Chapter 383: That Damned Contract

At 1:20 in the morning, Wang Wenwu walked back into the reception hall. Wilhelm was still there; the fire in the hearth had died down a little, and a servant had just added fresh logs.

"Your Majesty," Wang Wenwu said, "Grand Leader Chen Feng has replied."

Wilhelm looked up, a trace of barely perceptible tension in his eyes.

"The Grand Leader agrees to your proposal," Wang Wenwu said calmly. "Twelve million in gold, paid in three installments. One Bismarck Class is offset by the loan, the other to be paid over fifteen years at three percent annual interest, secured by Hanseatic League trading rights."

A faint smile appeared at the corners of Wilhelm's mouth—a smile of relief.

"Good," he said. "Very good. Then when can we sign the agreement?"

"The documents can be prepared tomorrow," Wang Wenwu said. "But before that, I still have one issue to resolve."

"What issue?"

"Ship handover and training," Wang Wenwu said. "The Bismarck Class is an entirely new design, complex to operate. We need to arrange for Lanfang's technical personnel to help your navy's officers and men familiarize themselves with the vessels. This process will take at least three months."

Wilhelm frowned. "Three months... too long."

"But it is necessary," Wang Wenwu insisted. "Otherwise, even if you take delivery of the warships, you won't be able to bring their full combat power to bear. Moreover, if an accident occurs due to improper operation, it would be a loss for both sides."

Wilhelm thought for a few seconds, then finally nodded. "Agreed. But your people must accept our command, and while in Deguo they must abide by our laws and military discipline."

"Of course," Wang Wenwu said. "Then, do we have an agreement?"

"We have an agreement." Wilhelm stood up and extended his hand to Wang Wenwu again. "Mr. Wang, please convey to Grand Leader Chen Feng that Deguo will not forget the help of its friends. In future international affairs, we will remember this day."

The two hands clasped together. In the firelight of the hearth, their shadows merged into one on the wall.

The agreement was reached.

Two of the most powerful battleships in the world were about to sail for Deguo.

June fifteenth, at noon.

In the Hall of Mirrors at Sanssouci Palace, a long dining table was covered with snow-white linen tablecloths. Silver cutlery glittered in the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. Servants moved silently back and forth, serving roast venison, buttered asparagus, mashed potatoes, and Burgundy red wine. Wilhelm II sat at the head of the table, Wang Wenwu to his right, and further down were several senior officials from the Foreign Ministry, the General Staff, and the Finance Ministry.

The luncheon had been going on for an hour. The atmosphere was superficially cordial, but undercurrents churned beneath.

"Mr. Wang, is this venison to your taste?" Wilhelm II cut into the steak on his plate, the knife and fork clinking crisply against the porcelain. "It was delivered yesterday from the East Prussian hunting grounds—the meat is tender, without the taste of fear that livestock on the battlefield have."

"Very delicious, Your Majesty." Wang Wenwu cut the meat into small pieces with his knife and fork, his movements unhurried. "Lanfang has many mountains and jungles, and no shortage of game, but the cooking methods are not as refined as Europe's."

"Cooking is an art, just like war," said General Erich von Falkenhayn, the Army Chief of Staff, who sat across from Wang Wenwu. The planner of the Battle of Verdun had a sallow complexion and deep bags under his eyes, clearly suffering from chronic sleep deprivation. "It requires precise heat, the right ingredients, and the decisiveness to act at the critical moment."

Wang Wenwu set down his knife and fork and wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "Speaking of war, General, I hear the fighting at Verdun has been... rather difficult."

The table fell instantly silent. A servant holding a wine bottle froze mid-motion, and the other officials exchanged glances. The muscles in Falkenhayn's cheek twitched.

"War is always difficult, Mr. Wang." Wilhelm II took over the conversation, his tone light, but his fingers unconsciously tapped the stem of his wine glass. "But the German soldier possesses unparalleled courage and discipline. It's just that..."

He paused, as if weighing his words. "Just that sometimes, courage and discipline need more effective tools to support them. Like a fine painter—he needs not only talent, but also quality pigments and canvas."

Wang Wenwu understood the subtext. The talks before lunch had already finalized the Bismarck Class battleship deal; now the Emperor was moving to the next topic—the predicament on the Western Front.

"Your Majesty is right." Wang Wenwu picked up his wine glass and gently swirled the deep red liquid inside. "Then, regarding more effective tools... does your country have any specific needs? Although Lanfang's industry is still developing, perhaps we could offer assistance in certain areas."

Falkenhayn leaned forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. "We need manpower, Mr. Wang. The Battle of Verdun has been going on for four months. The Degjun has committed thirty divisions, twelve of which have been mauled and need to be rotated out. Total troop strength on the Western Front is maintained at two million, but less than half are assault troops capable of going on the offensive."

As he spoke, his eyes were fixed on Wang Wenwu, as if trying to read some kind of promise from the face of this Eastern envoy.

"Manpower..." Wang Wenwu seemed thoughtful. "Doesn't your country have victories on the Eastern Front? I read in the newspapers that the Brusilov Offensive was repelled, and the Russians suffered heavy losses."

"The Eastern Front is stabilized, but we can't pull out too many troops," Falkenhayn shook his head. "The Russian front is still vast; we need at least fifty divisions to maintain the Eastern Front defenses. Moreover, the troops on the Eastern Front lack Western Front combat experience; transferring them over would require retraining and adaptation to trench warfare."

The table fell silent again. The servants had all withdrawn, and the tall doors of the Hall of Mirrors were tightly shut. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the floor.

Wang Wenwu set down his wine glass and leaned back slightly. "Your Majesty, I'm not quite sure I understand your meaning. The soldiers of the Cherry Blossom Country... from what I understand, they are fighting on the Eastern Front as allies of the Entente, coordinating with the Degjun in combat. Moreover—"

He looked at Falkenhayn. "Moreover, I recall that the contract between the Cherry Blossom Country and Deguo clearly stipulates that Cherry Blossom Country soldiers are not to engage in direct combat with British or French forces. This is a clause agreed upon between your country and the Cherry Blossom Country government."

"It's precisely that clause!" Falkenhayn suddenly raised his voice, slamming his fist on the table, rattling the cutlery. "That damned clause! What we need most right now is fresh troops for the Western Front, but the contract says they can only fight the Russians! And the Eastern Front doesn't need any more troops at all!"

"Calm down, Erich." Wilhelm II raised a hand to signal, but his eyes betrayed the same irritation. "Mr. Wang, the situation is this: we need reinforcements for the Verdun sector, but Deguo's manpower reserves are nearly exhausted. Men of military age are either at the front, in the factories, or... already lying in the grave."

He flicked the ash from his cigar, his voice dropping low. "And the Cherry Blossom Country has eight divisions on the Eastern Front—nearly two hundred thousand well-trained soldiers. They have combat experience, they've adapted to Europe's climate and terrain; they only need to be transferred to the Western Front to go into battle. But that damned contract clause..."