Chapter 553: Edge of War

"Stupid." Chen Feng's voice was soft but laced with suppressed anger, "The Germans are stupid, the British are shameless. And the Meilika people... have become sacrifices."

He stood up and walked to the balcony. Pearl Harbor, shrouded in night, was tranquil, but that tranquility now seemed ironic.

"Wilson canceled this afternoon's Tea Meeting?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yes. But he said he still hopes to meet you tomorrow."

"Of course we must meet." Chen Feng turned, his face showing a fatigue Wang Wenwu had never seen, "Now he needs to hear what we have to say. Or more precisely, he needs to know what we intend to do."

"Do you think the Meilika Entry into War is now a done deal?"

Chen Feng did not answer directly. He walked back to the room, picked up the telegram, and read it again.

"Forty-three people died. In a war, that number is small. But politically, that number is enough to change history," he placed the telegram on the table, "Wilson now faces a choice: follow public opinion and head toward war; or oppose public opinion and insist on peace. The former is political survival, the latter is political suicide."

"He will choose survival."

"Most LDRs would," Chen Feng sat down, "but Wilson is not most LDRs. He is an idealist, and idealists sometimes make irrational choices. The question is, how long can his idealism hold? When the whole nation is roaring, can one person's voice still be heard?"

Wang Wenwu thought for a moment, "What else can we do?"

"There is little we can do now," Chen Feng said frankly, "This attack changed everything. This is not a time for rational discussion, but for emotion-driven action. The only thing we can do is give Wilson a final option—if he chooses to oppose public opinion, we need to let him know he is not alone."

"Will Lanfang support him?"

"If it means avoiding a larger war, then yes," Chen Feng said, "but only if he truly has the courage to take that difficult path."

He glanced at his watch: half past nine at night.

"Send a telegram to Berlin," he said suddenly, "in the strongest language. Tell them their foolish actions could ruin everything. If they still wish Lanfang to maintain some degree of neutrality or support in future conflicts, they must immediately cease unrestricted submarine warfare and be ready to make major concessions to launch peace talks."

"Will the Germans listen?"

"Probably not. But we must try," Chen Feng added, "Also, send a carefully worded but clear telegram to London. Tell them we understand what has happened. This method may bring short‑term victory, but it will damage long‑term trust. And… those who play with fire will eventually burn themselves."

Wang Wenwu recorded it, then asked, "Do we need to notify the home front?"

Chen Feng thought for a moment, "Notify Liu Yongfu, activate the second‑stage preparations of the Taishan Plan, but hold off on implementation. Notify Li Te, put the navy on Alert Level Three, but refrain from provocative actions. We must prepare for the worst, but not become the last straw that breaks the camel's back."

After the orders were issued, the room fell silent again.

Chen Feng walked to the desk, opened the Hawaiian history book, but his eyes did not focus on the text. He was contemplating a larger picture: if Meilika entered the war, if Germany were defeated, if the post‑war order were led by the victors… where does Lanfang stand? How would a "neutral country" that sells weapons to both sides be perceived?

The more fundamental question was: were his attempts to alter history doomed from the start? Are there forces—nationalism, militarism, the greed of interest groups—so powerful that any rational intervention appears feeble and futile?

The phone rang. It was Lieutenant General Rodman.

"Mr. Chen, sorry to disturb you so late. The President asked me to convey his deep regret over the cancellation of this afternoon's Tea Meeting. Also… you may have already heard of the unfortunate incident in the Atlantic."

"I have heard. Please convey my condolences to the President."

"I will," Rodman paused, "The President wishes to meet you tomorrow at ten a. m., the location changed to the Pacific Fleet Headquarters' Operations Briefing Room. The situation… has shifted, and he thinks a more formal setting may be appropriate."

"I understand. I will arrive on time."

After hanging up, Chen Feng said to Wang Wenwu, "Did you see? The venue moved from the garden to the Operations Briefing Room. The symbolism is clear—peaceful dialogue is over, now we are negotiating on the edge of war."

"Do you still hold hope?"

Chen Feng did not answer immediately. He went to the balcony and gazed at Pearl Harbor's night sky. The stars were bright, but against the city lights they seemed a bit dim.

"Hope always exists," he finally said, "but sometimes hope must pass through a long darkness to see the light. And we may be in the darkest stretch."

He turned and went back inside, "Go rest. Tomorrow we will need all the clarity and wisdom."

After Wang Wenwu left, Chen Feng stood alone on the balcony for a long time. He recalled the original timeline of World War I: April 1917, Meilika declared war on Germany. It was now January, with three months left.

He had once believed that, with his knowledge of history and Lanfang's power, he could change that outcome. But now, he began to doubt.

Perhaps the inertia of history is stronger than he imagined. Perhaps some events—the Sarajevo gunfire, the Zimmermann Telegram, unrestricted submarine warfare, the sinking of the Lusitania—are like pre‑set programs that will occur in some form no matter the intervention.

But if that is so, what is the purpose of his coming to this world? Just to be a spectator watching tragedy replay?

No. Chen Feng shook his head. Even if he cannot change the grand scheme, he can at least alter details. Even if he cannot prevent war, he can at least influence its manner and outcome. Even if he cannot save everyone, he can at least save some.

That is the leader's responsibility: to seek possibilities in desperation, to kindle a faint light in the darkness.

The night wind blew, carrying the Pacific's salty scent. In the distance, the lights on the Huai River outlined its majestic silhouette against the night. That battleship represented Lanfang's power, and also a possibility—a non‑Western nation could wield advanced technology and make its voice heard on the international stage.

Tomorrow, he will carry that possibility into the Meilika Pacific Fleet's Operations Briefing Room. There, he will make a final effort with one of the era's most powerful figures, trying to place a small weight on the scale between war and peace.

Can anything be changed? He does not know.

But it must be tried.

Because if we do not try, there is not even a possibility of change.

The night deepened, and Pearl Harbor slipped into sleep. Yet on the other side of the Atlantic, in Washington, London, Berlin, countless people were losing sleep over tomorrow. And in Hawaii, a messenger from the East was pondering the same question: where will the world head tomorrow?

The answer will be revealed in the morning light.