Chapter 343: The Sakura Kingdom Must Prove the Army

"They will accept," Chen Feng said confidently, "because they need victory, they need war honors, they need to prove the army's value. For that, they are willing to pay any price."

He walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of wine, and handed Wang Wenwu a glass.

"You know, sometimes I think we are a lot like the Sakura Kingdom. Both are Yazhou nations, both want to break free from Western control, both want to rise. But the paths we choose differ."

He took a sip: "They choose to expand by force, to prove themselves through war. We choose commerce, technology, and gradually building strength. Tell me, which road is smarter?"

Wang Wenwu thought for a long time: "Their road shows results quickly, but the risk is high. Our road is slow, but steady."

"Right," Chen Feng nodded, "but in wartime, quick results are an advantage. That's why the Sakura Kingdom looks glorious now—great victory on the eastern front, the army flaunting its might, domestic frenzy. Yet all that is built on a sandcastle; when the tide recedes, it will collapse."

He walked to the balcony, gazing at the distant sea: "What we aim to build is a stone fortress. Brick by brick, slowly stacked, slowly reinforced. It may not look tall or bright now, but when the storm comes, only the stone fortress will stand firm."

The sea wind blew in, carrying a salty, fishy scent and distant whistle of a steam engine.

Wang Wenwu walked to his side, also watching the sea.

"President, what do you think… when will this war end?"

Chen Feng did not answer immediately. He stared northward, as if he could see through countless mountains and waters, seeing the warships on the North Sea, the steel behemoths about to collide.

"Soon," he finally said, "when the cannon fire over the North Sea stops, when both sides' blood has flowed enough, when everyone is exhausted… it should end."

"And after it ends?"

"After it ends," Chen Feng turned, a complex light flashing in his eyes, "that is the real beginning. The funeral of the old order, the birth of the new order. And we…"

He paused, his voice light yet firm:

"We must become the shapers of the new order, not the shaped. This is what we must do for the past ten years, twenty years, even fifty years."

From afar came the sound of bells. Midnight struck twelve, a new day began.

Chen Feng raised his glass toward the northern sky.

"A toast to those about to fight," he whispered, "to those about to die. To this mad era, to us who walk on the blade's edge."

Then he drank it all in one gulp.

North Sea, midsection, 57°N, 3°E, four o'clock in the morning.

Thick fog like a heavy gray carpet covered the sea, visibility dropping below five hundred yards. In this gray‑white chaos, the steel behemoths sailed quietly at 16 knots, like ghosts drifting in a dream.

Jieli Ke stood on the bridge of the Iron Duke, both hands gripping the rail. He tried to pierce the thick fog to observe the fleet, but all he could see was a vast grayness. Occasionally, the silhouette of a nearby warship would emerge in the fog—dark hull, towering mast, massive gun barrels—then vanish the next moment as if never there.

"Major General, weather report," the communications officer handed a damp telegram sheet, "For the next six hours, fog will persist, visibility may further drop to three hundred yards. Wind force level two, sea state calm."

Jieli Ke took the telegram, glanced at it by the dim navigation lamp. His expression appeared especially solemn in the amber light.

"Three hundred yards…" he whispered, repeating the number, "At this Distance, we can't even see our own ship's hull number."

First Sea Minister Si Tu Di Major General walked to his side, his face equally heavy: "In this weather, sonar interference is severe. If Deguo suddenly appear in the fog…"

"That would be a melee," Jieli Ke replied, "the most primitive, chaotic, and bloody kind."

He turned toward the chart table. Spread on it was the full map of the North Sea, two red arrows representing the Yingguo fleet converging from opposite directions. Beidi's fleet lay about eighty nautical miles to the northwest, still pursuing the Deguo reconnaissance fleet. His own main fleet was to the southwest, advancing as planned toward the designated rendezvous point.

Between the two red arrows lay a blue shadow representing the Deguo fleet—position unknown, number unknown, intent unknown.

"Beidi's latest position?" Jieli Ke asked.

The staff quickly marked on the chart: "Based on radio bearings from an hour ago, Beidi's fleet is at 57°15′N, 2°45′E. Heading 115°, speed 22 knots. Still pursuing Deguo's ship Xi Pei Er fleet, which shares the same heading, about fifteen nautical miles away."

"Fifteen nautical miles…" Jieli Ke's finger drew a line on the chart, "Xi Pei Er is pulling Beidi toward the southeast. What's there?"

The staff leaned over the chart, using a compass to measure distance and angle: "Southeast… is Duo Ge Tan. Farther out is He Er Ge Lan Bay. If we go deeper…"

"If we go deeper," Si Tu Di continued, "Beidi may collide with She Er's main fleet. And we have no forces in that direction."

Jieli Ke stared silently at the chart. The bridge was quiet, only the low rumble of the engines and the regular ticking of the chronometer. Everyone waited for his decision.

"Send a dispatch to Beidi," he finally spoke, his voice calm yet authoritative, "Recommend adjusting heading to 100°, reducing pursuit speed. Repeat, recommend adjusting heading to 100°, reducing pursuit speed."

"Recommend?" Si Tu Di raised an eyebrow, "Not a command?"

"Beidi is a battlefield commander," Jieli Ke said, "He has discretionary authority. And…" He paused, "If we now force an order to turn, we may miss the opportunity. If Xi Pei Er is actually baiting with a single ship…"

The communications officer ran to send the dispatch. Jieli Ke continued to stare at the chart, as if trying to see the real sea through the paper, seeing the warships sailing in the thick fog, seeing the fate of imminent collisions.

"Major General," Si Tu Di lowered his voice, "You're actually worried about another possibility, aren't you?"

Jieli Ke gave him a glance and nodded.

"You worry that Beidi wants to fight too much, wants to prove the value of a battleship‑cruiser, and will pursue recklessly. You fear he'll chase into a trap, yet you cannot directly order a retreat, because that would damage morale and the fleet's offensive spirit." Si Tu Di said.

Jieli Ke did not deny it. He walked to the port window, looking at the impenetrable fog outside.

"Dai Wei Beidi is the most courageous, most combative naval officer I've ever seen," he said slowly, "but also perhaps the most reckless. He craves battle, craves honor, craves to be remembered like Nelson. This desire is a drive in peace, but on the battlefield… may be fatal."

The bridge door was pushed open, a young Lieutenant hurried in, holding a freshly decoded telegram.

"Major General! Intelligence has intercepted and decoded part of the Deguo fleet's communications!" His voice trembled with excitement, "Though incomplete, the keywords show… 'Plan A', 'Rendezvous Point', 'Time Window'!"

Jieli Ke snatched the telegram. The text on the paper was fragmented, but several keywords were clearly visible:

"…Execute according to Plan A… Xi Pei Er fleet maintains contact but avoids decisive battle… She Er's main force will arrive at the rendezvous point at 0600… Time window about four hours…"

"Where is the rendezvous point?" Jieli Ke demanded.

The staff immediately pounced on the chart, triangulating from the fragmented bearings. Minutes later, a position was circled—56°10′N, 5°20′E.

"Southeast of Duo Ge Tan…" Jieli Ke inhaled sharply, "Distance Beidi's current position about sixty nautical miles, Distance us about one hundred nautical miles."

He quickly calculated the time. It was now 4:20 am. If Deguo's "0600 arrival at the rendezvous point" is accurate, there is still one hour and forty minutes.