Chapter 717: A Visit to Italy

When Xingdengbao walked out of the palace, the sky had already darkened.

He stood on the steps at the entrance, watching the distant sky stained red by the setting sun. Berlin's architecture appeared especially solemn in the sunset—those spired churches, those towering government buildings, those neatly arranged apartment blocks—all silent in the golden‑red light.

Ludengdaofu walked to his side and stood shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Marshal, are you really going?"

Xingdengbao nodded.

"Your Majesty gave the order; I cannot refuse."

Ludengdaofu was silent for a few seconds.

"Do you think the Italians are sincere?"

Xingdengbao did not answer immediately. He stared at the increasingly dark sky in the distance for a long time.

Then he said softly, "Ludengdaofu, you know, I have lived seventy years and have witnessed countless betrayals."

Ludengdaofu said nothing.

"I have seen politicians betray ideals, generals betray soldiers, nations betray allies. But I have never seen a single person betray three times within two years."

He turned and looked at Ludengdaofu.

"The Italians are not here to form an alliance. They are here to profit opportunistically. If we win on the Western Front, they will stand with us and share the spoils. If we lose, they will side with the British and French and step on us again."

Ludengdaofu frowned, "Then why are you still going?"

Xingdengbao gave a wry smile.

"Because Your Majesty needs hope. After three years, this is the first time he sees a glimmer of reversal. I cannot dampen that hope now."

He descended the steps and walked toward the car parked by the roadside.

After a few steps, he suddenly stopped, turned back, and looked at Ludengdaofu.

"Ludengdaofu, remember—no matter what the Italians promise, do not trust it. Not a single word of theirs can be believed."

Ludengdaofu nodded.

Xingdengbao got into the car, the door closed, and the vehicle slowly drove away from the palace.

Ludengdaofu stood alone on the steps, watching the car disappear into the night.

At the same time, Tirpitz sat in his study, a thick Lanfang intelligence report spread out before him.

He read it over and over, examining each page carefully. Those numbers, those place names, those time points—every detail in the intelligence Chen Feng gave him was crystal clear.

Malaya Campaign: 42,000 dead, expected to conclude on November 20.

Burma Campaign: 53,000 dead, expected to secure the whole theater by December 10.

India Campaign: expected to launch in January next year, ending in March.

Australia Campaign: expected to launch in February next year, ending in May.

Tirpitz looked at those time points, silently calculating in his mind.

It is now November 15. If all goes well, India can be secured by March next year. In April, the Lanfang and Sakura Nation coalition will be free to act. In May, the first troops can board and set out. In July, they will reach Europe.

Eight months.

If we endure eight more months, Deguo will see a turning point.

The door was gently knocked.

"Come in."

A young man in uniform entered; he was his adjutant.

"Marshal, Your Majesty sent someone, saying they wish to see you."

Tirpitz was startled, "Now?"

"Yes. The car is already waiting at the door."

Tirpitz stood up, straightened his collar, and left the study.

In Wilhelm II's study, the light was dim.

When Tirpitz entered, Wilhelm II was standing by the window, watching the pitch‑black night outside. Hearing the footstep, he turned and gestured toward the sofa.

"Sit, Marshal."

Tirpitz sat on the sofa. Wilhelm II walked to the opposite side and sat down.

The two were silent for a few seconds.

"Marshal," Wilhelm II finally spoke, "Tell me honestly, do you truly believe Lanfang will send troops to help us?"

Tirpitz looked at him, silent for a few seconds.

"Your Majesty, you want to hear the truth?"

"I want to hear it."

Tirpitz nodded.

"Then I'll speak plainly—I am not certain."

Wilhelm II was taken aback for a moment.

"You are not certain?"

Tirpitz nodded.

"Your Majesty, Chen Feng is a clever man. Very clever. Every decision he makes is for Lanfang's benefit. Sending troops to Europe—what advantage does that give Lanfang? He will have calculated it precisely."

He paused, his voice dropping lower.

"I stayed in Dubai for seven days and talked with him three times. Each time he phrased things beautifully: 'Deguo and Lanfang are natural allies,' 'Deguo's blood shed will be remembered by Lanfang,' 'After the war we will rebuild Europe together'—but anyone can say flattering words. When the time comes to make a sacrifice, I don't know how he will choose."

Wilhelm II was silent.

Tirpitz continued, "But I know one thing."

"What?"

Chen Feng understood better than anyone that letting Deguo fall would not benefit Lanfang. If Yingguo were to win completely, they would become the world hegemon again. Then all of Lanfang's achievements in Yazhou would be gradually eaten away by the English.

He lifted his head and looked at Wilhelm II.

"So, Your Majesty, I'm not sure whether Lanfang will send troops. But I'm certain that Chen Feng will devise every possible method to keep the war going. The longer it drags on, the stronger Lanfang becomes. When everyone is exhausted, they can step out to tidy up the aftermath."

Wilhelm II remained silent for a long time.

Then he asked, "What should we do?"

Tirpitz looked at him.

"Wait. Wait for Lanfang to take India, wait for them to free up their hand. In the meantime, keep Italy steady, keep the Austro‑Hungarian Empire steady, keep our own front steady."

He stood up and walked to the window.

"Your Majesty, this war is no longer just between us and England and France. Lanfang has joined, and Meilika is about to join. This is a world war— a true world war. The outcome is decided not by us, not by Yingguo, nor even Deguo, but by those who have not yet exerted their full strength."

Wilhelm II walked to his side and stood shoulder to shoulder with him.

"You mean Meilika?"

Tirpitz nodded.

"Meilika has a hundred million people, boundless industrial capacity, and inexhaustible resources. Once they commit fully, none of us can stop them."

He turned and looked at Wilhelm II.

"So, Your Majesty, we must buy time. Buy it until Lanfang can free its hand, buy it until we can fight side by side with Lanfang. Only then do we have a chance—not to win, but not to lose."

At three o'clock in the morning, the Xingdengbao special train slowly left Berlin station.

The old Marshal sat by the carriage window, watching the pitch‑black night outside. In the distance, Berlin's lights grew farther, grew dimmer, and finally vanished completely into the darkness.

In his hand he clenched a document—a letter of authorization signed personally by Wilhelm II, granting him authority to negotiate with Italy on behalf of Deguo.

The authorization was written simply, yet every character radiated the emperor's expectation.

"Negotiate candidly with the Italian representatives, strive to reach an agreement favorable to Deguo. If necessary, concessions may be made at discretion."