Chapter 85: London Maneuvering — Probing Beneath the Crown

I'll skip writing about Gibraltar — it's all about the same, and if I write more, comrades will say I'm padding the word count!

Ten nautical miles outside Portsmouth Harbour, the Restoration Ship dropped anchor.

The pilot boat sent by the Yingguo navy circled the giant warship three times. The officer on board looked up at the four main gun turrets, his binoculars not lowering for a long time. Only then did he finally come alongside and hand over a document.

"Mr. Wang, Captain Li." The pilot officer was an old navy man in his fifties, speaking with a heavy Scottish accent. "By order of the Admiralty, the Restoration Ship must berth at this designated anchorage. The harbour depth is insufficient to accommodate your vessel's draft."

Li Te took the document, glanced at it, and smiled. "Major, the main channel at Portsmouth has a depth of twelve metres. My ship draws eleven and a half. It can go in."

"This is... a safety consideration." The pilot officer avoided his gaze. "Additionally, your personnel going ashore must use transport boats arranged by our side. The guns on board must be in a safe locked state, and verified by our personnel."

"Verified?" Li Te raised an eyebrow. "You're saying you want Yingguo military personnel to board a Lanfang warship and inspect our weapons?"

"This is standard procedure—"

"This is not our standard procedure." Li Te cut him off, his voice turning cold. "Major, please reply to your superiors: the Restoration Ship will maintain first-level alert while berthed here. Our personnel will go ashore on our own transport boats. If your side insists on boarding for inspection, it will be regarded as a hostile act, and my ship reserves the right to self-defence."

The pilot officer's face went pale.

Wang Wenwu interjected at the right moment, his tone milder. "Major, we understand your side's security concerns. How about this — we can permit one unarmed Yingguo observer to board the ship and tour a designated area, but he may not touch any equipment or enter any compartments. At the same time, your side must guarantee safe passage for our transport boats within Portsmouth Harbour."

The pilot officer hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. "I need to request instructions."

"Please do."

Half an hour later, a small boat brought a Yingguo navy lieutenant commander. He was young, not yet forty, with shoulder boards from the General Staff. When he boarded the Restoration Ship, his eyes never stopped moving, as if he wanted to carve every detail into his mind.

Li Te received him personally, but only showed him around the foredeck.

"How should I address you, Commander?"

"Robert Hopkins, Strategic Planning Division, Admiralty." The lieutenant commander spoke quickly, with an Oxford accent. "Captain Li, your ship's... dimensions are most impressive."

"Not bad." Li Te was dismissive. "It's mainly for stability on ocean voyages."

"I hear the speed can reach 30 knots?"

"Test data." Li Te didn't answer directly. "Is the Commander interested in technical specifications?"

Hopkins gave a dry laugh. "Purely personal curiosity. By the way, the calibre of these main guns is...?"

"Standard configuration." Li Te continued to deflect. "Commander, the tour is over. Please."

After seeing Hopkins off, Wang Wenwu came down from the bridge. "See anything?"

"The Admiralty's eyes." Li Te said, "For someone from the Strategic Planning Division to come in person, it means Fisher is getting anxious. He wants to know exactly how far ahead we are."

"Then let him know a little." Wang Wenwu pulled out the white-covered document from his briefcase. "Before tomorrow's negotiations, I'll 'accidentally' drop a few pages."

The special train heading to London was a Victorian antique, but the carriage interior was luxuriously appointed. Mahogany panelling, leather seats, silver tea sets — the Yingguo countryside outside the windows glowed green under the May sun.

Wang Wenwu sat by the window. Across from him was Li Mingyuan — the deputy he had brought this time, thirty years old, a Chinese born in Singapore, a graduate of Oxford University's law faculty, and well versed in international law.

"Minister," Li Mingyuan lowered his voice, "news just received. The negotiations will be held at the Foreign Office building, and the Yingguo side's lineup has been announced."

He handed over the list.

Wang Wenwu glanced at it and smiled. "Quite grand. Foreign Secretary, First Lord of the Admiralty, President of the Board of Trade, Secretary of State for India... they've brought half the Cabinet."

"And this," Li Mingyuan pulled out another sheet, "a diagram of the listening devices in our hotel rooms. Bedside lamp, telephone, behind the mantelpiece — at least six."

"As expected." Wang Wenwu folded the paper and put it away. "Remember, in the rooms, only say what should be said. For anything truly important, turn on the tap in the bathroom before talking."

"Understood."

As the train passed Windsor Castle, Wang Wenwu gazed at the thousand-year-old fortress outside the window and suddenly asked, "Mingyuan, three hundred years ago, when Ming dynasty envoys came to Yingguo, what kind of treatment did they receive?"

Li Mingyuan thought for a moment. "In 1645, Southern Ming envoys did indeed come, hoping to ally with Yingguo against the Manchus. At the time, Yingguo was in the middle of a civil war, and Charles I had his own problems to deal with. The envoy didn't even get to see the king, and after staying three months, they were sent away."

"Three hundred years." Wang Wenwu repeated softly. "Three hundred years later, Chinese have come again. This time, they have to convene a Cabinet meeting to talk."

At three in the afternoon, the train slid into Paddington Station.

The platform had been cleared — only a dozen or so black-suited agents and one Foreign Office official. A middle-aged man, balding, his expression like a mask.

"Mr. Wang, welcome to London. I am George Wilson, Deputy Director of the Far Eastern Department, Foreign Office. Ordered to receive your delegation."

Handshakes, pleasantries, into the cars.

The motorcade headed for the Claridge's Hotel in Mayfair. On the way, they passed Trafalgar Square, where Nelson's Column towered high, and the stone lions beneath it silently watched the streets of London.

"That is General Nelson," Wilson introduced. "He defeated the combined Faguo and Spanish fleet in 1805, establishing Yingguo's maritime supremacy."

"I know." Wang Wenwu looked out the window. "That naval battle still used sail-powered warships. Less than a hundred years later, it's already the age of steam and ironclads."

Wilson glanced at him but said nothing.

The hotel had arranged the entire top floor. Wang Wenwu's first act upon entering his room was to walk to the window and pull open the curtains.

Directly facing Hyde Park. On a May afternoon, the sunlight was fine — some people were riding horses, some were strolling, and in the distance, the spires of Kensington Palace showed a touch of gold above the treetops.

Too peaceful.

So peaceful it felt like a false calm before the storm.

The next morning at nine o'clock, the Foreign Office building.

The conference room was extraordinarily long, with a dark oak table that could seat thirty. On the walls hung portraits of successive Foreign Secretaries; the oldest one, wearing a wig, gazed arrogantly at the visitors from the twenty-first century.

The Yingguo side had all arrived five minutes early, seated on one side of the table. Uniform black morning coats, white shirts, starched collars stiff as cardboard.

When Wang Wenwu's people entered, all eyes turned toward them.

Dark grey Zhongshan suits, stand-up collars, five buttons each. No ties, no formal hats — simple to the point of austerity. But every person stood with a straight back and steady steps.

"Mr. Wang, please sit." The Foreign Secretary, the Marquess of Lansdowne, rose and gestured, his movement as precise as a textbook. He was about sixty, his grey hair immaculately combed, his face bearing that mild detachment peculiar to generations of aristocracy.