Chapter 379: The President Has a Proposal

Please, come in.

The one who entered was a liaison officer sent by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a young official named Schmidt, with blond hair and blue eyes, whose demeanor was proper but whose eyes showed fatigue.

"Mr. Wang, welcome to Berlin," Schmidt said in fluent English. "Your Majesty thanks President Lanfang for the greetings and welcomes your visit. Here is the agenda for this afternoon's meeting."

He handed over a document. Wang Wenwu took it and skimmed it quickly. The agenda was brief: ceremonial greetings, gift exchange, "exchange views on mutually concerning international affairs"—typical diplomatic language, saying nothing yet saying everything.

"I understand," Wang Wenwu nodded. "May I ask, how is Your Majesty feeling today?"

Schmidt hesitated. The question went beyond normal diplomatic protocol, but he seemed to judge that frankness would be more advantageous: "Not very well, sir. The battle report from Verdun arrived this morning; we have lost over eight thousand more. The navy… progress is slow. Your Majesty lost his temper at Wuyou Palace last night and smashed a Chinese porcelain vase."

"What a pity," Wang Wenwu said calmly. "Then, should I adjust my negotiation strategy?"

"My suggestion is… be more direct," Schmidt lowered his voice. "Your Majesty no longer has patience for diplomatic platitudes; he needs a solution, or at least hope. But remember, we must not appear to be giving charity; Your Majesty is very sensitive."

"Understood. Thank you for your candor, Mr. Schmidt."

After the liaison officer left, Wang Wenwu took a thick folder from his briefcase. Inside were not documents but photographs—high‑resolution images of two towering battleships under construction in a shipyard, their hulls already painted in deep‑gray naval paint, the barrels of the Main Gun turrets glinting coldly in the sunlight.

Bismarck Class battleships. In Lanfang's navy the "Yangtze" and the "Yellow River"—standard displacement 41,000 tons, equipped with eight 380 mm Main Guns, maximum speed 30 knots. According to Chen Feng, these two ships are a decade ahead of any active warship of this era.

And they are about to become bargaining chips.

Wang Wenwu stared at the photos, recalling his last conversation with Chen Feng before leaving Dubai.

"Remember," Chen Feng said then, standing before the strategic map at the Presidential Office, his back to Wang, "Wilhelm II now looks like a gambler whose eyes are bloodshot from losing. He has wagered too many chips at Verdun, cannot retrieve them, and dares not raise the stakes. The navy is his last hope, but Tirpitz tells him that hope is false."

"So we give him a new hope," Wang Wenwu said.

"An expensive hope," Chen Feng turned, his gaze sharp. "He cannot pay cash, but we can let him settle with other things—political influence, technology transfer, future trade privileges. Most importantly, we make him owe us a favor. In international politics, a favor is worth more than gold."

"What if he refuses?"

"He won't," Chen Feng said, walking to the liquor cabinet and pouring two glasses of whiskey. "Because he has no choice. Either accept our terms or watch the grinding machine on the Western Front keep turning until Deguo is drained of its last drop of blood. Wilhelm is no fool; he knows how to calculate."

Now, Wang Wenwu is about to make that calculation.

He placed the photos back into the folder and took another document from his bag—a joint asset appraisal report issued by Lanfang's Ministry of Finance and Central Bank, detailing the principal, interest, and repayment schedule of Lanfang's £30 million loan to Deguo, and, most importantly, that if the loan defaults, Lanfang may pledge Hood Class ships as collateral.

Everything is ready.

At 2:45 p. m., a Mercedes sedan arrived again. This time its destination was Wuyou Palace.

The west wing of Wuyou Palace, the Emperor's study.

Wilhelm II stood by the window, his back to the room. He was dressed in the Prussian Army Field Marshal's uniform today, deep‑blue wool embroidered with gold thread, his chest laden with medals—the House of Hohenzollern medal, the Black Eagle medal, the Merit medal… Yet the shining metal and silk ribbons could not conceal the fatigue and anxiety on his face.

"Your Majesty, the Lanfang envoy Mr. Wang Wenwu has arrived," the attendant whispered.

"Let him in."

Wilhelm did not turn. He looked through the window at the garden outside, where June roses were in full bloom, but he had no mood to appreciate them. The battle report delivered this morning lay spread on his desk, the cold figures—killed, wounded, missing—pricking his eyes like needles.

Verdun. That damned Verdun. Six months have passed; Degjun has thrown thirty divisions there, suffering over 300,000 casualties, yet the front has advanced less than seven kilometers. The French resistance is stubborn beyond imagination, and Deguo's manpower is being rapidly depleted.

The navy is even worse.

Tirpitz, that old stubborn, keeps evading with technical excuses—fleet needs repairs, crews need training, ammunition needs replenishment… always an excuse. Wilhelm knows some reasons are genuine, but he needs a victory, one that can boost domestic morale, give allies hope, and frighten the enemy.

Even if it's only a small victory.

The door opened and closed. The measured footsteps were almost inaudible on the thick carpet.

"Your Majesty."

Wilhelm finally turned. Standing in the center of the study was an Oriental man, about forty, of average build, with a calm face and eyes that bore the shrewdness and composure typical of a merchant. He wore a well‑tailored suit, held a briefcase, his posture respectful yet not servile.

"Mr. Wang," Wilhelm said, walking to the desk and gesturing for the other to sit in the opposite chair. "Welcome to Berlin. How is President Chen Feng in health?"

"Thanks to Your Majesty's blessing, the President is in good health," Wang Wenwu sat down, placing his briefcase at his feet. "He has tasked me with conveying your most sincere greetings to Your Majesty and presenting a gift."

He opened his briefcase, took out an exquisite rosewood box, and placed it opposite on the desk. Wilhelm opened the box; inside was a set of fine Chinese porcelain tea ware—white background with blue‑and‑white motifs of pine and cranes symbolizing longevity, the glaze smooth as a mirror, glowing warmly under the crystal chandelier in the study.

"Very beautiful," Wilhelm nodded, though his interest was limited. He was not in the mood for artworks. "Please thank President Chen Feng for me. So, Mr. Wang, besides the greetings, what else brings you here?"

Straight to the point. As Schmidt had said, the Emperor has no patience for small talk.

Wang Wenwu sat upright, hands crossed on his knees: "Your Majesty, I have two purposes for this visit. First, the loan matter between your country and Lanfang. Second, President Chen Feng has a proposal that might help Your Majesty resolve some… current difficulties."

Wilhelm's eyebrows rose. "Oh? What proposal?"