Chapter 537: John Niu Still Up to Something?

"He's stalling," Asquith muttered to himself.

Sir Grey, the foreign minister opposite, nodded: "Clearly, Wilson wants to hear what Chen Feng has to say. Even if there's only a one percent chance of peace, he'll try."

"But we have no time left," Asquith tossed the telegram onto the table. "The situation on the Western Front deteriorates each day. French morale is on the brink of collapse, and the Russians have effectively withdrawn from the war. If Meilika still does not enter the war, by next spring Deguo will be able to concentrate all its forces for a Breakthrough on the Western Front. By then…"

He didn't finish. But Grey understood—by then, Yingguo might have to consider negotiations, and the terms would be far from favorable.

"What proposal will Chen Feng put forward?" Grey asked.

"It's nothing more than some peace initiative. It calls for a ceasefire, a return to the negotiating table, the establishment of an international commission, and so on," Asquith sneered. "It sounds nice, but only if Deguo is willing to give up the territories they've swallowed—Bilishi, northern Faguo, Poland, Serbia. Would they agree?"

"So Chen Feng's plan is doomed to fail?"

"Not necessarily." Asquith rose and walked to the fireplace. The fire burned brightly, yet he still felt cold. "Chen Feng is a realist. He might not demand the unrealistic 'restoration of pre‑war borders' but instead propose some… exchange of interests. For example, Deguo could retain parts of the occupied zones but compensate Yingguo and Faguo for losses; or Deguo could abandon overseas colonies in exchange for technology export and market access."

Grey looked at the prime minister in surprise: "These ideas… are quite creative. But will the Deguo emperor accept? He wants victory, he wants hegemony."

"What if they lose?" Asquith turned. "If Meilika enters the war, Deguo will be defeated. Wilhelm II could be overthrown, the Hohenzollern dynasty might end, Deguo could be dismembered. In contrast, Chen Feng's plan at least lets Deguo remain a whole nation. If you were the Deguo emperor, what would you choose?"

The study fell silent. The firewood in the fireplace crackled, and the wall clock ticked away.

"So Chen Feng might truly be able to bring about peace," Grey said slowly.

"That's exactly what we fear most," Asquith's tone grew harsh. "If peace is achieved now, Deguo will retain most of its spoils, and Europe's balance of power will be shattered permanently. Faguo will decline, Yingguo will lose its continental foothold, and Deguo… will become Europe's indisputable hegemon. In twenty years, perhaps in ten, they will rise again; next time, we may have no Meilika to turn to."

He walked back to the desk and pulled out a document marked "Top Secret."

"War Department assessment: If an armistice is called now, Deguo will control forty percent of Europe's industrial capacity, fifty percent of coal, sixty percent of steel. Their army is the world's best, and the navy is rapidly catching up. And Yingguo and Faguo? Northern Faguo is in ruins, Yingguo is heavily indebted. In five years Deguo will recover; in ten years they will have the power to challenge our maritime hegemony."

Grey's complexion turned pale: "What should we do then? Sabotage the meeting? But Hawaii is under Meilika's control, and we are powerless."

【7】 "We can sway public opinion," Asquith's eyes flashed coldly. "Make Meilika's people believe that any peace with Deguo is a 'Munich‑style appeasement' that only emboldens the dictator. Convince Wilson that if he accepts the peace plan, history will label him a coward, not a hero." (Time‑travel joke, haha)

"We can influence public opinion," Asquies' eyes flashed with a cold light, "Make the Meilika people believe that any peace with Deguo is 'Munich-style appeasement', which will only make the dictator more rampant. Make Wilson believe that if he accepts the peace proposal, history will view him as a coward, not a great man." (Just a time‑travel graft, haha)

"How exactly?"

"Continue releasing evidence of Deguo's atrocities. Testimonies from Bilishi civilians, photos of gas victims, interviews with survivors of sunken merchant ships… all media, all channels, twenty‑four‑hour nonstop. Make peace sound like a compromise with evil, a betrayal of the dead."

Asquith walked to the window. Outside was a London winter night, thick fog rolling, streetlights turning into vague halos in the mist. The city had endured two and a half years of war, food shortages, blackout regulations, and youths constantly disappearing from the streets. Yet he knew that abandoning now would render all sacrifices futile.

"Also," he added, "contact our allies in Meilika—the bankers, industrialists, media magnates. Have them speak: peace means debt default, market collapse, Meilika's European investments lost. Economic arguments often outweigh moral ones."

Grey jotted notes quickly. As foreign minister, he instinctively recoiled from such blatant manipulation, yet he also knew that war offers no pure means.

"Prime Minister, if… if all these efforts fail? If Wilson still decides to postpone entry into the war, to attempt peace?"

Asquith remained silent for a long while. The thick fog outside seemed an ominous omen, shrouding the city, the nation.

"Then we'll need a contingency plan," he said softly. "Perhaps it's time to consider direct talks with Deguo while we still have leverage, to secure the best terms. But that's the last resort, understand?"

"Understood."

After Grey left, Asquith stood alone in the study. He retrieved a photograph from a drawer—an August 1914 group portrait of the entire cabinet when the war had just broken out. Then their faces were solemn yet resolute, believing the war would end before Christmas. Now, half the people in the photo are gone—some resigned, some died of illness, some were ousted in political struggles.

And the war still raged on, devouring everything.

The phone rang. Asquith answered.

"Prime Minister, the Navy reports our scout vessel has spotted the Lanfang fleet in the Indian Ocean. They're crossing the Sunda Strait into the Pacific. They're moving fast, heading clearly."

"Continue surveillance. But do not provoke, do not intercept."

"Understood."

He hung up and stared at the world map on the wall. A tiny red pushpin marked the Lanfang fleet, sailing from Asia toward the Americas. Ahead of it lay the pivotal meeting that would decide the war's course.

He suddenly recalled a Chinese military classic he had read in his youth: "To subdue the enemy without fighting is the highest excellence."

Chen Feng is trying that path. But Asquith knew that some wars cannot be settled by negotiation, because the conflict's root is not profit or territory, but a fundamental clash of two civilizations, two world orders.

Either the Deguo‑led order prevails, or the Britain‑America‑led order prevails. There is no middle ground.

That is why, even exhausted, even in pain, even at terrible cost, this war must be fought to the end.

The fire in the fireplace dwindled. Asquith added no wood, letting it die out. The room darkened, with only the faint glow of the fog lamps outside the window.

In the darkness he whispered, "God bless Yingguo."

But God seemed to have already left this war.