Chapter 545: Preparation in the Morning Light

In the car back to the residence, Wang Wenwu said to Chen Feng, "The results are better than expected. The grassroots communication was very successful."

"But the higher-ups' concerns are even deeper," Chen Feng said, looking at the streetlights flashing outside the window. "Rodman's issue tonight represents the general anxiety of the Meilika military. They have seen our strength and are beginning to reassess the Pacific power balance."

"Will this affect tomorrow's talks?"

"It certainly will." Chen Feng closed his eyes. "Wilson will receive a detailed report from Rodman. He knows we are not a force to be easily ignored, which will make him more cautious when weighing our proposal. At the same time, it may also heighten his vigilance."

The car entered the officers' villa district. When Chen Feng got out, he looked up at the clear Hawaiian night sky.

Tomorrow, he will face one of the most powerful people of this era. All today's demonstrations, all communications, all the probing beneath the surface, are preparations for that moment of dialogue.

"Rest well," he said to Wang Wenwu. "Tomorrow is the real beginning."

The villa doors closed, and Pearl Harbor's night returned to tranquility. Yet in the harbor, the silhouettes of the warships remained clear in the moonlight— the modern lines of the "Huai River" and the traditional shape of the "Arizona" docked side by side, like a dialogue between two eras, also like a clash of two worlds.

Meanwhile in Washington, London, and Berlin, countless eyes are watching this place. The Hawaiian bonfire has already gone out, but the game across the Pacific has just ignited its first wisp of smoke.

At six o'clock in the morning, Chen Feng was already awake.

Pearl Harbor's morning arrived gentle and bright, the sunlight filtering through the slats of the blinds, drawing several golden streaks on the bedroom floor. Chen Feng sat in a chair by the window, holding a cup of clear tea—a habit he brought from Dubai, unchanged even after traveling thousands of miles.

The tea fragrance rose softly in the air, but his gaze fell outside the window.

From this angle, a small patch of lawn of the officers' villa district was visible, and farther away the waters of Pearl Harbor's inner harbor. Several destroyers were moving slowly, perhaps on a morning patrol or training. Further still, the massive outline of the "Huai River" appeared and vanished in the morning mist, like a sleeping behemoth.

A light knock at the door sounded.

"Come in."

Wang Wenwu pushed the door open and entered, holding a folder and the day's schedule. He was already dressed neatly, his dark gray suit pressed without a single wrinkle.

"President, good morning. This is today's final agenda."

Chen Feng took the folder and skimmed it quickly. At nine a. m., the first formal meeting with President Wilson would take place, located in a specially prepared conference room inside the naval base, expected to last two hours. Afterwards a working lunch, individual preparations in the afternoon, and possibly an informal exchange in the evening.

"Do the American side have any new developments?"

"General Rodman's aide delivered a briefing in the early hours, confirming the security arrangements and communication confidentiality measures for the meeting. Additionally…" Wang Wenwu paused, "According to reports from our personnel aboard the ship, after last night's gala ended, Meilika Navy technical staff conducted long‑range observation and filming of the 'Huai River', continuing until 2 a. m."

Chen Feng set down his tea cup: "As expected. Let them film; some things can't be captured away."

"On President Wilson's side, according to General Rodman, he worked late last night, reviewing a detailed report on Lanfang, including economic data, military assessments, and... your personal background information."

"My background?" Chen Feng smiled. "What could they find? Someone who studied in San Francisco, or a Chinese entrepreneur from the South Ocean?"

"The report may be full of speculation and blanks. But that will instead increase their curiosity and... vigilance."

Chen Feng stood up and walked to the window. The morning light now fully bathed the harbor, making the warship silhouettes clear. He could see the Stars and Stripes rising on the "Arizona", fluttering slowly in the breeze.

"Vigilance is normal. We have suddenly appeared on the world stage with an unprecedented development speed; anyone would be wary. The key is how to turn that vigilance into respect rather than hostility."

"Today's meeting..."

"Today we have three tasks." Chen Feng turned, his expression focused. "First, set the tone of the dialogue—two emerging industrial powers with common interests that can cooperate. Second, dismantle their moral narrative—war has no absolute right or wrong, only interests and costs. Third, present a vision they cannot refuse—a future where Meilika can achieve hegemony without bloodshed, and Lanfang can develop peacefully."

Wang Wenwu recorded notes, then looked up: "Wilson is an idealist; will he accept this purely interest‑based argument?"

"Idealists are often the most easily swayed by reality," Chen Feng said, walking back to the desk and adjusting his tie. "Because he has ideals, when reality shows that path is blocked, he will suffer, struggle, and eventually... seek a new path. Our job is to point out that alternative for him."

At 7:30 a. m., breakfast was delivered to the room.

A simple American breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, toast, coffee. Chen Feng ate little, spending most of his time reviewing the materials Wang Wenwu had prepared—trade data charts of Lanfang and Meilika, analysis of the European war's impact on the two economies, and a briefing on the direction of international public opinion.

At eight o'clock, Captain Zhang Haitao came to report.

"President, everything aboard the ship was normal last night. Meilika's observations did not cross any boundaries. Additionally, General Rodman, through me, conveyed that he hopes to arrange a technical‑level exchange this afternoon, allowing the heads of both sides' vessel departments to discuss some professional issues in depth."

"Fine, you handle the arrangements," Chen Feng nodded. "Remember, the technical exchange should stay within publicly known technology; core secrets are off‑limits, but we can showcase our professional competence."

"Understood."

At 8:30 a. m., Chen Feng changed into another suit—a dark blue one, cut more formally. Wang Wenwu checked all the documents, confirming nothing was missing.

At 8:45 a. m., Lieutenant General Rodman drove himself to the villa entrance.

"Mr. Chen, Mr. Wang, good morning." Lieutenant General Rodman, dressed today in the white naval officer's uniform, looked more solemn than yesterday. "President is ready. Please follow me."

The car drove deeper into the base, passing through a stand of eucalyptus trees, and stopped in front of an unassuming two‑story building. It looked like a warehouse or repair shop, but four Secret Service agents were already stationed at the doorway.

"For absolute secrecy, we chose this location," Rodman explained. "The interior has been sound‑proofed to ensure no external eavesdropping is possible."

Chen Feng nodded: "Well considered."

Inside, the building differed completely from its exterior. The corridor was carpeted in dark fabric, the walls freshly painted white. They were led to a conference room at the far end of the second floor.

When the door opened, President Woodrow Wilson was already standing inside, waiting.