Chapter 310: Repatriation

"Minister Wang," Thomson tried to stay polite, "Your suggestion… is unrealistic. Transporting and resettling 150,000 laborers would require huge costs and complex organization. Moreover, Britain and France urgently need this manpower; the Western Front can't wait."

"The war in Europe can't wait, but can 150,000 lives wait?" Wang Wenwu retorted.

Zhou Xiaoru finally recovered his composure, trembling as he said, "Minister Wang, this matter… this matter has been announced to the world, all nations know it. If we change it midway, where will the Republic of China's international reputation stand? Where will the President's face be?"

Wang Wenwu looked at him, suddenly feeling pity for the braid‑wearing elder. In his mind he still thought of "face" and "reputation," not the 150,000 compatriots who might die.

"Representative Zhou," Wang Wenwu said softly, "We can rebuild lost reputation, we can regain lost face. But once a person dies, they never return."

Zhou Xiaoru opened his mouth but said nothing.

Thomson stood up: "Minister Wang, I will report today's discussion to London truthfully. But I must remind you, this involves the Anglo‑French‑Chinese three‑nation agreement; Lanfang's unilateral opposition is unlikely to change anything."

Dupont also stood: "The French government likewise will not accept unilateral changes. Our troops on the Western Front are bleeding; we need every usable manpower."

Wang Wenwu nodded: "I understand. Then I formally inform the three of you: the Lanfang Navy's two battleships will set sail tomorrow for Europe. Besides their normal trade missions, they have a special task—repatriating Chinese laborers who wish to leave the European war zone."

"What?!" Thomson exclaimed, voice lost, "You intend to send warships to Europe to pick people up?"

"Yes." Wang Wenwu said, "This is not a military operation, it is a humanitarian action. We will issue a public notice informing all Chinese laborers in Europe or about to go to Europe: Lanfang will provide them shelter and a new life. As long as they are willing, our ships will be there."

Dupont was so angry his beard trembled: "This is a blatant violation of the agreement! It's provocation!"

"This is saving lives," Wang Wenwu corrected, "and I must remind the three of you—if, because of Anglo‑French obstruction, any Chinese laborer dies unnaturally in the war zone, Lanfang will regard that as harm to all Chinese and reserve the right to take any necessary measures to protect compatriots' rights."

He paused, then added, "Including, but not limited to, a full reassessment of relations with the relevant countries, even… considering further actions."

That was a naked threat.

Thomson's face turned ashen: "Minister Wang, do you know what these words mean?"

"I am very clear," Wang Wenwu said, "But some words must be spoken, some deeds must be done. You three may return to report. Goodbye."

He made a dismissive wave.

Thomson, Dupont, and Zhou Xiaoru staggered out of the reception room. After the door closed, Wang Wenwu collapsed into his chair, only then noticing his back was soaked with cold sweat.

His earlier firmness was half performance, half genuine anger. Yet it worked—the news had already spread, and the ensuing reaction will now depend on how London, Paris, and Beijing choose.

The secretary gently pushed the door open: "Minister Wang, are you all right?"

Wang Wenwu waved his hand: "I'm fine. How is the President doing?"

"The President is in another meeting about the specific labor‑placement plan," the secretary said. "He asked me to tell you you did well. When firmness is needed, be firm."

Wang Wenwu gave a wry smile. He was firm, but the pressure to come, may exceed everyone's imagination.

He walked to the window, looking at Dubai Port. On the dock, the Huai River and Pearl River were making final resupplies. The two massive ships glimmered cold, hard metallic light in the sunset, their Main Gun pointing to the sky as if proclaiming something.

Tomorrow, they will set sail.

Carrying an almost impossible mission, bearing a nation's resolve, heading toward the burning lands thousands of miles away.

To bring back their compatriots.

No matter the cost.

May 8, 1916, early morning, Borneo Naval Base.

The morning mist over the sea was like a layer of milky veil, drifting slowly. Within the harbor, two steel giants rested quietly beside the deep‑water pier—the Bismarck Class battleships "Huai River" and "Pearl River." Behind them, six ten‑thousand‑ton merchant ships had finished loading, cargo crates covered with waterproof canvas neatly stacked on deck.

On the dock, Major General Li Te stood at the gangway, giving one last check of the document list in his hand. The navy officer was of medium build, his face chiseled by sea wind into hard lines, with deep crow's‑feet at the corners of his eyes. He wore the Lanfang Navy dark‑blue uniform, the two silver stars on his shoulder boards glinting faintly in the dawn.

"Ammunition resupplied, fresh‑water tanks full, fuel tanks full," Colonel Chen Shaoming handed over the final confirmation sheet, "All officers and soldiers, 824 total, all present."

Li Te nodded, signing his name on the document. His handwriting was vigorous, just like his character.

In the distance the sound of car engines came. Three black sedans drove onto the pier and stopped before the guard line. Chen Feng stepped down from the first car, followed by Wang Wenwu and Zhou Tieshan.

Li Te immediately stepped forward, stood at attention and saluted: "President!"

Chen Feng returned the salute, his gaze sweeping over the two giant ships: "All ready?"

"Everything is set, we will depart promptly at seven o'clock," Li Te replied, "According to plan, we first escort the merchant convoy to Wilhelm Port, unload, then head straight to Calais, France. If all goes smoothly, we can reach the French coast in twenty‑five days."

"If… it doesn't go smoothly?" Chen Feng asked, looking into his eyes.

Li Te was silent for a few seconds: "President, from the South China Sea to Germany, the whole route is twelve thousand two hundred nautical miles. We must pass the Strait of Malacca, the Indian Ocean, the Gulf of Aden, the Red Sea, the Suez Canal, the Mediterranean, the Strait of Gibraltar, and finally enter the North Sea. Along this route, the British Navy has at least six major bases that could intercept us at any time."

He paused: "But I assure you, as long as I have a breath in me, I will get the ships to France and bring our compatriots back."

Chen Feng patted his shoulder: "I don't want you to throw yourself into a frenzy, I want you to complete the mission. Remember, you're not going to fight a war, you're going to fetch people. But if anyone blocks your rescue…"

He stopped, turned to look at the Huai River's massive 380‑mm Main Gun. The barrel glimmered cold, sharp metallic light in the morning mist.

"…then they'll know the Lanfang Navy is not a mere ornament."

Wang Wenwu stepped forward, handing Li Te a sealed leather satchel: "These are the Foreign Ministry's authorization documents, plus copies of the notes to Britain, France, and Germany. If questioned, you may present them. But remember—presentation is a procedure, not a request for permission."

Zhou Tieshan handed over a smaller envelope: "This is a special authorization from the Navy Department. In any of the following three situations you may use force in self‑defense: first, the other side fires first; second, they attempt to board and inspect forcibly; third, they use force to block you from transporting laborers."