Chapter 532: The Last Peace Effort

Wilson closed his eyes. He had hardly slept the night before, repeatedly studying the copy of the telegram submitted by Yingguo. Were the words genuine? Was the code-breaking process credible? Were the Germans truly insane enough to want to split up Meilika?

Logically speaking, it was too foolish. Germany was already under immense pressure on the Western Front, so why provoke Meilika on the East Coast? But emotionally, the telegram's content touched the deepest fear in every Meilikan's heart—territory violated, sovereignty trampled.

The door opened, and Secretary of State Lansing and Secretary of War Baker walked in. Neither man looked pleased.

"Mr. President, this is the latest assessment from Naval Intelligence." Baker handed over a document. "They analyzed the telegram's encryption method, word usage habits, and transmission path, and they believe... the authenticity is high. At the very least, they found no evidence of forgery."

"Not finding evidence doesn't mean it's real," Wilson said. "The British might have the top forgery experts."

"But what's the motive?" Lansing interjected. "If it's a forgery, why would the British choose Mexico? Why not forge a German plan to invade Canada? That would be a more direct way to drag us into the war."

Wilson fell silent. That was precisely the problem—this telegram was too "fitting." So fitting it seemed tailor-made.

"What's the reaction from the Mexican government?"

"President Carranza issued a statement this morning denying any military alliance negotiations with Germany, calling it a 'malicious rumor,'" Lansing replied. "But notably, he didn't strongly condemn Germany, only called for 'all parties to remain calm.'"

"A guilty conscience?"

"Possibly waiting to see. If Germany really wins the war in Europe, Mexico might indeed want to seize the chance to reclaim lost territory. It's their century-old dream."

Wilson stood up and walked to the world map. His finger traced from Germany to Mexico, then back to Meilika. A terrifying triangle was taking shape.

"How is public sentiment?"

"Shifting rapidly," Baker said. "This morning's polls show support for 'strengthening armaments' rising from forty-two percent last week to sixty-one percent. Support for 'entering the war if necessary' rose from twenty-eight percent to forty-five percent. And it's still climbing."

"And the media?"

"Almost unanimous. The Washington Post, the New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, the Los Angeles Times... all the major papers are demanding the government take a tough stance. Only a few small newspapers in the Midwest are still calling for calm."

Wilson stared at the map, silent for a long time. The protests outside grew louder, individual slogans becoming clear: "Wilson! Coward! Defend Meilika!"

"Mr. President," Lansing said softly, "we need to respond. Silence will be interpreted as weakness."

Wilson turned around, deep exhaustion on his face.

"Notify Congress that I will deliver a national address in three days. Also, send a telegram to Chen Feng of Lanfang, confirming that the time and agenda for the Hawaii meeting remain unchanged. Tell him..." He paused. "Tell him I need to hear some different voices. Before I make a decision that might change the world."

"Yes, Mr. President."

After Lansing and Baker left, Wilson stood alone in the center of the office. Sunlight streamed in from the south window, casting bright patches on the carpet. But the office felt cold—a bone-deep chill.

He thought back to August 1914, when the war had just broken out, and he had delivered a speech at the White House: "Meilika must be neutral in thought and action alike." Back then, he believed that rational diplomacy, international law, and moral force could stop this madness.

Two and a half years had passed, two million people were dead, and he was being pushed into the position of a war leader.

The phone rang. It was his wife, Edith.

"Woodrow, are you all right? I heard the protests on the radio..."

"I'm fine, dear. Just... a little tired."

"You need rest. Come home early tonight, and I'll make you your favorite cream of mushroom soup."

"Okay. I'll try."

Hanging up, Wilson looked at the family photos on his desk—his wife, his three daughters. If Meilika entered the war, how many families would lose sons, husbands, fathers? How many mothers would never see their children come home?

But if they didn't enter the war, if Germany really won, if the world was ruled by that madman in Germany... what kind of world would his granddaughters grow up in?

There was no right answer. Only choices, and the consequences of those choices.

Wilson sat back down in his chair, picked up his fountain pen, and began drafting the speech for three days later. He got stuck on the first word. How should he open? "My fellow countrymen"? "People of Meilika"? Or simply "Friends"?

The pen tip hovered over the paper, a drop of ink falling, spreading into a small black blot.

Like the country's future—blurry and indistinct.

January 17, Dubai, Grand Presidential Palace.

Chen Feng stood on the balcony, watching the sunset over the Persian Gulf. The orange-red evening glow dyed the entire sea crimson, and cargo ships in the distance moved slowly like silhouettes. The scenery was picturesque, but his heart was as heavy as lead.

Wang Wenwu stood behind him, holding a freshly decrypted telegram.

"The Meilikans confirmed it. The Hawaii meeting is on as scheduled. January 25, Pearl Harbor. President Wilson specifically emphasized that he hopes to hear 'constructive peace proposals.'"

"Constructive." Chen Feng repeated the word, a note of sarcasm in his voice. "Meaning, if I can't come up with some magical plan that lets him appease the hawks at home while avoiding war, then the meeting will just be a formality."

"Do you have a plan?"

Chen Feng didn't answer immediately. He turned and walked into the office, spreading out the world map on the table. The map was already marked with colored pins showing the positions of various countries' armies, resource flows, and diplomatic relations. It was a system so complex it was dizzying, and he had to find the delicate balance point within it.

"I have a plan, but it's difficult." He pointed at Europe. "The core contradiction is this: Germany wants to keep its current gains, and even get more; Britain and France want to restore the pre-war borders, and preferably weaken Germany; Meilika wants a stable European market, but doesn't want to pay too high a price."

His finger swept across the Pacific.

"And in the East, we want to consolidate our influence in Southeast Asia, while Britain wants to preserve its Far Eastern empire. Everyone is grabbing for the same piece of cake, but no one is willing to take less."

Wang Wenwu poured a cup of tea and placed it beside Chen Feng.

"So what we need to do is re-cut the cake?"

"It's about redefining what the cake is." Chen Feng picked up the teacup but didn't drink, just feeling the warmth of the porcelain. "If we keep playing the game within the existing framework, war is inevitable. Because the core of the existing framework is zero-sum—if you take more, I get less. To break that logic, we have to introduce new variables."