Chapter 369: Public Opinion

Wang Wenwu thought for a few seconds: "It means… the war will continue. Neither side has been broken, and neither has lost the will to fight."

"Right." Chen Feng walked back to his desk, picked up another document, "And this also means both sides will draw lessons and improve. Yingguo will strengthen the protection of its battlecruisers and improve Shell fuzes. Deguo will… continue seeking ways to break the blockade."

He paused, a sharp light in his eyes: "And for us, this means opportunity."

"Opportunity?"

"All kinds of opportunities." Chen Feng said, "The Germans have proved their warships are more survivable—Seydlitz took nineteen Shells, took on five thousand tons of water, yet still managed to limp back to port. The Yingguo will want to know why, will want to acquire the related technology. And the Deguo, desperate for resources and foreign exchange, may be willing to trade."

He wrote several keywords on the document: armor design, waterproof bulkheads, Shell fuzes, fire‑control system.

"Have Liu Qinian's technical team prepare a detailed requirements list." Chen Feng said, "Also, contact our channels in Berlin to probe the German Navy Department's attitude. They now need friends, need support—especially if Emperor Wilhelm might order them to strike again."

After speaking, Chen Feng looked toward the shipyard outside the window, where four Bismarck Class battleships were still being hurriedly built; their "master" should be arriving soon!

Wang Wenwu quickly took notes, then asked: "What about the Sakura Nation? They are still waiting for equipment for the third wave of expeditionary troops."

"Supply as usual." Chen Feng said, "and we can add some new items— the situation inside Deguo is very unstable; I expect the Deguo will soon launch a war, and the Sakura soldiers still need to keep working, so we can send them to the Western Front, letting them prove their worth before England and France!!!"

Typical Chen Feng thinking—finding business opportunities in every crisis, developing new products from every war lesson.

"But President," Wang Wenwu hesitated, "does this… become too cold‑blooded? So many people die at sea, and we are here calculating how to make money…"

Chen Feng looked at him, his gaze complex: "Minister Wang, do you know why Lanfang has survived?"

Wang Wenwu shook his head.

"Because we are clear‑headed." Chen Feng said, his voice low, "because we know that in this world, compassion and morality cannot save a nation. Only strength, only profit, only cold calculation can let us survive in the cracks between the great powers."

He walked to the window, looking at the bustling Dubai Port: "I regret those who died in the North Sea. But my primary duty is to keep Lanfang's citizens from suffering such deaths. To achieve that, I need resources, I need technology, I need to make Lanfang so strong that no one dares to wage war against us."

He turned, his gaze firm: "So, yes, this is cold‑blooded. But it is necessary cold‑bloodedness. Because if we are not cold‑blooded, not calculating, not seizing every opportunity to grow, then one day Lanfang's fleet will sink in some sea, and Lanfang's youths will die in the icy water."

Wang Wenwu fell silent. He knew Chen Feng was right, but still felt a certain unease inside.

"Also," Chen Feng continued, "send a private letter to Xi Yuan Si Gongwang. The content… should express condolences for the fallen soldiers, but also point out that the Sakura Nation's currently 'beautiful' life is being forged by their army!!!"

"You want them to promote the army in public opinion?" Wang Wenwu exclaimed, surprised.

"No, I'm merely expressing 'concern.'" Chen Feng smiled faintly, "how they interpret it is up to them. But at least this letter will provoke some thought in Tokyo—after all, to get by, you need a green steel helmet on your head." (The editor refers to the green steel helmet of the combat period)

Wang Wenwu understood. This is not moral persuasion, it is psychological warfare—planting a seed in the Sakura Nation's high command to influence their decisions.

"I understand." he said, "I'll take care of it."

"One more thing." Chen Feng called him back, "have our agents in London and Berlin focus on one issue: the post‑war trajectory of public opinion, and… the evaluation of commanders."

"Are you worried that Jelliko or Sher will be dismissed?"

"What I fear is that whoever gets dismissed, the successor may be more radical, more eager to prove themselves." Chen Feng said, "and a more radical commander means more battles, more consumption, and… more demand."

Demand. Demand for weapons, for resources, for capital.

And Lanfang can supply those demands.

After Wang Wenwu left, Chen Feng stood alone before the map, motionless for a long time.

His fingers lightly brushed the North Sea spot, as if he could feel the waves there, the flames there, the death there.

Six thousand. Seven thousand. Cold numbers, yet each once was a living person.

He closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said in his heart, to those unknown, distant sea souls. "I'm sorry, the world is this way. I'm sorry, humanity is this way. I'm sorry, I must be this way."

Then he opened his eyes, his gaze once again calm, sharp, resolute.

Because he is Lanfang's President, his responsibility is to the Chinese, not to Europeans, not to the Sakura Nation, nor even to Southeast Asians.

And the future requires every present calm, even ruthless decision.

The North Sea battle has ended.

But on the world's chessboard, the pieces are still moving.

And Chen Feng is determined to make Lanfang the player, not the piece.

No matter how much calm, how much calculation, how much walking on the moral edge it requires.

He will do it.

Because that is the price of leadership.

Berlin, Wuyou Palace, June 4, 11 a. m.

Sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows into the audience hall, casting bright spots on the polished marble floor. The air was filled with the fresh scent of orange blossom and cedar from the garden, mingled with the faint smoke of candles burning in the hall.

Wilhelm II stood in the center of the hall, dressed in the Prussian Army Field Marshal uniform, his chest covered with medals. He stood with his hands behind his back, head held high, gazing at the massive oil painting on the wall—1871, when his grandfather Wilhelm I was crowned German Emperor in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. In the scene, Bismarck, Mauch, all the Prussian generals and princes stood solemnly, witnessing the birth of an empire.

Forty‑five years have passed. Now, this empire is proving itself on the world stage.

"Your Majesty."

A voice came from behind. Wilhelm II turned, seeing Field Marshal Tirpitz at the doorway, bowing slightly.

The veteran marshal today wore a formal navy field marshal uniform, the deep‑blue wool embroidered with gold thread, but the uniform seemed looser than when they last met—Tirpitz had lost a lot of weight these days. His complexion was somewhat pale, dark eye bags, yet his posture remained upright, maintaining the bearing a soldier should have.