Chapter 667: I Can Go Get It Personally

That's good.

He lifted his head and looked at the ministers present.

Has the cabinet reached a conclusion?

The Prime Minister was silent for three seconds, then shook his head.

Your Majesty, we… are still discussing.

Qiao Zhi Wu Shi looked at him, and that gaze sent a chill through the Prime Minister's heart.

Still discussing? The enemy has already pressed a knife to our throats, and you are still discussing?

He stood up and walked to the map.

When I was young, I served in the Royal Navy. I know what war is about. I also know that the most important thing in war is not the number of ships, but morale.

He pointed at the Indian Ocean.

Our soldiers are now in India, in Australia, in Singapore, waiting for orders from home. And home? Still discussing.

He turned and looked at those ministers.

I know this is hard. Admitting defeat is hard, surrendering is harder. But sometimes, the price of not conceding is greater than conceding.

The Prime Minister stood up: "Your Majesty, you mean…"

Qiao Zhi Wu Shi looked at him, silent for three seconds.

What I mean is, if we cannot win, we negotiate. If negotiations fail, we fight again. But we cannot drag this out— the longer it drags, the more die, the worse we lose.

He walked back to the doorway and paused.

I have only one sentence: whatever decision you make, I will support. But please act quickly. The British Empire cannot endure such internal strife.

After the door closed, the conference room fell into dead silence again.

The Prime Minister slowly sat down, hands covering his face.

"General Staff," he said hoarsely, "run the war game again. Include every possibility."

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff stood up and walked to the map.

"Prime Minister, we have already done it three times. The results are the same."

"Do it again," the Prime Minister said without looking up, "until there is hope."

Dubai time, 8 p. m., Presidential Office.

Chen Feng sat in the reception hall, a cup of tea in front of him, already completely cold. He did not drink, just stared at the cup as if studying the tea leaves' veins.

Opposite him sat Meilika's consul in Dubai, Zhan Mu Si·Bu Lang. The diplomat in his fifties wore a dark gray suit, his tie impeccably knotted, yet a few beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed his tension.

"President Chen," Bu Lang cleared his throat and began, "Our government is deeply concerned about the current situation. War benefits no one. Our country is willing to act as an impartial third party to facilitate peace talks between Lanfang and Yingguo."

Chen Feng lifted his head and looked at him.

He said nothing.

Bu Lang felt uneasy under that gaze, but as a career diplomat he knew he had to fulfill his mission.

"Yingguo government has authorized me to convey their stance: they acknowledge this as a 'regrettable misjudgment,' are willing to compensate Lanfang for all losses, and guarantee such incidents will not recur. They hope... both sides can return to the pre-war state."

Chen Feng finally spoke, his voice as calm as if discussing the weather.

"Return to the pre-war state?"

"Yes. Back to pre-war."

Chen Feng lifted the cup and took a sip. The tea was cold, but he didn't mind.

"Mr. Bu Lang, have you seen the appearance of the Huaihe?"

Bu Lang was momentarily stunned: "I... saw the photos."

"Photos," Chen Feng set down the cup, "can a photo capture the lingering scent on that ship? The smell of blood, of gunpowder, of charred flesh."

Bu Lang fell silent.

Chen Feng stood and walked to the window. Outside, the lights of Dubai Port glittered in the night. In the distance, the silhouettes of the Huaihe and the Zhujiang were faintly visible, welding sparks like golden rain.

"Those one hundred twenty‑seven people—what are their families doing now? Some wait at the dock—for a ship that will never return. Some weep at home—crying until their tears run dry. Some kneel in temples, burning incense—praying that the bodhisattva grants their sons a better fate in the next life."

He turned and looked at Bu Lang.

"You tell me, return to the pre-war state?"

Bu Lang inhaled deeply.

"President, I understand your anger. War only brings more coffins. Do you truly wish to see tens of thousands of young people die?"

Chen Feng walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Mr. Bu Lang, do you know why the Yingguo people dare to attack us?"

Bu Lang gave no answer.

"Because they think Lanfang is easy to bully. Because they think killing a hundred of us, paying a little money, will settle it."

He stared directly into Bu Lang's eyes.

"Tell them, Lanfang will not accept negotiations. Unless—"

Bu Lang quickly asked, "Unless what?"

"Unless the Yingguo government publicly apologizes, admits this was a deliberate attack, not a 'misjudgment.' Unless they hand over the commander who ordered the fire, to be tried in our courts. Unless they compensate all losses, including death benefits for fallen soldiers, repair costs for the Huaihe and Zhujiang, and all resources we invested in the war. Unless they acknowledge Lanfang's special status in Yazhou and relinquish all privileges in Yazhou."

Bu Lang inhaled a cold breath.

"President, this... this is harsher than defeat. Yingguo people could never accept it."

Chen Feng nodded.

"I know. They won't give it; I can go and take it myself!"

He stood up, looking at Bu Lang.

"Mr. Bu Lang, go back and tell President Wilson: Lanfang appreciates his goodwill, but mediation is unnecessary. We will fight this war ourselves."

Brown opened his mouth, as if to say something, but in the end he couldn't get the words out. He stood up, gave Chen Feng a slight bow, then turned and left.

After the door closed, Chen Feng stood by the window and stared for a long time.

Wang Wenwu pushed the door open and entered.

"President, leaving?"

Chen Feng nodded.

"How will he report to Washington?"

Chen Feng thought for a moment, "He will say, Chen Feng has gone mad."

Wang Wenwu was startled for a moment.

Chen Feng turned and looked at him.

"Minister Wang, do you think I'm mad?"

Wang Wenwu was silent for a few seconds.

"As the Foreign Minister, I think you are mad. As a Lanfang native, I think you are right."

Chen Feng smiled. It was the first time Wang Wenwu had seen Chen Feng smile—not the polite, professional smile, but a genuine one.

"That will do."

Huo Erda Sa.

Zhao Dengyu stood outside the command post, watching the desert bathed in moonlight. In the distance, the outlines of a tank unit could be faintly seen—those steel behemoths in the night resembled a pack of sleeping beasts.

Chief of Staff Li Tiejun walked over and handed over a military coat.

"Division Commander, it's cool tonight; put it on."

Zhao Dengyu took it and draped it over his shoulders.

"Old Li, what are the Yingguo doing now?"

Li Tiejun thought for a moment, "They should be reinforcing the defenses of the Suez Canal. With so much activity on our side, their reconnaissance aircraft are surely coming every day."

"Good that they're coming," Zhao Dengyu said, "Let them see us, make them nervous, and force them to shift all troops to the canal banks."

He paused, then asked, "Do the reconnaissance troops have any news?"

"We just received a report. The British Army across the river is digging trenches and building bunkers. Over at the Kantara crossing, they've set up barbed wire and also laid landmines."

Zhao Dengyu squinted.

"Landmines? Where did they come from?"

"They were brought from Egypt. The Yingguo have transferred all the North African garrison here."