestic march as the Emperor lightly stepped to the rhythm.

"Alfred, how do you think history will remember today? Remember the day six warships passed through the Suez Canal?"

Tirpitz thought for a moment, giving a pragmatic answer, "History will note that naval technology entered a new era. All‑big guns, steam turbines, unified fire control… these will become the standard for battleships over the next thirty years."

"Not just technology!" the Emperor shook his head, "It's a shift of power! From London to Berlin, from the Thames to the Spree! Europe's centre is moving eastward, Alfred, do you feel it?"