Chapter 307: First Outburst

The chief of the guards looked at Wang Wenwu. Wang Wenwu shook his head slightly. The chief of the guards stepped back and closed the door again.

Chen Feng stood amid the litter of shards, his chest heaving violently. His hair was disheveled, his shirt collar open, and his hand was bleeding—he didn't know what had cut it.

"President, your hand…" Wang Wenwu said softly.

Chen Feng lowered his head, glanced, then tore a piece of paper from the ripped document and pressed it onto the wound.

"It's fine." His voice suddenly steadied, the calm after his fury making everyone more uneasy.

He walked back to his desk, sat down, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply—once, twice, three times.

When he opened his eyes again, the composed Chen Feng was back. Yet Wang Wenwu saw that his eyes now held something that hadn't been there before—a deep, icy resolve.

"Minister Wang," Chen Feng began, his voice frighteningly steady, "notify the core members: in an hour convene an emergency meeting. Zhou Tieshan, Zhang Zhen, Liu Qinian, Li Te, and you. Location… right here."

"Understood."

"Also," Chen Feng added, "tidy up what's on the floor. Have the kitchen bring up two servings of breakfast; neither of us has eaten yet."

Wang Wenwu nodded and prepared to go out and summon someone.

"Wait." Chen Feng called him again.

Wang Wenwu turned around.

Chen Feng stared at him and said word for word, "Do not spread today's incident. The President's temper is unsightly."

"I understand," Wang Wenwu said, "but I think your reaction today… is genuine. If even you aren't angry for the fate of our compatriots, this country would be too cold."

Chen Feng gave no reply, merely waved his hand.

After Wang Wenwu left, Chen Feng sat alone in the office. Sunlight poured fully in, dust in the air dancing in the shafts of light. The shards on the floor reflected tiny glints, like a field of star debris.

He looked at his hand; the bleeding had stopped, but the wound was deep and might leave a scar.

"Fine," Chen Feng thought. Keeping the scar would remind him why he was angry today, and that he must not forget.

He stood up and walked to the shattered window—when he smashed the thing earlier, a piece of paper weight flew out, cracking the glass into a spider‑web pattern.

Through the crack, Dubai Port was bustling. Cargo ships came and went, cranes lifted, workers busied themselves on the docks. Among them, many were Chinese, compatriots who in recent years had come from various parts of the South Ocean and mainland China to seek refuge in Lanfang.

Here they had work, dignity, and a future.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, 150,000 people were preparing to step onto a road of no return.

Chen Feng clenched his fist, and the wound began to ooze blood again.

No.

He would never allow it.

8:30 a. m., President's office.

The broken glass had been temporarily boarded over, the shards on the floor cleared, yet the wall still bore ink stains and the carpet retained tea marks. An unusual atmosphere pervaded the office—tense, solemn, and a suppressed anger.

Six people sat around the long conference table: Chen Feng, Wang Wenwu, Zhou Tieshan, Zhang Zhen, Liu Qinian, Li Te. Spread on the table were the telegram, a map of the Western Front of Europe, the full text of the Beiyang Government's proclamation, and a summary of reports from Yingguo and Faguo media.

Chen Feng sat in the head seat, a white gauze wrapped around his hand. His expression was calm, yet everyone felt the storm beneath that calm.

"Everyone knows the situation," Chen Feng began, without idle words, "150,000 Chinese laborers are to go to the Western Front of Europe. I want to hear your opinions."

A brief silence.

Finance Minister Li Yongguang spoke first. In his fifties, he was a shrewd Guangdong businessman who controlled Lanfang's finances.

"From a purely economic standpoint," Li Yongguang adjusted his glasses, "this isn't bad for us. Fifteen hundred thousand young laborers leaving China will exacerbate labor shortages in the North X Control Zone, driving wages up. Meanwhile, our plantations and mines in Borneo and Malaya have been seeking workers from the mainland—now the opportunity arises. We can raise recruitment benefits to lure those who might have gone to Europe to instead join Lanfang."

"Continue," Chen Feng said, expressionless.

"Moreover," Li Yongguang flipped through the ledger, "if those 150,000 actually go to Europe, at twenty silver coins per person per month, that's 36 million silver coins a year in foreign‑exchange revenue. That money would be remitted through HSBC, Standard Chartered and other banks back to X Country, entering the financial market. We could find ways to divert a portion, or at least earn it back through trade."

Typical merchant thinking, Wang Wenwu thought. Yet it couldn't be wrong; this is reality.

Industry Minister Liu Qinian spoke, his tone a bit hesitant: "President, I… I may have to say something unpleasant."

"Speak."

"It is indeed dangerous if those 150,000 go," Liu Qinian said, "but if they stay at home? In Zhili, Shandong and other regions, last year's floods and this year's spring drought have left too many farmers unable to survive. Going to Europe is risky, but at least there's food and money. Staying home could mean starving, disease, or being conscripted by warlords—also a dead end."

He paused: "I'm not saying the North X Regime is right; I'm saying… for many of them, this may already be the best option."

The conference room fell quieter. Liu Qinian was speaking the harsh reality—when survival is at stake, danger is secondary.

Rear Admiral Zhang Zhen cleared his throat. The general sat upright, his uniform immaculate.

"From a military standpoint, I have a question," he said, "why do Yingguo and Faguo need 150,000 Chinese laborers? Don't they have enough people themselves?"

Chen Feng replied, "They do, but not enough. Yingguo has a volunteer army system and has mobilized three million men so far, causing severe domestic labor shortages. France has a small population and high casualties, so they lack manpower. Thus they turn to the colonies—India, Africa, and X Country."

"But Indian and African workers are cheap," Zhang Zhen said, "why insist on Chinese? And they even offer a high price of twenty silver coins?"

Wang Wenwu continued, "Because Chinese are diligent, disciplined, and quick learners. And… easy to control. Indians have nationalist sentiments, Africans have language barriers. Chinese? Obedient, submissive, and even in death no one protests."

The words were cold, yet everyone understood it was the truth.

Zhou Tieshan, who had remained silent, finally spoke: "President, you summoned us not to weigh pros and cons, right? You've already decided, haven't you?"

Everyone's gaze focused on Chen Feng.

Chen Feng slowly rose, walked to the temporary boarded window. Sunlight leaked through the gap, casting streaks of light across his face.