Chapter 59: The Polite Visit at Mumbai

"The intelligence department just sent a briefing," Wilson's voice sounded dry, "A Chinese force has been established in the Persian Gulf. They… they have built a warship more advanced than the Dauntless. That warship is now on its way to Mumbai, expected to enter the main channel in two hours."

Clark fell into his chair. His first reaction was disbelief—Chinese could build a warship more advanced than Britain's? That was as absurd as saying a monkey could build a cathedral.

But the telegram was in his hand, the Rear Admiral's signature was right below.

"Notify the Port Authority that all inbound and outbound vessels are to halt," he forced himself to stay calm, "Notify the Police Department to tighten security in the port area. Notify… notify the newspaper that all news about the port today must be censored."

"Anything else?"

"Anything else?" Clark forced a wry smile, "Anything else? We can only pray that the ship is just passing by and won't do anything crazy."

Twenty nautical miles off the coast of Mumbai Port.

On the bridge of the Restoration Ship, Li Te was scanning the coastline through a telescope. The morning mist was clearing, and the outline of India's western coast was becoming distinct. In the distance, the lighthouse of Mumbai Port could be seen, along with the dense cluster of piers, warehouses, and colonial buildings.

"Navigation Officer, report the situation."

Lin Hai stood at the chart table: "Distance to the entrance of Mumbai's main channel is eighteen nautical miles, speed 15 knots. The Yingguo fleet is two nautical miles behind us, matching our speed. Additionally…" He paused, "The lookout reports a large number of small vessels gathering toward the port direction, possibly fishing boats or tour boats."

Li Te nodded. He had received radio signals from those small boats last night—all from local Chinese chambers of commerce and overseas Chinese groups, who, hearing that "their own warship" was coming, had been waiting offshore early.

"Signalman."

"Present!"

"Transmit on the public frequency, in plain language," Li Te said, "'Lanfang Republic Navy warship Restoration Ship is about to enter Mumbai's offshore waters for a friendly visit. Our vessel requires fresh water and is willing to pay at market price. Please have the Port Authority coordinate. Repeat, this is a friendly visit.'"

Wang Xiaohua was startled: "Captain, broadcasting in plain language… everyone in Mumbai can hear it."

"That's the point—to let all of Mumbai hear it," Li Te set down the telescope, "We must be courteous, formal, and make everyone know: we are not pirates, not invaders. We are a regular navy conducting a visit that follows international practice."

"But what if they refuse?"

"Then we'll just stay outside the main channel and wait," Li Te said, a faint smile curling his lips, "Wait until all of Mumbai crowds onto the shoreline to see why the ship is anchored there. Wait until London's phones are hammered, asking why we wouldn't let a ship that only wants fresh water into port."

The signal was sent.

Almost simultaneously, on the bridge of the Dauntless, the communications officer, holding the translated dispatch, walked toward Abasnot with a strange expression.

"Sir, the Restoration Ship broadcast in plain language. The content… you can read it yourself."

Abasnot took the dispatch, glanced at it once, and closed his eyes.

Friendly visit. Fresh water replenishment. Payment at market price.

Each term complies with international law, each phrase is politely proper, yet together they constitute the ultimate provocation toward the British Empire's Indian colonial authorities.

"They want to make a big fuss," the artillery chief whispered, "They want all of India, no, the whole world to see: the Royal Navy can't handle them, the Governor‑General of India can't handle them either."

"What choices do we have?" Abasnot opened his eyes, his voice weary, "Open fire? At a point twenty nautical miles from the port, in front of thousands of fishermen and merchant ships, on a vessel that merely 'requests fresh water'? That would spark a diplomatic disaster."

"But sir, letting them…"

"We have no choice," Abasnot cut him off, "London's latest order is 'avoid conflict, maintain contact.' Maintaining contact means wherever they go, we go. They stop, we stop. They enter the port… God, they really intend to enter the port, don't they?"

Before the words finished, the lookout shouted, "They're turning! Heading adjustment, now pointing toward the main channel entrance!"

Mumbai Port, Kolarba District Chinese Chamber of Commerce

Chen Jinfu set down the telescope, his hand trembling slightly. The fifty‑year‑old Fujian merchant had been in India for thirty years, rising from a street vendor to the owner of a trading company, but he had never been as excited as today.

"It's real… it's real!" he turned to everyone crowded on the second floor of the chamber and said, "That ship! That huge vessel! Flying the Yellow Dragon flag! It's our Chinese ship!"

A restrained cheer erupted in the room. Over thirty Chinese merchants, workers, and students squeezed at the window, scrambling to look out. Though still far, only a gray silhouette could be seen, but the flag—yellow background, blue dragon, encircled by gears—they had seen it in newspapers, in secretly circulated photos.

That was Lanfang's flag.

"Mr. Chen, what should we do now?" a young student asked, eyes bright as if about to ignite, "Should we organize people to go to the port to welcome?"

"No," Chen Jinfu shook his head, "The British will arrest people. But…" he thought, "But we can 'just' be working at the docks, 'just' be near the port. Also, notify all Chinese shops to open today, and open earlier than usual."

"Why?"

"Because today is a special day," Chen Jinfu walked to the window, watching the massive ship draw nearer, his voice a little hoarse, "Because today, our Chinese warship has arrived at the British Empire's most important colonial port. Because today, we will show everyone—that Chinese can build such ships, Chinese have such power."

He turned around, looking at the excited faces in the room:

"Go notify them. But remember, no gatherings, no slogans, no giving the British an excuse to arrest people. All we need is… stand there, watch. With our eyes tell the people on that ship: we saw, we know, we've waited too long for this day."

The crowd dispersed. Chen Jinfu remained alone in the room, raising the telescope again.

The ship came closer. Now its outline was clear—so long, so large, so… beautiful.

He recalled thirty years ago, his first arrival in Mumbai. He was not yet twenty, standing on the deck of a British liner, watching the massive warships in the harbor, feeling awe and inferiority. He thought: when will Chinese also have such ships?

Now, the answer lies before his eyes.