Chapter 711: Those Who Aren

Secretary of State Luobote·Lanxin pushed the door open, holding a stack of new documents. His complexion was somewhat grim, and dark circles were evident under his eyes—he hadn't slept well last night.

"Mr. President, General Panxing is on the line. The advance force of fourteen thousand troops has fully arrived at Saint‑Nazaire Port and is gathering at the designated positions."

Wilson nodded, took the telegram, glanced at it, and placed it on the desk.

"What response have the French given?"

Lansing forced a wry smile.

"The French are overjoyed. General Xiafei will personally greet them at the port, calling it a 'great day.' Paris newspapers ran a front‑page headline: 'Meilika has arrived; will victory be far off?'"

Wilson sneered.

"Victory? Fourteen thousand men are not even enough to fill a crack in the European battlefield."

He stood and walked to the massive world map on the wall. On the map, the red of Yingguo was fading piece by piece, replaced by Lanfang's golden dragon flag—Singapore, Myanmar, Yilang, all changed color. India's red remained, but it was already surrounded by black arrows. Beside the Suez Canal, Lanfang's 120,000 troops were watching hungrily.

"Lanfang people fight too fast," he said, without turning back, "so fast that we can't even react in time."

Lansing moved to his side, also looking at the map.

"Indeed, in a week we've lost half of Yazhou. Yingguo now resembles a wounded lion, bleeding everywhere."

Wilson turned and looked at him.

"Lansing, what do you think we should do?"

Lansing was silent for a few seconds.

"Mr. President, this is a dilemma. Helping Yingguo offends Lanfang; not helping Yingguo offends Yingguo. And we need both Yingguo and Lanfang."

Wilson walked back to his desk and sat down.

"That's why my head hurts," he massaged his temples, "Yingguo is our traditional ally, sharing language, culture, and values. Lanfang? They're half a world away, completely unrelated. Logically, we should help Yingguo."

He paused.

"But Lansing, look at this map. Yingguo is already losing in Yazhou. Singapore is gone, Myanmar is gone, Yilang is gone, India won't hold much longer. Even if we send troops, what can we change?"

Lansing thought for a moment.

"We can't change anything. Yazhou is too far; our main forces are in Europe. By the time our fleet sails half the globe to India, the daylily will have wilted."

"Exactly," Wilson nodded, "so helping Yingguo can only be done in Europe. We can't and shouldn't meddle in Asian affairs."

He picked up the telegram from Chen Feng and read it again.

"We will not become enemies of Meilika," he murmured, "Chen Feng is telling me: you fight your Europe, I fight my Asia. Our waters don't interfere."

Lansing was taken aback for a moment.

"Mr. President, you mean…"

Wilson lifted his head and looked at him.

"I mean, we won't involve ourselves in Asian matters. Let Yingguo and Lanfang sort it out themselves. We'll focus on Europe."

Lansing was silent for a few seconds.

"And the Yingguo side…"

"On the Yingguo side, I'll explain to them," Wilson stood and walked to the window, "they're currently unable to protect themselves, lacking strength to turn against us. As long as we put more effort on the European front, they won't say a word."

Outside the window, sunlight fell on the lawn and the busy gardeners. Everything looked so tranquil, as if war were in another world.

"Lansing," Wilson suddenly asked, "after the war ends, what will the world become?"

Lansing thought for a moment.

"I don't know, Mr. President. But it will certainly change. Yingguo will no longer be the top power, Deguo is severely weakened, Lanfang suddenly rises, and we…"

"We what?"

Lansing looked at him.

"We might become the biggest winners—if we handle it well."

Wilson nodded.

"Yes, the biggest winners," he said softly, "but only if we manage it properly."

Wilson walked back to his desk, picked up a pen, and began drafting a reply to Chen Feng.

He wrote, crossed out, wrote again. He did it three times, still unsatisfied.

Lansing stood aside, watching the crossed‑out drafts.

The first draft read: "The Meilika government deeply concerns itself with Lanfang's military actions and calls for both sides to resolve the dispute through peaceful negotiations…"

Too soft. Chen Feng would only sneer.

The second draft read: "Meilika has no intention to intervene in Asian affairs, but hopes Lanfang respects the existing international order…"

Too vague. What is the existing international order? The one set by Yingguo? On what basis would Chen Feng respect it?

The third draft read: "Meilika will fully support European allies, but will not become hostile to Lanfang in Asia. We hope both sides maintain communication to avoid misjudgment…"

Too long. Chen Feng has no time for lengthy essays.

Wilson tossed the pen, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

"Lansing, what do you think Chen Feng wants to hear?"

Lansing thought for a moment.

"He wants a clear stance. Not ambiguous diplomatic language, but 'we won't fight you, and you shouldn't fight us.'"

Wilson opened his eyes.

"Is it that simple?"

"It is that simple." Lansing nodded. "Chen Feng is a pragmatic person. He dislikes the empty, only likes the concrete. Tell him the facts, and he'll know what to do."

Wilson was silent for a few seconds, then picked up the pen and rewrote.

This time, he wrote only one sentence:

"Meilika has no intention to be hostile to Lanfang. Asian matters, Meilika will not involve. European matters, please Lanfang also refrain."

He finished writing, read it over once, and handed it to Lansing.

"How is it?"

Lansing looked at it and nodded.

"Good. Simple, direct, no detours."

Wilson read it again, then signed his name.

"Send it out. Use clear code."

Lansing was startled for a moment.

"Clear code? Mr. President, if we send it out in clear code, everyone can receive it."

"Right," Wilson stood up, walked to the window, "Let the British see it, let the French see it, let the whole world see it—Meilika doesn't want to war with Lanfang. They fight their Asia, we manage our Europe."

Lansing hesitated for a moment.

"Mr. President, would this make the British think we are abandoning them?"

Wilson turned around and looked at him.

"Lansing, the British need us now, not the other way around. What can they do? Turn against us? Would they dare?"

Lansing thought for a moment and nodded.

"Understood."

He turned to leave, and Wilson called him.

"Wait."

Lansing stopped.

Wilson walked up to him and looked at him.

"Lansing, you say what I'm doing is right, correct?"

Lansing was silent for a few seconds.

"Mr. President, are you asking me personally, or as Secretary of State?"

"Both."

Lansing thought again.

"As Secretary of State, I think this is the wisest choice. Bet on both sides, offend no one. As an individual..."

"As an individual, what?"

Lansing looked at him.

"As an individual, I think you are very calm. So calm it's somewhat cold‑hearted."

Wilson was stunned for a moment, then smiled.

"Cold‑hearted? Perhaps. But in these times, those who aren't cold‑hearted don't live long."

He waved his hand.

"Go ahead. Send it out."