Chapter 81: Reactions of International Newspapers

The banquet didn't break up until evening.

Chen Feng announced: "All personnel of the Restoration Ship get a seven‑day rotation rest! Each will receive three months' salary as a special reward! Those who wish to visit family may apply—we'll dispatch a fleet to the South Ocean to pick up relatives! Those staying in the harbor for recuperation get free access to all entertainment venues, bathhouses, and barbershops."

Cheers rose again.

As the crowd gradually dispersed, Chen Feng finally said to Li Te: "Come, follow me. There are some matters to discuss in detail."

The two walked back to the administration building. The setting sun stretched their shadows long, and the harbor's lights flickered on one by one. In the distance the shipyard was still under construction, with welding sparks flashing like stars.

"How's the shipyard progress?" Li Te asked.

"The Revival Ship's main hull is eighty percent complete, and the Main Gun turret base has been installed; outfitting begins next month," Chen Feng said. "The Restoration Ship is returning this time for a full overhaul, especially the engines—over fifty continuous hours of high‑speed sailing, so they need a thorough inspection."

"Understood. I've already had the engine room produce a preliminary inspection report."

"Also," Chen Feng said, pushing the door open, "there's news from the French side."

In the office, Wang Bo was already waiting. Several documents were spread on the desk, along with a freshly translated telegram.

"It's from General Du Buwa," Wang Bo handed the telegram to Chen Feng. "Yingguo formally invites us to visit London."

Chen Feng skimmed it quickly, a faint smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Finally arrived," he said.

He showed the telegram to Li Te: "The Yingguo lads can't hold on any longer. The Restoration Ship loitered in the Indian Ocean for over thirty hours, then fired a shot in Java; they realize brute force won't work and they must change tactics."

"Negotiations?" Li Te asked after reading the telegram. "What conditions will they propose?"

"Nothing more than three things," Chen Feng said, walking to the world map on the wall. "Trade liberalization—that's essential; diplomatic recognition—they won't grant formal recognition, but at least a liaison office; and the South Ocean issue, they'll test our bottom line."

He turned around: "Wang Wenwu."

"Present," Wang Wenwu rose from the corner. He had been sitting there, listening quietly.

"Prepare yourself. In seven days, board the Restoration Ship for London. You are the plenary envoy."

Wang Wenwu showed no surprise, merely nodding: "What terms should I take?"

"Three points," Chen Feng raised a finger. "First, full trade liberalization, prices must not exceed pre‑sanction levels. Second, establish a commercial representative office in London, with basic diplomatic conveniences. Third, Yingguo tacitly acknowledges our protection of overseas Chinese in the South Ocean—note, tacit acknowledgment, not formal recognition, let alone support."

"And the bottom line?"

"The first two must be achieved. The third is negotiable, but the core cannot be compromised: when the safety of Chinese lives is threatened, we have the right to take necessary action."

Wang Wenwu noted it, then asked: "What if they demand we curb cooperation with Deguo?"

"Then we won't discuss it," Chen Feng said bluntly. "Lanfang is not Yingguo's vassal; who we cooperate with is none of their business."

A ship's horn sounded outside; another cargo vessel entered the harbor. It was a deep‑draft ship carrying Chilean copper ore.

"Li Te," Chen Feng looked at him, "this time you'll have a hard trek. Escort Wang Wenwu to London, then on to Paris and Berlin. The voyage is long, the mission heavy."

"It's my duty," Li Te replied.

"Go back and rest well for seven days." Chen Feng patted his shoulder. "After seven days we'll see you off."

After Li Te left, Chen Feng did not rest.

He sat at his desk and began reading the report Wang Bo had compiled: the detailed chronology of the Java incident, casualty lists, the current situation of local Chinese, the Dutch colonial authorities' response… He examined the thick stack carefully.

"Young Master, we've received news from the mine side," Wang Bo said softly.

"Speak."

"All nineteen have been settled. They live in work barracks; the shackles are swapped for lighter ones during daytime labor, then locked back into heavy ones at night. Meals follow your orders: two servings a day, corn cakes with vegetable soup—enough to sustain strength, but not enough to fill them."

Chen Feng didn't look up: "What about the labor schedule?"

"Open‑pit iron ore, the harshest mining post. Twelve hours a day, three shifts. Wang Tieshan said he'll keep watch, preventing supervisors from abusing workers, but also never allowing them to slack off."

"Tell Tieshan that these workers have forty‑seven people's blood on their hands. Make them repay it in the mine, shovel by shovel,"

"Understood."

Wang Bo paused, then added: "There's another matter… newspapers from Yingguo, Faguo, and Deguo have begun large‑scale reporting."

He spread out several translated drafts.

The Yingguo Times' headline read "Eastern Giant Vessel: Technological Miracle or Strategic Threat?" The article detailed the Restoration Ship's specifications and concluded: "Whether we like to admit it or not, naval‑technology hegemony appears to be shifting…"

The Faguo Le Figaro took a schadenfreude tone: "The Netherlands' Shame and France's Opportunity," insinuating that cooperation between France and Lanfang is wise, and urging "Europe should confront this emerging power."

The Deguo Berlin Daily was the most pragmatic, offering a full technical analysis—inferring caliber from barrel length, boiler type from chimney exhaust—and concluding: "Deguo must accelerate technological integration with this Eastern partner."

Chen Feng finished each article and smiled.

"Everyone's tallying their own accounts," he said. "The Yingguo are scared, the Faguo are delighted, the Deguo are anxious. Perfect—they'll check each other."

"And the United States," Wang Bo handed over another copy. "The New York Times reprinted it with commentary, titled 'Potential Variables in the Pacific Power Structure.'"

Chen Feng took it and skimmed quickly.

The piece was brief but sharp‑eyed. The author noted that Lanfang's emergence could upset the Far‑East power balance, and that America's Pacific interests "need to be reassessed." The final paragraph asked: "Is this self‑styled 'Republic' of Chinese governance a fleeting local force, or a nascent nation that will reshape Asia and even the world? Washington should keep close watch."

"The Americans have taken notice," Chen Feng set the newspaper down. "Good. One more player makes the game messier, and a small role like ours finally has a chance."

"Young Master," Wang Bo hesitated, "are we really just a small role?"

Chen Feng looked up, gazing at the elder who had served three generations of his family.

"Wang Bo, what do you think?"

Wang Bo thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head: "Three years ago, yes. Now… no longer."

Outside, night had fully fallen. Yet Dubai's harbor lights were more than ten times brighter than three years ago. Power‑plant smokestacks belched white smoke, the steel mill's flames painted half the sky red, and the shipyard's spotlights rendered the Revival Ship's massive silhouette crystal clear.

Farther away, residential lights twinkled, each lamp sheltering a family.

"Yes, not anymore," Chen Feng whispered. "So we must be extra cautious. The higher we climb, the harsher the fall."

The phone rang at that moment.

Wang Bo answered, listened a few sentences, then covered the microphone: "Young Master, this is Chief Engineer Liu Yongfu. The Revival Ship's main shaft installation ran into trouble; the bearings from Deguo exceed tolerance, the shaft won't fit."

Chen Feng stood up: "I'll go take a look."

"Aren't you taking a rest?"

The shaft won't install, the ship can't take on water, I can't sleep.

He picked up his coat and walked outward, stopped at the doorway, and turned back:

"Wang Bo, prepare a detailed intelligence analysis of each European country for Wang Wenwu. Who in Yingguo pursues peace and who pursues war, who in Faguo is pro-Deguo and who is pro-Yingguo, what internal divisions exist within the German Navy... the more detailed the better. He departs in seven days; during these seven days, have him master this information."

"Understood."

The door closed.

Wang Bo stood where he was, looking at the newspapers from around the world on the table. English, French, German... those once lofty texts were now all discussing a name they hadn't even heard of three years ago.

Lanfang.

He walked to the window and watched Chen Feng get into the car, heading toward the shipyard.

The car lights cut a moving streak of light through the darkness.

Just like that night three years ago, when the first of them set foot on this desert and lit a torch. Weak, but it didn't go out. Not only did it persist, it grew brighter, now almost becoming a raging blaze.

Wang Bo suddenly recalled Chen Feng's grandfather's words before his death.

At that time, the old man, on his sickbed, held the hand of the teenage Chen Feng, his voice already hoarse, yet each word was as if carved with a knife:

"Grandson... remember... Lanfang hasn't perished... as long as there is even one Chinese who remembers this name... Lanfang... will not be dead..."

At that moment, Chen Feng nodded while crying.

Now, Wang Bo thought, the old man could close his eyes in peace.

Those who remember this name are more than just one.

There are three hundred thousand.

And soon it will be three million, thirty million.

He turned off the office lights, leaving only a desk lamp. He sat down and began sorting the complex diplomatic intelligence.