Chapter 42: Chen Feng's Late‑Night Contemplation

Late at night, the top-floor study of the administration building.

Chen Feng stood before the sand table—an intricately crafted South Ocean sand table, marked with the major islands of Borneo, Sumatra, Java, and the spheres of influence of Dutch and Yingguo colonies.

Several colored small flags were planted on the sand table: red for Lanfang's homeland, blue for Dutch-controlled zones, white for Yingguo-controlled zones, yellow for indigenous kingdoms.

Wang Bo pushed the door open, saw Chen Feng deep in thought at the sand table, and asked softly, "Young Master, still pondering the South Ocean?"

"Hmm," Chen Feng said without turning, "Wang Bo, look. The western part of Borneo, the Kundi area, is where Lanfang first established the nation. It is now under Dutch control, but the Chinese population still numbers nearly one hundred thousand."

He pointed at the sand table:

"On Sumatra's Bangka Island there are tin mines and many Chinese miners. In Java's Batavia and Semarang, Chinese commercial power is strong. In Malaya's Penang and Singapore, they are even greater Chinese gathering places."

"But they are all scattered," Wang Bo said as he moved to the side of the sand table, "divided and ruled by the Dutch and Yingguo, with no contact between them. Moreover, most Chinese only seek a stable life and dare not resist."

"Therefore a flag is needed," Chen Feng turned, "a flag that all South Ocean Chinese can see. One victory, one example."

He walked to the desk and spread out a document:

"This is a report from the Dragon Eye Network sent from the South Ocean. The Dutch East India authorities have recently intensified repression of the Chinese—raising taxes, restricting commerce, and forcing labor. Public resentment is building, but there is no flashpoint yet."

Wang Bo took the report, glanced at it, and said, "Young Master's meaning is... we need to ignite this flashpoint?"

"The timing is not yet ripe," Chen Feng shook his head, "we need two things: first, a sufficiently powerful navy to block Dutch reinforcements; second, a suitable pretext to keep the international community at least neutral."

He moved to the window, looking at the night outside:

"After the Revival Ship and the Restoration Ship entered service, we have the first item. As for the pretext…"

Chen Feng thought:

"The Dutch will provide it themselves. Colonial rule has always been a cycle of oppression and resistance; as long as pressure is sufficient, rebellion will inevitably occur. Then we can intervene under the banner of 'protecting our compatriots.'"

Wang Bo expressed some concern, "But that would be seen as aggression and would provoke Yingguo and other great powers' intervention."

"So we need allies, at least tacit approval from some great powers," Chen Feng said, a calculating glint in his eyes, "Deguo wants us to check Yingguo's power in the Far East, and may tacitly approve our actions in the South Ocean. Faguo, if it wants our warships, may also concede on other issues. Even Yingguo… if its conflict with Deguo escalates, it may have no time to concern itself with the Far East."

It is an extremely complex game of chess, each piece moving, each player calculating.

Wang Bo was silent for a long time, then suddenly said, "Young Master, you are only twenty-one this year. These matters... should not have been shouldered by you alone."

Chen Feng smiled, his smile carrying a weariness and resolve beyond his age:

"Wang Bo, since I arrived in this era, since I learned that I am the leader of the Lanfang orphaned survivors, this has been my destiny. Three hundred thousand people followed me to this desert, entrusting their lives and fortunes to me. I cannot disappoint them."

He returned to the sand table, his fingers lightly brushing the outline of Borneo:

"And you know what? I often dream that I stand on Borneo's coast, watching Lanfang's fleet sail into the harbor. On the shore, tens of thousands of Chinese cheer, children run with yellow dragon flags, and the elders weep, saying 'home at last.'"

His voice was soft, yet each word weighed as heavily as a thousand pounds:

"That dream is so vivid, so vivid that I feel it is something that will inevitably happen in the future. Therefore I must keep moving forward, no matter how difficult, no matter the price."

Wang Bo's eyes reddened. This elder, who had lived through Lanfang's fall and half a lifetime of exile, deeply understood that longing for the homeland and the yearning to restore the nation.

"Young Master, I, the old man, will always be by your side. All of us will stay with you. Until the day we return home."

From outside the window came the sound of bells; it was midnight, twelve o'clock.

A new day began.

Chen Feng gave the sand table one last glance, then turned off the study's lights.

In the darkness, the small flags on the sand table were still faintly visible. The red flag planted on Borneo resembled a spark, awaiting the moment to spread.

And in this desert of the Persian Gulf, the Fuel for the blaze was accumulating—steel, oil, warships, and three hundred thousand hearts yearning to return home.

When the flames finally ignite, they will illuminate the entire South Ocean.

Illuminating the path for Chinese to reclaim their destiny.

Chen Feng believes that day will not be far off.

Because history has already changed.

And those who change history are precisely these people.

Dubai Port's newly built foreign guest reception hall, the "Palm Palace."

It is a building that blends Arab style with modern functionality, its white façade reflecting the blinding sunlight of the Persian Gulf. In the courtyard, palm trees sway, fountains spray water, bringing a rare coolness to the desert.

But at this moment, Chen Feng standing in the courtyard to welcome the Faguo delegation, his thoughts were not on the scenery.

"They have ten minutes to arrive," Wang Bo, standing beside Chen Feng, reported softly, "As per your orders, everything is prepared to A+ specifications. The rooms, meals, and translation are all in place."

Chen Feng nodded, adjusting the custom-made deep‑gray Zhongshan suit he wore—this was his requested "national uniform," distinct from Western formal wear and from traditional changshan, representing Lanfang's self‑positioning as a modern nation.

"Deguo technical exchange delegation?" he asked.

"According to the plan, today they are scheduled to tour the civilian shipyard and machining workshop, with a reception dinner in the evening," Wang Bo paused, "However, Dr. Schmidt—Deguo team's technical head—again requested to visit the warship construction facilities, which I politely declined citing 'military secrets.'"

"Well done," Chen Feng said, his gaze fixed on the convoy arriving in the distance, "The Faguo delegation's arrival will certainly be known to Deguo. We must keep a balance between the two, making each feel they are the special one, yet not letting either feel slighted."

Three black sedans slowly drove into the courtyard.

The car doors opened, Major General Xia Er Du Bu Wa of the French Navy was the first to alight. The fifty‑five‑year‑old general wore a crisp naval uniform, his chest adorned with numerous medals, but his face bore the fatigue of long travel.

Following him were six delegation members: shipbuilding engineer Louis Moro, engine specialist Pierre Duran, metallurgical expert Henri Lefevre, and three diplomatic and intelligence officers.

Chen Feng stepped forward, greeting in fluent French, "General Xia Er Du Bu Wa, welcome to Dubai. I am Chen Feng."

Xia Er Du Bu Wa's eyes flashed with surprise—he had not expected this legendary "Lanfang leader" to be so young, nor that his French was so pure, without any colonial accent.

"Mr. Chen," Xia Er Du Bu Wa extended his hand, gripping firmly, "Thank you for your warm hospitality. I represent the French Republic, extending greetings to you and the Lanfang people."

A standard opening line. Yet Chen Feng could feel the strength and duration of the handshake—a test.

"The journey has been arduous," Chen Feng smiled, "Please proceed to the rooms to rest. We have prepared a simple welcome lunch, and we can begin preliminary discussions this afternoon."

The translator conveyed the words to the delegation members. Louis Moro adjusted his glasses, his gaze already scanning—he saw the modern lighting fixtures in the courtyard, the reinforced‑concrete structure of the building, and the faintly visible factory smokestacks in the distance.

These details spoke for themselves: this is not an ordinary desert settlement; it possesses a considerable industrial base.