Chapter 92: Beware the Russians

Wang Wenwu also sat down: "General, learning goes both ways. We also want to learn from Deguo about submarines." (The technical specifications for submarines were all there, but that didn't mean Lanfang could build them)

"We can discuss that," Tirpitz said. "But I want a guarantee from you."

"Please, go ahead."

"During Müller's stay in Dubai, his personal safety must be guaranteed. No matter what he... sees, hears, or even does, he must not be harmed. If there are problems, deport him, but no rough treatment."

Wang Wenwu smiled: "General, Lanfang is a nation governed by law. As long as Major General Müller abides by our laws and does not engage in espionage, he is a welcome guest."

"Espionage..." Tirpitz repeated the word and smiled too. "The definition is rather vague. Does touring a factory count? Chatting with technicians? Buying a few publicly available technical manuals?"

"As long as it's within legal bounds, it all counts as normal exchange."

The two men looked at each other, both understanding the other's meaning.

What Tirpitz wanted was a safety guarantee, and Wang Wenwu gave it—but with the precondition of "abiding by the law." An unspoken understanding.

"One more thing." Tirpitz pulled a small notebook from his coat, tore out a page, and wrote down a number. "This is my private number at the Admiralty. If... if Mr. Chen Feng would be willing to discuss the matter of oil-fired boilers, call me anytime. The price is negotiable." (Comrades, a quick fact-check: did transoceanic telephone calls exist at that time?)

Wang Wenwu took the slip of paper: "I'll pass it on."

Tirpitz rose and walked to the door, then stopped. "Mr. Wang, what I said yesterday was serious. Technological dependence is poison. Deguo cannot keep buying ships forever. One day, we will build better ones ourselves. When that time comes, I hope we are still friends, not rivals."

"Lanfang is always willing to be friends with countries that respect us."

"Respect..." Tirpitz nodded and opened the door and left.

Wang Wenwu stood at the window, watching the motorcade below. Wilhelm's imperial carriage had arrived—the Emperor would personally see him to the train station. This was the highest honor.

Li Mingyuan knocked and came in: "Minister, the luggage is packed. The special train to Paris departs in an hour."

"What are the arrangements on the Faguo side?"

"The Faguo ambassador will be waiting at the station and will accompany us directly to Paris. They've arranged for us to stay at the Hôtel de Crillon. Tomorrow morning we meet the Foreign Minister, and in the afternoon, possibly the President."

"And Eguo?"

"The Eguo ambassador to Deguo, Count Arshavin, has sent word that he'd like to 'bump into' you at the station and exchange a few words."

Wang Wenwu raised an eyebrow: "Chat at the Berlin station?"

"He says it's a personal greeting, not official." Li Mingyuan paused. "But I checked—Arshavin made a special trip from Berlin to Potsdam and will arrive early this morning. He's waiting specifically for us."

"The Tsar can't wait..." Wang Wenwu glanced at his pocket watch. "Let's go, don't keep the Emperor waiting."

On his way downstairs, he took one last look at the Berlin skyline. Church spires, factory chimneys—the city under the June sunlight radiated a sense of power.

The Deguo people wanted the world.

The Yingguo people wanted to keep the world.

The Faguo people wanted a share of it.

And Lanfang only wanted a small piece of land, so that the Hua people who had been scattered abroad for a hundred years could come home.

This world is truly interesting.

When he boarded the carriage, Wilhelm was already inside. He had changed back into his military uniform, sitting ramrod straight.

"Mr. Wang, one last question." As the carriage started, Wilhelm said, "If... if one day, Deguo and Yingguo really go to war, whose side will you be on?"

The question was terrifyingly direct.

Wang Wenwu was silent for three seconds, then gave the answer Chen Feng had prepared long ago:

"Your Majesty, Lanfang's position is very clear—we stand only on the side of the Hua people. Europe's wars are Europe's business. Our warships will only be deployed to protect our fellow countrymen."

Wilhelm stared at him, then suddenly laughed heartily:

"Good! That's a good answer! Far better than those ambiguous diplomatic platitudes!"

He patted Wang Wenwu on the shoulder:

"Then it's settled. You don't help the Yingguo people, and Deguo will always be your friend."

The carriage drove toward the station.

Outside the carriage window, Berlin receded. This rising imperial capital, this city full of ambition and power.

Wang Wenwu leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

He wondered what Chen Feng was doing in Dubai right now. Checking the construction progress of the Fuxing? Listening to Wang Bo's report on the nineteen Dutchmen at the mining area? Or planning the next step—the journey home to the South Ocean?

The morning mist at the Berlin Zoological Garden Station had not yet fully dissipated.

Wang Wenwu stood at the door of the special train carriage, watching Wilhelm II wave from the platform. The Emperor had drunk too much last night and his eyes were a bit swollen, but he was as exhilarated as if about to march to war. A dozen or so senior Deguo officials stood behind him in immaculate uniforms, their expressions varied.

"Mr. Wang!" Wilhelm took one final step forward and grasped Wang Wenwu's hand. "Remember our agreement! The 'Kaiser class' must be delivered as soon as possible, and must be the best! Deutschland will not shortchange its friends!"

"Lanfang will honor its commitment," Wang Wenwu smiled. "And please, Your Majesty, remember that the technical team for the special steel plant departs next month."

"Rest assured! Krupp's best engineers!" Wilhelm thumped his chest. "Alfred, you guarantee it!"

Tirpitz stood at the edge of the crowd, nodding slightly, his face expressionless. After last night's final conversation in the hotel room, the master of the navy seemed to have accepted reality—at least on the surface.

The whistle blew.

Wang Wenwu boarded the train and closed the door. Through the glass window, he saw Wilhelm still waving, until the train slowly started moving and the platform slid backward.

The carriage was quiet. Li Mingyuan was organizing documents; other aides were catching up on sleep or gazing out the window. From London to Berlin, seven days, four formal negotiations, several banquets—everyone was exhausted.

As soon as Wang Wenwu sat down, Li Mingyuan handed him a stack of telegrams.

"Just received. News from home." His voice was very low. "The Fuxing's Main Gun turret has been installed; outfitting has begun."

Wang Wenwu skimmed through them quickly: "And the mining area?"

"Of the nineteen Dutchmen, two are dead." Li Mingyuan's expression was a bit odd. "Not from mistreatment. They... brought it on themselves. One tried to escape and jumped off a cliff at the mine pit, broke his neck. Another hid iron ore to smash a foreman, was discovered, and had a heart attack during the struggle."

"And the remaining seventeen?"

"Much more obedient. Wang Tieshan says they now do whatever they're told, and the look in their eyes has changed."

Wang Wenwu was silent for a moment: "Dispose of the bodies and notify the Dutch consulate. Just say 'mining accident.' Keep a record; it'll be useful later."

"Yes, sir."

The train left Berlin's city limits, and the scenery outside turned to countryside. The Deguo countryside in June was beautiful—fields glowing green, red-roofed farmhouses dotting the landscape. But Wang Wenwu was in no mood for scenery. He leaned back in his seat and rested with his eyes closed.

There's also Paris to discuss. The French want follow‑up orders for the "Gu Ba Ji" class and want to discuss more advanced designs. Chen Feng's bottom line is: we can sell ships, we can transfer limited technology, but we cannot give the latest fuel boiler system.

"Minister," Li Mingyuan's voice pulled him back to reality, "There's also a telegram… a private one."

Wang Wenwu opened his eyes: "Who sent it?"

"The signature is 'Old Friend'. The content…" Li Mingyuan handed over the translated telegraph paper.

On the paper was only one line: "The Russians are watching you. Beware of Alshavin."

There was no signature, but Wang Wenwu knew who it was—Tirpitz. Using such a covert channel to convey messages shows the matter is not simple.

"The Russians…" he muttered.