Chapter 290: Let This Deal Last Longer

Wang Wenwu was somewhat worried: "Could this be too risky? If Yingguo thinks we're betting on both sides…"

"They've known for a long time," Chen Feng said calmly, "Yingguo's intelligence system is not a mere ornament. They know we're transporting troops for the Sakura Country, they know we're selling weapons to Deguo. Yet they haven't taken action—why?"

He asked himself and answered:

"Because Yingguo now needs to concentrate its forces against Deguo and doesn't want to open a second front in Yazhou. Moreover, our rubber, tin mines, and oil in Southeast Yazhou are equally important to Yingguo. They can tolerate our trade with Deguo as long as we don't cross the red line."

"What is the red line?"

"Direct military aid, or anything that threatens Yingguo's core colonies," Chen Feng said. "So what we must do tomorrow is to state clearly to the British: Lanfang's cooperation with Deguo is a commercial act and does not affect Lanfang's normal trade with Yingguo. In fact, we can supply Yingguo with what they need."

The car passed the Berlin Cathedral, its massive dome appearing solemn and weighty in the twilight.

"War changes everyone," Chen Feng whispered, more like talking to himself, "Deguo is gambling, the Sakura Country is selling blood, Yingguo is struggling, and we are… learning."

"What are we learning?" Wang Wenwu asked.

"Learning how to grow in the shadow of giants, how to walk on a blade's edge, how to use others' wars to strengthen ourselves."

Chen Feng closed his eyes and leaned against the seat. A day's negotiations were exhausting, but worthwhile.

The order for two thousand pieces of artillery was only the beginning.

Technology exchange was the real gain.

With Deguo's optical technology, Lanfang's fire‑control system can be upgraded by a generation. With special steel technology, battleship armor can be tougher. With diesel engine technology, submarine endurance can increase dramatically. With miniaturized radio technology, the command system can become more efficient.

These technologies cannot be bought with money or exchanged for resources.

Only in such a special moment, in such a special deal, can they be obtained.

The car arrived at the hotel. When Chen Feng stepped out, he saw several reporters waiting at the entrance. Upon seeing him, they immediately swarmed.

"President Chen! There's a report that Deguo ordered Lanfang's artillery—is it true?"

"Will Lanfang take direct part in the war?"

"What is your view on the European war situation?"

Chen Feng stopped, faced the camera, and gave the standard diplomat's smile.

"Lanfang is a peace‑loving nation; our cooperation with all countries aims to promote development and stability. As for the specific commercial contracts, we cannot disclose details. Thank you."

He entered the hotel escorted by guards. The reporters kept pressing, but were blocked outside.

After entering the room, Chen Feng shed his diplomatic mask, leaving only fatigue and contemplation on his face.

Wang Wenwu opened the folder: "President, the key points for the meeting with the Yingguo consul…"

"Hold off for now," Chen Feng said, walking to the window, looking at Berlin's nightscape, "Send a report home—two matters."

"Please proceed."

"First, inform the Ordnance Bureau to launch the 'Harvest Plan.' Send back the list of technologies obtained today so they can immediately assemble an expert team to study and devise a digestion and absorption scheme."

"Second," Chen Feng turned, "tell Zhang Zhen to strengthen patrols in the Strait of Malacca. Until our talks with Yingguo bear fruit, ensure absolute safety of the shipping lanes."

"Are you worried Yingguo might act against our fleet?"

"Just in case," Chen Feng said. "The British won't act lightly, but we must be ready. In this game, strength is the capital of negotiation."

Wang Wenwu finished recording, and as he was about to leave, Chen Feng called him back.

"There's one more thing."

"President?"

Chen Feng was silent for a few seconds, then said: "Send a private telegram to Xiyuansi Gongwang. Tell him the first batch of improved weapons has already set sail with the second dispatch of troops, and we hope this time can reduce unnecessary casualties."

This move surprised Wang Wenwu. He had thought Chen Feng's attitude toward the Sakura Country was only cold calculation.

"Do you… sympathize with them?"

"It's not sympathy," Chen Feng shook his head, "it's investment. If Sakura Country's soldiers die too quickly, the Germans will find it unprofitable and the orders will shrink. We need them alive, at least longer, so this deal can last longer."

His tone remained calm, but Wang Wenwu detected a hint of complex emotion.

Perhaps it's not entirely calculation.

Perhaps, just a little, it's respect for those young lives who went abroad, bled and fought…?

Wang Wenwu was unsure. He also wasn't sure whether Chen Feng himself was clear.

"I'll handle it right away," he bowed and left.

Only Chen Feng remained in the room. He walked to the desk, spread the stationery, and began to write a diary—a habit he had cultivated, writing a few lines even when busy.

"April 7, 1915, Berlin. Today met the German Emperor, reached an artillery trade and technology exchange agreement. The Deguo side's eagerness was evident, the pressure on the Eastern Front was palpable. Sakura Country's manpower has become a crucial consumable, but its value declines over time; we must extract maximum profit quickly…"

He stopped writing at this point.

A faint bell rang from outside, the evening bell of a Berlin church. Its long toll echoed in the night sky, as if praying for those already dead and those about to die.

Chen Feng set down the pen, walked to the liquor cabinet, poured a glass of whiskey. He didn't turn on the light, drinking slowly by the city lights outside the window.

The whiskey was strong, burning his throat and his conscience.

But he must continue. For Lanfang, for those who believed in him and followed him, for this nation struggling to rise amid the great powers.

Even if his hands are stained with fresh blood, even if his soul falls into darkness.

Eastern Front, Poland, Niemen River front, November 1915.

Koji Matsumoto's boots sank in the mud, each step producing a "puff‑splash" sound. It wasn't snow, but slush of partially melted snow water mixed with soil, blood, waste and rot, forming a swamp. The trench's wooden walls were waterlogged, and the air was filled with an indescribable stench—rotting corpses, cheap tobacco, sweat, and chemicals.

He returned to Europe, but not as a battle hero. Although the wound on his left arm had healed, it left a slight after‑effect, preventing him from holding a gun steadily for long periods. Thus he was transferred to the logistics corps, responsible for new‑troop training and equipment distribution.

Now he is one of the instructors at the 13th Division's recruit training camp, teaching the use of the "Lanfang‑made" new weapons.

"All eyes on me!" Koji Matsumoto stood on a relatively dry earthen platform, before him thirty‑plus recruits. Most of these youngsters had just arrived from the Sakura Country, their faces still bearing the fatigue of long voyages and the bewilderment of an unfamiliar environment.

He held an improved "Model 1911 Light Machine Gun" in his hands. Its appearance resembled the old model, but details had changed—the barrel was thickened, it had more heat‑sinks, and the stock had been redesigned.