Chapter 725: The Temptation of the Permanent Member 2

Yingguo is declining, Deguo is collapsing, Meilika is rising, Lanfang is becoming a new power. In this new world, what position will Faguo have?

A second‑rate country? A country that watches others' moods? A country forgotten in a corner?

Or—

He turned and looked at Pi Xiong.

"Pi Xiong, tell me, why does Chen Feng give us such a great benefit?"

Pi Xiong thought for a moment.

"Because we need him. Because we need a friend in Europe."

Kelei Mengsuo nodded.

"Right. But also because we need him, he can give us benefits."

He walked back to his desk and picked up the telegram.

"Permanent member. Veto power. Pi Xiong, do you know what that means?"

Pi Xiong shook his head.

Kelei Mengsuo's voice was soft, but each word was as heavy as a stone.

"That means, after the war, Faguo can stand on equal footing with Yingguo. It can stand on equal footing with Meilika. It can stand on equal footing with Lanfang. Not like now, watching Yingguo's mood, waiting for Meilika's aid, begging Deguo's forgiveness."

He paused for a moment.

"That means Faguo still has a chance to remain a great power."

Pi Xiong remained silent for a long time.

Then he asked, "Prime Minister, how should we respond?"

Kelei Mengsuo picked up a pen and wrote a line in the blank space of the telegram.

"Tell Chen Feng that Faguo is willing to engage in deeper cooperation with Lanfang. After the war, African matters can be discussed."

He set the pen down and looked at the pitch‑black night sky outside the window.

In the distance, Paris's lights twinkled like countless eyes flickering in the darkness.

Those eyes belong to three million dead French people. They watch this country, watching its future destiny.

"Pi Xiong," he said softly, "you know, sometimes I feel those who have died are luckier than we who are alive."

Pi Xiong was startled for a moment.

"Prime Minister?"

Kelei Mengsuo shook his head.

"It's nothing. You may go out. Let me be alone for a while."

Pi Xiong stood up, bowed, and turned to leave.

After the door closed, Kelei Mengsuo stood alone by the window, watching the night outside.

He recalled that winter at Verdun, in trenches at minus twenty degrees, he shivered together with the soldiers. A young soldier asked him, "Prime Minister, will we win?"

He said, "We will."

The soldier laughed, laughing as happily as a child.

The next day, that soldier died under German artillery fire.

Now, someone asks him again: Will Faguo win?

He does not know.

But he knows that Chen Feng gave him an opportunity—a chance for Faguo to remain a great power after the war.

He cannot miss this opportunity.

December 18, Dubai.

Chen Feng sat in his office, with Kelei Mengsuo's reply telegram before him. It contained only one line: "Faguo is willing to engage in deeper cooperation with Lanfang. After the war, African matters can be discussed."

He read it once and smiled.

Wang Wenwu stood beside him and asked, "President, did Kelei Mengsuo agree?"

Chen Feng nodded.

"He agreed. And he was clever—he never mentioned the International League, only said 'deeper cooperation.' That's leaving a fallback for himself and saving face for us."

Wang Wenwu frowned.

"President, can the French be trusted? They've been allies of Yingguo for a hundred years."

Chen Feng stood up and walked to the window.

"Minister Wang, do you know what 'ally' means?"

Wang Wenwu shook his head.

"An ally is someone who stands together when you share a common enemy. Yingguo and Faguo share a common enemy—Deguo. Now Lanfang and Faguo also share a common enemy—Yingguo. So we can also be allies."

He turned and looked at Wang Wenwu.

"As for a hundred years—what does a hundred years matter? Yingguo and Faguo fought wars for a hundred years, from the Hundred Years' War to the Napoleonic Wars, with more dead than anyone. Later Deguo rose, and they became allies. History is like that; there are no eternal friends, only eternal interests."

Wang Wenwu thought for a moment and nodded.

"Understood."

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

"We thank Prime Minister Kelei Mengsuo for his trust. Lanfang looks forward to establishing a long‑term strategic partnership with Faguo. Regarding post‑war African affairs, Lanfang is willing to fully negotiate with Faguo. Concerning the International League permanent member issue, when the time is right, we can discuss further. — Chen Feng"

After finishing, he read it over and handed it to Wang Wenwu.

"Send it out."

Wang Wenwu took the telegram and turned to leave.

"Wait." Chen Feng called after him.

Wang Wenwu stopped.

Chen Feng walked to the map and pointed at the huge landmass of Africa.

"Minister Wang, do you know how many colonies France has in Africa?"

Wang Wenwu thought for a moment.

"Many. West Africa, Equatorial Africa, Madagascar… altogether they may be larger than Europe."

Chen Feng nodded.

"Right. Larger than Europe. Rich in resources, populous, strategically important. If we can cooperate with France to enter Africa—"

He didn't finish, but Wang Wenwu understood.

Africa is Lanfang's next target.

Not with guns, but with cooperation. With profit. With a permanent seat on the League of Nations.

"President," Wang Wenwu said softly, "you are about to make a grand move."

Chen Feng smiled.

"It's not that I want to move. It's this world that forces us to."

He walked back to the window and gazed at the distant, glittering sea.

"Yingguo is about to finish, Deguo is about to collapse, Meilika is still waiting. If we don't act now, once they are all ready, there will be no chance."

That same night, in three places, three people watched the same moon.

Dubai, Chen Feng stood by the window, holding a glass of ice‑cold tea.

Paris, Ke Lie Mengsuo stood by the window, clutching the telegram.

London, A Si Kui Si stood by the window, holding the latest battle report.

Outside the window, London's night was deep. In the distance, the Thames shimmered silver under the moonlight.

He suddenly recalled Wilson's final words: "Dollars are worth more than lives."

Indeed, dollars are worth more than lives.

But Lanfang people trade lives for territory, Yingguo people trade lives for time, Meilika people trade lives for dollars.

When this war ends, who will be the true winner?

He didn't know.

But he knew that from today onward, the world truly changed.

It changed, and it can never return.

December 20, 1917, on the Swiss‑Italian border.

The winter in the Alps arrives early. November's snow had not fully melted, and December laid another thick layer. From the foot to the summit, everything was white—white mountains, white trees, white roads, white sky. Occasionally a few crows flew by, casting black shadows on the snow like drops of ink on rice paper.

A solitary villa perched on the mid‑mountain slope, surrounded by pine forest. It was a Swiss tycoon's winter retreat, now secretly requisitioned by Deguo's Foreign Ministry. From the outside it looked like the other chalets—wooden frame, sloping roof, chimney puffing thin smoke. Yet approaching, one would see two men in civilian clothes standing at the doorway, hands in their pockets, eyes vigilantly scanning the surroundings.

They were civilian agents of Deguo's military intelligence.