Chapter 773: Who Decides? It

Tirpitz fell silent for a few seconds. "But could this drive the British too hard? What if they…?"

"What if they what?" Xingdengbao turned, looking at him. "What if they stop doing business with Germany? What right do they have now to refuse German trade? What if they team up with France to isolate us? The French are shrewd; they won't offend Lanfang over Britain."

He walked back to the desk and sat down.

"Moreover, Chen Feng will help us. He needs us."

Tirpitz nodded. "You're right. Chen Feng will help us." He paused, "Marshal, at the Cyprus Conference, what do you think we can obtain?"

Xingdengbao thought for a moment. "A permanent seat for the five major powers. A veto right. And—dignity."

Tirpitz was startled. "Dignity?"

Xingdengbao nodded. "Yes. Dignity. Not the dignity of the victor, but the dignity of the defeated—being able to live standing, not begging on one's knees."

He stood and walked to the window.

"Tirpitz, tomorrow you will represent Germany at Cyprus. I will stay in Berlin to handle domestic affairs."

Tirpitz rose, stood at attention and saluted. "Yes, Marshal."

Xingdengbao did not turn back. He gazed at the pitch‑black night outside and whispered, "Tell Chen Feng, Germany will not forget."

French delegation headquarters.

Ke Lie Mengsuo sat at the desk, holding a document. It was the secret agreement he and Chen Feng had reached earlier—France would back Lanfang's post‑war order plan, and Lanfang would support France's permanent seat in the League of Nations.

He studied it for a long time, then locked the document in the safe.

Pi Xiong stood nearby and asked softly, "Premier, what do you think we can gain at the Cyprus Conference?"

Ke Lie Mengsuo looked at him and smiled. "We've already gotten it."

Pi Xiong was stunned. "Got it?"

Ke Lie Mengsuo nodded. "Alsace and Lorraine have been reclaimed. The army restrictions, Germany accepted. The demilitarization of the Rhineland, they also accepted. Everything we were entitled to, we have secured."

He stood and walked to the window.

"What remains is the contest between Lanfang and Meilika. We just need to hold our position correctly and not slip up."

Pi Xiong asked, "Then where should we stand?"

Ke Lie Mengsuo turned, looking at him. "Don't stand on either side. Keep both sides happy. Offend neither."

He paused.

"France is no longer a great power. We must learn to dance between two giants."

Lanfang delegation headquarters.

Diplomat Lin sat at the desk, with three reports spread before him—a daytime negotiation record, a copy of Wilson's telegram, and a freshly received reply from Chen Feng.

He examined them for a long time, then packed the documents away and locked them in his briefcase.

Outside, Frankfurt's night was deep. In the distance, church spires flickered faintly in the moonlight. He rose, walked to the window, and stared at the unfamiliar sky.

He recalled Chen Feng's words before departure: "Going to Frankfurt isn't for negotiations; it's to observe. See what those people are thinking, see how this drama unfolds."

He watched. And he understood.

The British panicked, the French were shrewd, the Germans were resolute, and the Meilika were waiting—waiting for a chance, waiting for a turning point that could dominate everything.

Now, that turning point has arrived.

Cyprus.

Morning of June 11, Frankfurt railway station.

Five special trains halted on the platform, their heads exhaling white steam. Soldiers lined up on the platform, rifles loaded, watching the surroundings. No reporters, no farewell crowds—only cold steel guns and silent faces.

Wilson was the first to board the train. He stopped at the doorway and glanced back at Frankfurt's sky. The sky was gray and the heavy clouds hung low. He recalled his feelings four years earlier, when he first came to Europe, believing Meilika could change the world.

Now he knows. The world will not change easily. The only thing that can change is the way one plays the game.

He stepped into the carriage.

Ke Lie Mengsuo boarded second. He moved quickly, without looking back. In his mind was a single thought—Alsace and Lorraine were finally returning.

A Si Kui Si boarded third. His steps were unsteady, his complexion still pale. He had not slept all night, his mind filled with Xingdengbao's slap. He didn't know if he could hold his head up at the Cyprus Conference, but he knew Britain had no way out.

Tirpitz boarded fourth. His stride was steady, his back straight. He wore civilian clothes, not a uniform. It was Chen Feng's suggestion—"Going in uniform draws too much attention. Wear civilian attire, stay low‑key." He complied.

The Lanfang delegate boarded last. Diplomat Lin carried his briefcase, walking at an unhurried pace. A courteous smile rested on his face, revealing no emotion.

The train whistle blew long.

The five special trains slowly left the platform, heading in different directions. They would travel separate routes through various countries, eventually converging at the same point.

Cyprus.

That tiny island in the Mediterranean is about to become the world's center.

Evening of June 11, Dubai.

Chen Feng stood in the presidential palace's study, holding a freshly received telegram. It was sent by Diplomat Lin from Frankfurt, detailing every aspect of the daytime negotiations.

He read it once, then set the telegram down and walked to the window.

Outside, the Persian Gulf shimmered, several warships slowly entered the harbor. The sunset dyed the whole sky crimson, like endless flowing blood.

Wang Wenwu stood behind him, asking softly, "President, was Xingdengbao's slap too harsh?"

Chen Feng did not turn. "Harsh? Not harsh. Just right."

He turned, looking at Wang Wenwu.

"The British need this slap. If we don't wake them, they'll still think they're the world's top power."

Wang Wenwu nodded. "Then at the Cyprus Conference, how shall we negotiate?"

Chen Feng walked back to the desk and sat down.

"It's simple. The five permanent seats: we take one, Meilika takes one, France takes one, Germany takes one, Britain takes one. The veto right belongs to everyone. On the surface, everyone appears equal."

He paused.

"But in reality, who decides is based on strength, not on seats."

Wang Wenwu nodded thoughtfully.

Chen Feng stood up and walked to the window. He gazed at the distant blood‑red sea and said softly:

"The war is over. But the real contest has only just begun."

Evening of June 18, Cyprus Island.

The sun was sinking into the Mediterranean, dyeing the whole sky a brilliant gold‑red. The sea glittered like a layer of scattered gold. Distant mountains were outlined in undulating silhouettes by the sunset, while nearby olive groves rustled in the evening breeze. The island had been tranquil for far too long, almost forgotten. Yet from tomorrow onward, it will become the center of the world.

Chen Feng stood on the second‑floor terrace of the villa, watching the distant sea darkening.

He had arranged for the villa to be rented in advance, not in the hotel zone designated for the conference, but in a secluded bay on the island's east side. White walls, a red roof, and a cool pavilion covered with climbing vines—typical Cyprus style. From the terrace one could see the whole bay, the fishing boats returning to port in the sunset, and the children playing on the beach.