Chapter 60: This Is Shame! Bare, Unvarnished Shame!

London, Number Ten Downing Street, Cabinet emergency meeting

"This is disgrace! Bare, naked disgrace!"

Finance Minister Asiquisi's fist slammed onto the table, shaking the teacups so they clanged. Smoke curled in the conference room, and everyone's complexion was grim.

Prime Minister Kanbei-Bannaman sat in the chief seat, holding two freshly received telegrams—one from the Governor‑General of India, the other from the "Dauntless". Both telegrams said the same thing: that damned "Restoration Ship" was heading for Mumbai Port, under the pretext of a "friendly visit".

"What are they up to?" Asiquisi roared, "Stabbing a knife into the Empire's throat and calling it 'fresh water replenishment'? This is provocation! It is an act of war!"

"Then how will you respond?" Foreign Minister Langsidun asked coldly, "Open fire on a ship that merely asks for fresh water? In front of the whole world?"

"We can refuse! Ban it from entering the port!"

"And then?" First Sea Minister Bodeng spoke, his voice oddly calm, "Make it anchor outside the main channel so every ship entering or leaving Mumbai sees it, so every Indian newspaper reports 'the Royal Navy dares not let it in'? How is that different from letting it in? No, the difference is greater—it would make us look cowardly."

The conference room fell silent.

Bodeng stood, walked to the massive world map on the wall. His finger pointed at Mumbai, then slowly drifted to the Persian Gulf.

"Gentlemen, we must face reality. The reality is that a young man named Chen Feng, with only one warship, has forced us into a corner." He turned, his gaze sweeping everyone, "He calculated every move. First he displayed force in the Oman Bay, making us reluctant to fire; then he led our fleet across the Indian Ocean, showing speed and endurance; now he intends to enter Mumbai Port, showing his ship can appear in any corner of the Empire."

"He is telling us: blockades are useless, because his ship can break through easily; deterrence is useless, because his ship outclasses ours; even 'non‑recognition' is useless, because he will appear before you, forcing you to acknowledge his existence."

Asiquisi opened his mouth to rebut, but no words came out.

Because everything Bodeng said was factual.

"Then what do you propose?" Army Minister Bodeng asked, "We can't really let it in, can we? The Empire's prestige…"

"The Empire's prestige," Bodeng interrupted, "was already damaged when the first report came from Abbasnot. What we can do now is minimize the loss."

He walked back to his seat and picked up a document:

"Latest analysis from Naval Intelligence. Based on thirty hours of observation of the Dauntless, the Restoration Ship's speed is at least 30 knots, its main gun caliber exceeds 380 mm, and its displacement tops 35,000 tons. Its technology level, conservatively estimated, is five years ahead of us, possibly seven to ten years."

"That means, if war breaks out, all our Indian Ocean outposts—Singapore, Colombo, Aden—are within its strike range. Moreover, we cannot catch up, nor can we defeat it."

He set the document down; the conference room was deathly silent.

"So my suggestion is," Bodeng said slowly, "agree to its 'fresh water replenishment' but with conditions: first, the time must not exceed twenty‑four hours; second, no more than twenty personnel may go ashore; third, all activities are confined to the dock area; fourth, the British fleet will 'escort' outside the harbor, which in practice is surveillance."

"That's too weak!" Asiquisi protested.

"Do you have a better plan?" Kanbei-Bannaman finally spoke, "Send the East India Fleet to intercept? According to the report, the most advanced battleship of the East India Fleet is the Edward VII class, whose performance is still inferior to the Dauntless. If war erupts, our entire naval power in the Indian Ocean could be destroyed."

He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted:

"Gentlemen, we are not facing natives or second‑rate nations. We are facing a force that controls next‑generation naval technology. Moreover, this force is simultaneously a partner of Deguo and Faguo. If we mishandle it, we could upset the whole European situation."

"What about the French side…" Langsidun asked.

"I've already arranged to meet the French ambassador this afternoon," the Prime Minister said, "We must know what Paris and that 'Lanfang' have actually agreed on. More importantly, we must know whether they might… stand on our side."

"Stand on our side?" Asiquisi laughed as if hearing the biggest joke, "The French are gloating now! They spent three million eight hundred thousand Yingguo pounds to buy a technological edge we couldn't obtain even with fifteen million Yingguo pounds!"

"So we must offer a higher price," Kanbei-Bannaman rose, "Gentlemen, vote. Those who agree with Bodeng's proposal—allowing the Restoration Ship limited access to Mumbai while initiating secret talks with the French—raise your hands."

He raised his hand first.

Bodeng raised his hand.

Langsidun hesitated briefly, then raised his hand.

Bodeng looked, sighed, and raised his hand.

Four to one.

Asiquisi slumped in his chair, as if all strength had been drained.

"Fine," Kanbei-Bannaman said, "Langsidun, inform the Governor‑General of India to implement this plan. Bodeng, prepare yourself; this afternoon meet me with the French ambassador. What we will discuss… may go beyond the Indian Ocean issue."

Paris, Foreign Minister's Office

"They've agreed! The Yingguo have agreed!"

General Xiaer Dubuwa practically burst into the office, waving the newly received telegram. Foreign Minister TaiAofeile Delkasa looked up; the shrewd old diplomat showed a rare smile.

"Let me guess: permission to visit, but with a bundle of restrictions?"

"How did you know?"

"Because that's the Yingguo's usual practice." Delkasa took the telegram, skimmed quickly, "When you can't stop them, you try to control. When you can't refuse, you try to limit. Interesting, isn't it? For three centuries, others have come to London to request visits; now London is asking others not to be too flamboyant in their visits."

Dubuwa laughed heartily. Since receiving the news yesterday that the Restoration Ship was turning toward Mumbai, he had been in a state of exhilaration.

"Minister, do you know what this means? It means our investment is priceless. One Restoration Ship can scramble the Yingguo's entire deployment in the Indian Ocean. When our five Guba‑class ships enter service…"

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Delkasa set the telegram down, his expression turning serious, "The Yingguo won't sit idle. They've already arranged to meet me this afternoon; I guess it's to discuss conditions."

"What conditions?"

"Either we abandon our cooperation with Lanfang, or… we share the results of the cooperation." Delkasa walked to the window, watching the traffic in Concord Square, "London's gentlemen have finally realized they cannot solve problems with force. So from now on, they'll use diplomacy, trade, and their favorite 'divide and rule'."

"Then we…"

"What we need to do is simple: maintain balance." The minister turned, "On one hand, continue pushing the cooperation with Lanfang; that's the French Navy's only chance to turn the tide; on the other hand, don't completely reject the Yingguo—let them retain hope, let them pay a price. Most importantly, we must not let Lanfang fall entirely to Deguo."