Chapter 305: How Dare They

Europe is burning, Asia is awakening, the Americas are watching. And Lanfang, like a newborn star, slowly rises in the night sky of history, its light growing brighter.

He knows he is taking a risk. But as he told Zhou Tieshan— a tightrope walker, if he only watches the abyss beneath his feet, he will fall. Only by keeping his eyes on the endpoint ahead can he make it across.

And his endpoint is a powerful, independent, respected Chinese nation.

For that, he is willing to risk everything.

A bell chimes from outside the window at midnight. A new day begins.

Chen Feng turns off the light and leaves the office. The corridor is quiet, only his footsteps echo.

Tomorrow, the sun will rise as usual.

And Lanfang will continue onward.

Amid the roar of steel behemoths, under the sky where the giant Kunpeng spreads its wings, on the wheels of history that roll ever forward.

April 3, 1916, 6:30 a. m.

Inside the secret communications room of the Dubai Presidential Palace, a 24‑hour teleprinter clicks rhythmically. On‑duty secretary Chen Wenya—a twenty‑five‑year‑old young woman wearing tortoiseshell‑framed glasses and a neat khaki uniform—is tearing the newly received telegram from the paper roll.

This is the first batch of international news summaries each day, collected and compiled by the Lanfang News Agency from its twelve bureaus worldwide, then consolidated in the early hours and sent back to Dubai. The content usually covers the European war situation, political developments of various nations, financial market changes, and occasionally some fluff.

Chen Wenya skillfully marks classification symbols on the telegram with a red pen, preparing to deliver it to the President's office in half an hour. Her hand flips through the pages quickly, her eyes scanning line after line:

Reuters London, April 2: The British Army Department announces that preparations for the Somme offensive are progressing smoothly, with thirty new artillery batteries already deployed…

Agence France‑Presse Paris: French Prime Minister Bai Lian told Parliament that the Germans cannot break through the Verdun line…

Associated Press New York: President Wilson again calls for peace negotiations between the warring sides…

All of it is routine. Chen Wenya yawns, preparing to fetch a cup of coffee. At that moment, the teleprinter's bell suddenly becomes rapid— a sign of an urgent message.

She hurried back to her seat, watching the paper tape slowly spout new text. The first few lines are still normal:

Lanfang News Agency North X, April 3, 6 a. m.: President Yuan of the Central XX Country announced today…

Then a blank; the teleprinter pauses for a few seconds. Chen Wenya frowns, taps the machine. Then the paper tape resumes moving, but much slower, as if the operator is choosing words carefully:

…to fulfill international obligations and showcase the civilized stature of China X, it has decided to dispatch 150,000 Chinese laborers to the Western Front in Europe, assisting the Anglo‑French coalition with logistical support, construction of works and other non‑combat duties. The first batch of 30,000 workers will set out from Tian X Port on April 15…

Chen Wenya's hand stops. She blinks, then reads it again.

150,000 Chinese laborers. Western Front. Non‑combat work.

Those phrases together give her an inexplicable unease. She continues reading:

…this measure results from friendly consultations between the government of China X and the governments of Britain and France, and the Chinese laborers will receive the same treatment as Allied logistical personnel. Foreign Ministry chief Lu X Xiang said this will elevate China X's international standing and lay a foundation for post‑war participation in international affairs…

…recruitment of laborers has begun in Zhili, Shandong, Jiangsu and other provinces, with enthusiastic enrollment. Each laborer receives a basic salary of twenty silver dollars per month, of which ten dollars are sent directly to their families…

The paper tape stops. Chen Wenya stares at those lines, her mind racing. She has worked in the Presidential Palace for three years, absorbing the atmosphere, and has a basic grasp of international politics. What exactly is the Western Front in Europe? Verdun, the Somme, Ypres… those place names repeatedly appear in battle reports, each time accompanied by tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of casualties.

Non‑combat work? Building fortifications, transporting ammunition, burying bodies a few kilometers from the front— is that really "non‑combat"?

She grabs the telegram and darts out of the communications room, jogging down the corridor. The government building is still quiet in the early morning, only a cleaner polishing the marble floor, producing a rhythmic scrubbing sound.

"Secretary Chen, this early?" a familiar voice calls out.

It is Wang Wenwu. The Minister of Commerce arrived unusually early today, carrying a briefcase, his eyes darkened, clearly having stayed up late again last night.

"Minister Wang, an urgent telegram." Chen Wenya hands over the paper, "Something big happened up north at X…"

Wang Wenwu takes the telegram and reads it quickly under the corridor lights. His expression shifts from calm to puzzled, from puzzled to shocked, finally settling into an indescribable complex look— anger, disbelief, and a hint of… sorrow?

"This… this can't be." he mutters, "Has the North XX Office gone mad?"

"The news has already been released; Reuters and AFP have reprinted it." Chen Wenya whispers, "Minister Wang, should we wake the President now?"

Wang Wenwu glances at his watch: 6:45 a. m. Chen Feng usually gets up at seven and starts work at half past seven.

"Let him sleep another fifteen minutes." Wang Wenwu sighs, "This news… requires a clear mind to handle."

But he himself is already fully awake. 150,000 Chinese laborers, the Western Front, twenty silver dollars a month… each figure pierces his heart like a needle.

Wang Wenwu is also Chinese; his grandfather's generation went down to the South Ocean to make a living. He grew up hearing elders tell stories of Chinese laborers— those who went to the United States to build railroads, to Peru to dig guano, to South Africa to mine. Among those men, three out of ten died on the road, three died at the worksite, and the few who survived returned bearing injuries and illnesses.

And now the North XX Office intends to send 150,000 compatriots to a European battlefield a hundred times more dangerous than those places.

"Minister Wang," Chen Wenya asks cautiously, "Is this… serious?"

Wang Wenwu looks at her young, confused face and suddenly feels at a loss for words. How to explain? Explain how many die each day in European trenches? Explain that when shells fall, construction laborers are blown to pieces just like combat soldiers? Explain that British and French officers basically disregard the lives of yellow‑skinned laborers?

"Very serious." he finally says, "Serious enough that… it could change many things."

The two walk to the lounge outside the President's office. Wang Wenwu sits down, stands up again, walks to the window and back. Chen Wenya silently brews two cups of tea.

"Secretary Chen," Wang Wenwu suddenly asks, "If you had a brother, twenty years old, and someone offered twenty silver dollars a month for him to go to the European battlefield to do construction work, would you let him go?"

Chen Wenya is stunned. She has a brother, nineteen this year, studying at a teachers' college in Borneo.

"I… wouldn't." she says honestly, "No amount of money would change that."

"Why?"

"Because no matter how much money, there's only one life." Chen Wenya says, "Besides, it's a war of Europeans; what does it have to do with us?"