Chapter 724: The Allure of Permanent Member Seats!

Chen Feng shook his head.

"No one will lose completely, nor will anyone win completely. The war will end in some way, all sides will be exhausted, all sides will suffer heavy losses. Then, someone will need to clean up the aftermath."

He turned and looked at Lawaer.

"Who will clean it up?"

Lawaer said nothing.

Chen Feng continued: "Yingguo? They are buried in debt, have lost half their colonies, and their navy has been crippled. Deguo? They have lost millions, their homeland is on the brink of starvation, and it's uncertain whether the emperor can keep his throne. Meilika? They have money and power, but across the Atlantic they cannot intervene in European affairs."

He paused.

"The ones truly able to clean up the aftermath are the countries that have not exhausted their vital energy in this war."

Lawaer's eyes brightened.

"You mean—"

Chen Feng nodded.

"Lanfang is dedicated to establishing an International League after the war to maintain world peace. This League will create several permanent member seats with veto power. Any major international matter must receive unanimous consent of the permanent members to pass."

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Lanfang is very interested in making Faguo one of the permanent members."

Lawaer was stunned.

Permanent member. Veto power.

He had never seen those terms in any international organization's charter, but he instantly grasped their weight.

That meant Faguo could retain great‑power status after the war. That meant Faguo could veto any international resolution unfavorable to it. That meant Faguo—already drained by the war—could stand on equal footing with Meilika and Lanfang in the future world order.

"President," his voice trembled slightly, "you mean—"

Chen Feng looked at him, his gaze calm.

"What I mean is that a new order is needed after the war. It will no longer be that Yingguo decides everything alone, nor that the European great powers close the doors and divide the cake. The new order requires new rules, a new power structure."

He lifted his teacup and took a sip.

"Faguo should have a place in this new order."

Lawaer didn't know how he had left that office.

He only knew that when he stood at the entrance of the Presidential Palace, the sun had already shifted westward. The sunlight warmed his face, but his whole body was still cold.

Dumeng came forward, his face anxious.

"Ambassador! How did the talks go? You've been in there for four hours!"

Lawaer looked at him, opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.

He recalled every sentence Chen Feng had spoken during those four hours.

Regarding the conception of the International League, the permanent member seats, and the design of veto power—those things he had never heard of in any diplomatic setting, yet they seemed as if they were meant to exist. Chen Feng spoke slowly, explaining each detail clearly, as if he had been pondering them for many years, as if Lanfang's diplomats had prepared countless contingency plans.

He remembered Chen Feng's final words: "Lawaer, go back and tell Prime Minister Kelei Mengsuo—Faguo is Lanfang's most important partner in Europe. We hope that after the war we can work together with Faguo to jointly safeguard world peace."

Partner. Not a vassal, not a junior, not a piece to be sacrificed at will.

But a partner.

He took a deep breath and said to Dumeng, "Return to the ship. Immediately."

Dumeng was stunned: "But Ambassador, you haven't eaten—"

"Return to the ship!" Lawaer shouted almost. "I need to send a telegram to Paris right now!"

That night, the St. Mary.

Lawaer locked himself in the cabin, writing and crossing out the draft telegram repeatedly.

The first version read: "Chen Feng proposes establishing an International League after the war, with Faguo becoming one of the permanent members. Recommend careful consideration."

Too light. A permanent member is no small matter; it cannot be "carefully considered."

The second version read: "Lanfang is willing to establish a post‑war strategic partnership with Faguo, on the condition that Faguo recognizes Lanfang's vested interests in Yazhou."

Too vague. Strategic partnership—what does that mean? Not clarified.

The third version read: "Chen Feng proposes that after the war the major powers jointly manage world affairs, with Faguo holding veto power. This move could fundamentally alter the international landscape. Recommend high priority."

This time, he thought it was about right.

The seven words "fundamentally alter the international landscape" were enough to catch Kelei Mengsuo's attention.

He picked up the pen and added another line: "Lanfang's sincerity is extremely high; it is recommended that the Prime Minister decide personally."

After writing, he read it three times, then handed the telegram to Dumeng.

"Send it out. Use the highest priority."

Dumeng took the telegram, glanced at it, and his complexion changed.

"Ambassador, this…"

"Send it." Lawaer repeated, "Not a single character may be wrong."

Dumeng nodded, turned and left.

Lawaer walked to the porthole and looked at the pitch‑black night outside.

He suddenly thought of a question: why was Chen Feng helping Faguo?

The International League's permanent member seats—what immense power, what huge benefits, what great temptation. Lanfang could play on its own, could play with Meilika, even with Deguo. Why must it involve Faguo, a country already half dead?

He thought for a while, then suddenly understood.

Because Lanfang needs a European ally.

Meilika is too far, Deguo too weak, Yingguo is an enemy. Only Faguo has some strength, is dissatisfied with Yingguo, and urgently needs a post‑war backer.

Chen Feng is playing a very large chess game.

A game that spans the Eurasian continent and involves decades to come.

And he, Laval, was honored to become a piece on this board of chess.

But he didn't mind.

Because at least, this was a piece that could change France's fate.

December 15th, Paris.

Kele Mengsuo sat in his office, a telegram from Dubai spread before him. He had already read it more than ten times, each time his heart raced.

"Permanent member state", "veto power", "jointly managing world affairs" — these words burned in his mind like a lump of fire.

Foreign Minister Pi Xiong sat opposite him, having also finished reading the telegram, with the same shocked expression.

"Prime Minister, this… could this be possible?"

Kele Mengsuo gave no answer.

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, Paris's night was deep. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower flickered in the darkness, like a solitary finger pointing to the sky.

He recalled four years ago, when the war first broke out. At that time, the Germans' cannons were aimed at Paris, and everyone thought the city was doomed. He stood at the same window, watching the fleeing crowds, thinking: how long could France hold out?

Three years had passed.

France held on. Verdun held on, the Somme River held on, those grinding machines that killed three hundred thousand people also held on.

But now, France faced another challenge—postwar world order.