Chapter 459: The Blade at the Handover Ceremony

Division Commander Zhao Dengyu, a Major General, held a lunchbox and crouched with the soldiers to eat. He had listened to last night's reconnaissance report, his expression calm.

"Division Commander," the Chief of Staff whispered, "should we send a reconnaissance company westward to move a bit? At least to get a feel for the British Army's deployment."

Zhao Dengyu shook his head: "The President has ordered: do not cross the red line. Our current mission is to take root, not to provoke."

He took a sip of hot soup and continued: "But we can strengthen observation. Inside the red line, set a concealed observation post every five kilometers, monitoring western movements twenty‑four hours a day. Also, contact the navy to see if we can install a few radars along the coastline—though they may be discovered by Yingguo, that's fine; we need them to know we are watching."

"Understood."

After the meal, Zhao Dengyu climbed the central watchtower of the base. It was a simple tower built of steel pipes and wooden planks, fifteen meters tall, the tallest structure around.

He raised the binoculars and looked west.

Fifty kilometers away lay the Sinai Peninsula. There were 150,000 British Army troops, heavy artillery, aircraft, and a newly arrived type of "secret weapon"—intelligence indicated that Yingguo called it a "tank."

On our side, there was only one division, isolated overseas, its supply line as fragile as a thin thread.

But Zhao Dengyu was unperturbed.

He lowered the binoculars, his gaze falling on the flagpole at the base's center.

The red‑backed golden‑dragon flag fluttered in the morning breeze. The cloth had faded a bit—desert sun too harsh, wind too strong—but it still stood upright.

A young sentinel stood guard beneath the pole. His back was straight, rifle gripped tightly, eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly. Though the area was endless desert, and the enemy might be just fifty kilometers away, his posture seemed as if he were defending the entire nation.

Zhao Dengyu suddenly recalled Chen Feng's words before the deployment: "Division Commander Zhao, the place you are heading to is now a wasteland. But in ten years there will be oil fields, a port, a city. The flag you raise will be the beginning of it all."

He hadn't understood then. Standing here now, watching the flag lone‑flapping in the boundless desert, he suddenly understood.

This flag is a declaration.

To the world: Lanfang has arrived.

To history: the story here must be written anew.

To the future: this land will have a new master.

"Division Commander!" the communications soldier ran up the watchtower, handing over a telegram, "Dubai urgent telegram."

Zhao Dengyu took it. The message was brief:

"London has decided not to upgrade for now. Your unit's mission remains: hold position, take root, wait. Additionally: the Yingguo side will send observers, to be given a ceremonial reception, but core equipment must not be displayed. Chen."

After reading it, he folded the telegram and slipped it into his pocket.

"Notify each regiment," he said to the Chief of Staff, "intensify training, accelerate fortification construction. We will be here… for a long time."

The sun rose fully, turning the desert gold. Within the Hordesa base, machines roared, soldiers drilled, flags fluttered.

Fifty kilometers away, in the British Army Sinai Frontline Headquarters, a report on "Lanfang military readiness" lay on the commander's desk.

The report concluded: "The unit is strictly disciplined, well‑equipped, and its fortifications professionally constructed. Though only one division, its defense is solid and a strong attack would be costly. Recommend maintaining the status quo and avoiding conflict."

The commander signed and closed the report.

Outside the window, on the British Army's positions, soldiers were having breakfast. Further in the warehouse area, fifty newly arrived Mark I tanks were covered with canvas, resembling sleeping steel beasts.

It was September. Autumn on the Somme would again bring a bloody offensive.

And in the Middle East desert, a new chess game had just placed its first piece.

Both sides chose… temporary endurance.

But everyone knew that endurance would not last forever.

On September 5, 1916, at six a. m., Dubai Port was shrouded in a pale blue morning mist.

But today the port had no fog—twelve large blowers imported from Deguo were lined along the docks, running at full power, forcibly blowing away the thin morning mist of the Persian Gulf with artificial airflow. It was Liu Yongfu's idea: "We must let Yingguo see every Rivet, see that the warship we are handing over is intact."

Docks three and four, the deep‑water berths, had been completely cleared. All anchored cargo ships were moved to outer anchorage, and the dock surface was hosed down three times with high‑pressure water jets, stripping every moss from the stone joints. Workers overnight painted fresh white markings along the dock edge and laid red carpet at key points—not the usual dark red, but a vivid vermilion that in the morning light looked like two streams of flowing blood.

Two giant warships rested quietly at their berths.

On the left was the "Fuxing," on the right the "Guangfu." These were Lanfang Navy's earliest two Hood‑class battlecruisers, six years in service, having fought in the East Sea naval battle; the repaired shell scars on their hulls had been carefully welded smooth, polished, and repainted, yet up close one could still see the marks of past combat.

Today, they had been fitted with new livery.

The original deep‑gray Lanfang Navy paint scheme was completely overlaid with the Royal Navy standard deep‑gray blue. The white hull numbers were painted over, temporarily replaced with the English names "HMSRenascence" and "HMSRestoration"—transitional names agreed by both sides, to be formally renamed after reaching Britain. But the most striking feature was the main mast: Lanfang's red‑backed golden‑dragon flag had been lowered, while the Yingguo Union Jack had not yet risen; the mast top stood empty, appearing somewhat lonely in the morning breeze.

A temporary viewing platform was erected at the dock front. Two meters high, it was carpeted in deep blue, with a massive United Kingdom coat‑of‑arms relief as backdrop—moved out from the warehouse overnight, originally intended for Yingguo consular celebrations. Four flagpoles stood on each side of the platform; the left side displayed Lanfang's national and navy flags, the right side reserved spots for Yingguo's national and navy flags.

Liu Yongfu stood at the center of the viewing platform, holding a schedule, and gave the final command into the wireless handset:

"Is the military band in position? I want to hear the combined rehearsal of 'Rule, Britannia' and Lanfang's national anthem!"

"Salute gun crew, attention: twenty‑one rounds, five seconds between each, must be precise! Are the Shells loaded? I want only blanks; not a single live Shell may be fired!"

"Ceremonial guard, re‑check the dress! Buttons, leather shoes, white gloves—I want each person to look as if stepped out of a painting!"

He set down the microphone and wiped the sweat from his forehead. In September, Dubai's morning temperature had already risen above thirty degrees, and his full deep‑blue navy uniform was already soaked through his back.