Chapter 771: Cyprus Talks

Kele Mengsuo was startled for a moment. He hadn't expected Xingdengbao to agree so readily. He had prepared many rebuttals and many bargaining chips, but now none of them were needed.

Xingdengbao continued, "Alsace and Lorraine were originally French. Fifty years ago, we seized them. Today, returning them to you is only natural." He paused, "Military restrictions can also be discussed. Rheneland demilitarization can also be discussed. Deguo does not want to fight any more. Deguo's people also do not want to fight any more."

Kele Mengsuo looked at him, a complex glint flashing in his eyes. He wanted to say something, but in the end said nothing.

Wilson spoke at the right moment: "Very well. Faguo and Deguo have reached a preliminary consensus. What about Yingguo? Prime Minister Asquith, what do you have to say?"

Asquith stood up.

He took a deep breath and straightened his back. He knew that Yingguo had been thoroughly defeated in Yazhou, but in Europe, Yingguo was still a victor. No matter how overbearing Deguo's people were, they had to bow before Yingguo.

He spoke. His voice was louder than Kele Mengsuo's, his tone harder than Kele Mengsuo's.

"Deguo started this war. In 1914, Deguo invaded Bilishi, dragging Yingguo into the conflict. In four years, Yingguo lost nearly a million people and spent hundreds of billions of pounds. Yingguo's people made enormous sacrifices, and Yingguo's economy suffered a heavy blow."

He grew more agitated as he spoke, his voice rising higher.

"Therefore, Yingguo demands Deguo pay compensation—one billion pounds!"

The conference room fell silent for a second.

Then, someone laughed.

It wasn't a loud laugh, but a light, throat‑borne sneer. Everyone turned toward the voice—it was Xingdengbao.

The old Marshal sat there, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, his face bearing an indefinable expression. It was neither anger nor mockery, but something deeper than anger and colder than mockery. He looked at Asquith as if at a child who didn't know his limits.

Asquith's complexion changed.

"Marshal Xingdengbao," his voice tightened a bit, "what are you laughing at?"

Xingdengbao stood up.

His movements were slow, but each step carried an indescribable majesty. He walked to the huge map of Europe on the wall and pointed at a spot on it.

"Prime Minister Asquith," his voice was low, but each word hammered like a nail into wood, "you just said Deguo should compensate Yingguo one billion pounds. Very well."

He turned and stared directly at Asquith.

"Then may I ask, how many Yingguo prisoners of war does General She Er currently hold?"

Asquith's face turned instantly ashen.

Xingdengbao continued, "On the Indian front, we captured at least eighty thousand British troops. On the Burmese front, another twenty thousand. On the Sinai front, another fifty thousand. Australia—oh, the British forces in Australia have just surrendered to Lanfang, but they are still British, totaling at least thirty thousand."

His finger moved across the map, pointing point by point.

"Altogether, one hundred fifty thousand. One hundred fifty thousand Yingguo prisoners of war are now in Deguo's and Lanfang's hands."

He walked back to his seat but did not sit. He remained standing there, both hands braced on the table edge, looking down on Asquith from above.

"You said Deguo should compensate Yingguo one billion pounds. Then, how much should Yingguo compensate Deguo? How many pounds per head? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? Or a hundred thousand?"

The conference room was dead silent.

Asquith's face flushed bright red, his mouth opened, but not a word came out. His hands trembled, gripping the table edge, his knuckles white. He looked at Wilson, whose face was expressionless. He looked at Kele Mengsuo, who averted his gaze.

No one helped him.

Xingdengbao let out a cold sneer and continued, "Moreover, of the 'Yingguo losses' you mention, how much was lost fighting Deguo, and how much was lost fighting Lanfang? Shall I calculate it for you?"

He pointed at India on the map.

"India, lost. Australia, lost. Burma, lost. Malaya, lost. Singapore, lost. Were these losses caused by Deguo? No. They were you who lost to Lanfang. Now you want to count these losses against Deguo as well?"

His voice suddenly rose.

"Do you still want the face of the British Empire?"

Asquith staggered, nearly falling. His Chief of Staff Ge Lei hurriedly steadied him. Asquith pushed him away, stood there, his face as white as paper.

The conference room was terrifyingly quiet. The wall clock ticked tick‑tock, each sound striking the heart.

Wilson finally spoke. His voice was soft, but everyone heard him clearly.

"Prime Minister Asquith, are you all right?"

Asquith shook his head, saying nothing. He slowly sat down, head down, daring not to look at anyone.

Kele Mengsuo watched the scene, a mixture of emotions churning inside him. He recalled that three months earlier, Faguo was still fighting for survival. Now the Yingguo were publicly humiliated, while Faguo obtained what it wanted. Yet he also knew that Yingguo's defeat was not good for Faguo. A weakened Yingguo meant a destabilized Europe.

But he said nothing. At this moment, nothing he could say would be appropriate.

Xingdengbao also sat down. There was no triumph on his face, only an indescribable fatigue. His earlier words were not meant to humiliate the Yingguo, but to make them face reality. The reality was—Deguo was not a defeated nation; Deguo was simply unable to continue fighting. And Yingguo no longer had the right to dictate to Deguo.

Tirpitz remained silent. He watched Asquith's demeanor, feeling a touch of pity. But it was only pity. The losers on the battlefield and the losers at the negotiating table were equally pitiful.

Wilson glanced at his watch. It was 11:30 a. m. He stood up.

"Everyone, let's end today's talks here." His voice was calm, yet carried an unquestionable authority, "Some issues need each side to reflect back home. Some positions need readjustment. In three days, we will continue."

He paused.

"But not in Frankfurt."

Everyone lifted their heads, looking at him.

Wilson scanned the room and said slowly, "I invite all of you to Cyprus. It is neutral, without hatred, without the shadows of battlefields. The five heads of state, sit down and discuss the post‑war world properly."

He looked toward the Lanfang delegation.

"On the Lanfang side, President Chen Feng will attend in person."

A stir rose in the conference room. Chen Feng attending in person? What did that imply? It meant Lanfang would shift from observer to participant, and that Yazhou's power would formally enter Europe's game board.