Chapter 30: London: The Frenchman's Humiliating Journey

In the suite of the London Savoy Hotel, the flames in the fireplace flickered, yet they could not dispel the chill in the room.

The head of the Faguo Navy delegation, Vice Admiral Xiaer Dubuwa, stood by the window, his back to the other five members in the room. Outside, the Thames River glowed with a lead‑gray light in the dusk, and a few barges drifted by slowly, like the unhurried heartbeat of this empire.

"So, this is Yingguo's answer."

Dubuwa's voice was calm, terrifyingly calm. He held in his hand a copy of a freshly delivered diplomatic memorandum—the official reply from the Royal Navy to Faguo's procurement request.

"Yes, General," the deputy head, Colonel Rang-Pi'ier Le Kelaier, said, his voice suppressing anger, "They say: the Royal Navy is currently devoting all effort to modernizing the home fleet, and all shipbuilding capacity is saturated. If they are to build a dreadnought for the French Republic, the earliest would be 1909—and only after all existing orders are completed."

"1909," Dubuwa repeated the year, turning around. The fifty‑five‑year‑old naval officer, with the dark skin typical of the Mediterranean and hawk‑like eyes, now held a cold flame in those eyes, "Three years. In three years how many ships will Deguo have? Twelve? Sixteen? And we will have none."

The room fell into dead silence.

Colonel Le Kelaier walked to the coffee table and picked up another document: "The request for technology transfer was also denied. The Yingguo say the dreadnought's design involves core Royal Navy secrets and cannot be shared with any foreign power—even with a 'traditional ally'."

"'Traditional ally'," Dubuwa sneered, "What a wonderful term. When they need us in Morocco to oppose Deguo, we are allies. When they need their battleships, we become 'foreigners'."

He moved to the fireplace, grasped iron tongs and fidgeted with the logs, sparks scattering.

"Do you know what the most ironic thing is?" Dubuwa said without turning, "After the German 'friendly visit' to Portsmouth, Tirpitz publicly told reporters: 'The German Navy welcomes technical exchanges with all friendly nations, including France.' He is humiliating us, and humiliating Yingguo as well."

"But Deguo will never actually sell to us," the delegation's technical expert, shipbuilding engineer Luyi Molu, adjusted his glasses, "It's just diplomatic rhetoric. The German Emperor would love for us to stay perpetually behind."

"So we should be kicked back and forth between Deguo and Yingguo like a beggar?" Dubuwa snapped around, the iron tongs clanging heavily against the marble frame of the fireplace, producing a harsh clang, "The French Navy once vied with Yingguo for global maritime supremacy! And now? Now we must queue for Yingguo's charity while enduring Deguo's mockery!"

Everyone in the room lowered their heads.

Humiliation. That is the most concrete shape of the word in the room.

Colonel Le Kelaier inhaled deeply, breaking the silence: "General, there is another matter. We received from Naval Intelligence a... rather unusual report."

"Speak."

"Regarding the true source of these dreadnoughts," Le Kelaier opened his briefcase, retrieved a French document marked 'Top Secret,' "The Yingguo 'Dreadnought' was indeed their own design, but the Deguo Westphalia class... might not be."

Dubuwa furrowed his brow: "What does that mean?"

"In the past three years, Deguo's major shipyards have no record of building 20,000‑ton warships. All large dockyard schedules are public. Yet Deguo exported to the Persian Gulf region on the Ottoman Empire's fringe more than five times the usual amount of special steel and large machine tools."

"Persian Gulf?" Dubuwa took the document, scanning quickly, "What else is there besides sand and nomads?"

"There is a... Chinese community," Le Kelaier pointed to a passage in the document, "About three hundred thousand people, calling themselves 'Lanfang Survivors.' They have set up an industrial base there, exporting crude steel and chemical products. Recently, our merchant ship in the Aden Bay heard sailors' rumors—that a 'steel monster' has appeared on the southern shore of the Persian Gulf."

Dubuwa's eyes narrowed: "Are you telling me that the world's most advanced battleship might have been built by a group of Chinese in the desert?"

"It sounds like a fairy tale, I know," Le Kelaier chuckled wryly, "But if Deguo truly can secretly build six warships at home without our detection, that would be an even greater miracle."

Engineer Molu interjected: "From a technical standpoint, it's possible. Many Chinese are excellent craftsmen. If they have complete blueprints, sufficient equipment, and the core components supplied by Deguo..."

"And then Deguo would flaunt those warships as its own achievements?" Dubuwa mused, "No, that doesn't add up. Emperor Wilhelm, that egotist, could never allow others to create the 'German pride'."

"Unless," Le Kelaier said slowly, "he has another purpose. For example... to conceal the true shipbuilding capacity. Or that location holds greater strategic value for him."

The room fell silent again.

The logs in the fireplace crackled.

After a long pause, Dubuwa spoke: "What does the Navy think of this report?"

"The higher-ups are cautious. Some deem it nonsense, others... advocate sending investigators," Le Kelaier paused, "But regardless of truth, General, we have no choice now. Yingguo makes us wait three years, Deguo won't sell, and designing and building ourselves will take at least four years—while Deguo's guns are already pressed to our foreheads."

He walked to the European map on the wall, his finger pointing to Morocco:

"The first Moroccan crisis is only half a year old, and the Deguo Emperor's speech in Tangier still echoes: 'The German Empire has interests in Morocco equal to those of other great powers.' They are using naval force to back diplomatic extortion. If we lack comparable power..."

"In the next crisis we will have to concede," Dubuwa continued, "Then the next, and the next, until French influence in North Africa is completely eradicated."

He moved to the liquor cabinet, poured three glasses of brandy, and handed them to Le Kelaier and Molu.

"Gentlemen, I have an idea—a crazy idea,"

The two took the glasses, waiting for him to continue.

Dubuwa raised his glass but did not drink, merely watching the amber liquid swirl within:

"If... if one in ten thousand of those Persian Gulf rumors is true. If there truly are people there who can build dreadnoughts, then why doesn't French go directly to find them?"

Le Kelaier's hand trembled, the drink nearly spilling, "General! That means we would be dealing with a... an entity not recognized internationally! And it could enrage Deguo, perhaps even Yingguo!"

"England has already refused us," Dubuwa said coldly, "Germany was never a friend. As for international recognition?" He smiled, his grin dripping with sarcasm, "When has the international community ever recognized the rights of the weak? If we have six dreadnoughts, the whole world will acknowledge that we are right."

He drained the glass.

"I will telegram Paris. I propose sending a secret delegation under the pretext of an 'industrial survey' to the Persian Gulf. If that 'Lanfang' truly exists, if they indeed have shipbuilding capability..."

Dubuwa's eyes glittered in the firelight:

"Then the French Republic would be willing to become their second major client."

The next morning, at the London Foreign Ministry building.

The Faguo Navy delegation was kept in the reception room for a full forty‑five minutes before being ushered into the office of Foreign Minister Marquis Langsidun.

It was a deliberately crafted slight.

"General Dubuwa, please sit," Marquis Langsidun lifted his head from behind the desk, a standard politician's smile on his face, "Apologies for the delay; the morning cabinet meeting ran a bit long."

Dubuwa kept a soldier's posture, sitting upright: "No problem, Marquis. We understand your state affairs are busy."

After the small talk, they went straight to the point.

"Regarding your procurement request," Langsidun pulled a document from his folder and placed it across the table, "The Navy has issued an official reply. I assume you have already received a copy?"

"Yes," Dubuwa controlled his expression, "but we hope there may be room for further discussion. The French Republic is willing to pay a premium and to render returns in other fields—such as offering stronger support on the Moroccan issue."

Marquis Langsidun shook his head lightly, his movement graceful yet unequivocal:

"General, this is not a matter of money nor a political exchange. The British Empire's Royal Navy is undergoing the largest‑scale modernization in history. Ten new dreadnoughts are under simultaneous construction; every shipyard, every engineer, every skilled worker is already at full capacity."

He leaned forward, hands crossed on the table, adopting a sincere posture:

"Do you know what Lord Fisher said? He said: 'The Royal Navy now resembles a besieged army; not a single gun, not a single bullet can be given to anyone, even the closest friend.'"

"'Closest friend.'" Dubuwa repeated the term, a barely perceptible sarcasm in his voice, "Then, Marquis, how do you think the French Republic should protect its overseas interests and national security under the pressure of the German Navy?"

"Diplomatic means," Langsidun replied immediately, "The balance-of-power diplomacy in Europe has maintained peace for thirty years. Germany displays force, but that does not mean they will use it. As long as we stay calm and restrained..."

"Stay calm and restrained while watching Germany build dreadnoughts ship after ship?" Dubuwa interrupted, his anger unmasked, "Marquis, when six cannons point at your doorstep, would you advise your neighbor to 'stay calm'?"

The atmosphere suddenly grew tense.

Marquis Langsi Dun's smile vanished: "General, please watch your words."

"I am watching closely," Du Buwa said, standing, both hands braced on the table, looking down from his height at the Yingguo diplomat. "So I know exactly what I am saying: the Great Yingguo Empire is abandoning its allies, leaving them to face the threat from Deguo alone."

"No one has been abandoned…"

"Then give me a precise date!" Du Buwa raised his voice. "Not 'after 1909', not 'once the existing orders are fulfilled'. A precise, written‑in‑black date—when will the Faguo Navy receive its first dreadnought?"

Marquis Langsi Dun fell silent.

He could not comply. The Yingguo Navy Department's directive to the Foreign Ministry was clear: no explicit promises could be given to the Faguo. Yingguo's shipbuilding capacity had to prioritize its own needs—an iron rule that Fei She Er secured by smashing the Prime Minister's porcelain.

"See," Du Buwa stood upright, smoothing his uniform, his voice returning to calm, though that calm was more terrifying than his earlier anger. "You won't even offer a false promise. That is what your country calls 'traditional friendship.'"

He turned toward the door, but stopped when his hand reached the knob.

Without looking back, he faced away from Marquis Langsi Dun and said:

"Your Excellency Marquis, please convey to your Navy Department and Cabinet: when the Faguo is forced to seek other avenues to protect itself, do not be surprised. After all, survival is every nation's primary instinct."

"Other countries' avenues?" Langsi Dun frowned. "General, what do you mean?"

Du Buwa finally turned, a cold smile on his face:

"What I mean is, the world is vast. Desperate people will search every possible place for hope."

The door opened, then closed.

The Faguo Navy delegation left.

Marquis Langsi Dun sat alone in his office, his brows knit. He picked up the phone: "Connect me to Lord Fei She Er's office at the Navy Department… Yes, now."

While waiting for the connection, he looked out the window. London's overcast remained as always, gray clouds hanging low as if they would never clear.

The line connected.

"Fei She Er? This is Langsi Dun. The French just came by, very displeased… no, not just disappointed, angry. General Du Buwa said something strange about 'seeking other avenues'… yes, I also find it odd. Has your intelligence caught any rumors? About channels through which other nations might obtain dreadnoughts?"

On the other end, Fei She Er's voice came, rapid and with his usual impatience.

Langsi Dun listened, his complexion gradually changing.

"Persian Gulf? Chinese? Are you sure this isn't a fairy tale? … have you already sent someone to investigate? God… if this is true …"

He hung up, pacing back and forth in the office.

The Faguo's threat is not baseless. If they truly have found other ways to acquire dreadnoughts—no matter how implausible—Yingguo's leverage on the Morocco issue would diminish greatly.

More importantly, if dreadnought technology begins to spread…

Langsi Dun stopped, picked up another phone: "Connect me to the embassy in Paris. Tell the ambassador I need an urgent report: has the Faguo Navy Department recently had any unusual personnel movements or budget allocations? Especially… those related to the Middle East or Far East."

After hanging up, the seasoned diplomat felt a chill.

The world is changing at a speed he cannot comprehend.

And the diplomatic finesse the Great Yingguo Empire prides itself on appears so pale and powerless before an absolute technological gap.