Chapter 98: Fuxing Launch 2

The order reached the control room via telephone. The massive gates slowly opened, and seawater poured into the dry dock. The last few wooden pillars supporting the hull were toppled by hydraulic presses, and the vast body of the "Fuxing" began to move along the slipway.

At first it was slow, almost imperceptible. Then it grew faster and faster, the bow cleaving through the tallow on the slipway, splashing up white foam. When a third of the hull entered the water, the speed peaked, and the entire dry dock was vibrating.

Then came the roar of entering the water.

Over forty thousand tons of steel slammed into the seawater, sending up spray ten meters high, like a localized tsunami. The mist refracted a rainbow in the sunlight, and the hull rocked violently on the sea surface a few times before gradually stabilizing.

It succeeded.

Applause, cheers, whistles—all the sounds blended together. Workers embraced each other, and some threw their hard hats into the sky. Liu Yongfu took off his glasses and wiped his eyes hard. Wang Bo murmured, "So big... so big..."

Chen Feng watched the great ship floating on the sea surface, watched the yellow dragon flag slowly rising up the mast, and suddenly felt his eyes grow hot.

But he held it back.

The ceremony entered its final segment: the appointment of the captain.

Lin Hai had already returned to the pier by small boat. He walked to the reviewing stand and stood at attention before Chen Feng, saluting.

"Reporting to the Commander-in-Chief, the hull of the 'Fuxing' has been successfully launched with no damage whatsoever! Awaiting your instructions!"

Chen Feng returned the salute, then took out the gold-trimmed captain's hat from the brocade box that Wang Bo was holding.

"Lin Hai."

"Here!"

"From today on, you are the captain of the battlecruiser 'Fuxing.' The responsibility on your shoulders is this ship, the thirteen hundred officers and men aboard, and the future of the Lanfang Navy."

Chen Feng personally placed the hat on his head and adjusted the brim.

"Remember, captain is not a title, it is a responsibility. In calm seas, you must lead the brothers in training; in howling wind and torrential rain, you must stand on the bridge and command; surrounded by powerful enemies, you must make decisions that may cost you your own life. Are you ready?"

Lin Hai stood straight, his voice firm and unyielding: "Ready!"

"Good." Chen Feng stepped back one pace. "Now, go meet your predecessor."

Li Te stepped out from the crowd. He too wore a captain's uniform, but his shoulder boards were already those of a rear admiral. He walked up to Lin Hai, and the two saluted each other.

There were no overly ceremonial words. Li Te pulled out from his chest a thick, dog-eared notebook and handed it to Lin Hai.

"This is the logbook I've kept over the past three years," Li Te said. "From sea trials to the Indian Ocean, to Java, to Europe. It records every equipment malfunction handled, every tactical wargame, every detail of dealings with foreign navies. Not all of it is necessarily right, but it's all experience."

Lin Hai took it with both hands: "Thank you, Captain."

"Don't call me Captain anymore." Li Te smiled. "You're a captain now too. When we meet at sea and exchange light signals, remember to return the greeting."

"Yes, sir!"

The two saluted each other once more. Then Li Te turned, saluted Chen Feng and Wang Bo and the others, and withdrew back into the crowd.

Li Mingyuan announced the end of the ceremony. The crowd began to disperse, but many still stood in place, watching the gray great ship on the sea surface. Tugboats had already moved alongside, preparing to tow it to the outfitting pier for final equipment installation.

"Young Master," Wang Bo said softly, "it's time to go back. You have a meeting with the Chilean delegation this afternoon."

Chen Feng nodded and left together with Wang Bo.

They got into the car and drove away from the dock area. On the way they passed through the newly planned industrial zone, where bulldozers were leveling the ground and workers chanting work songs as they laid foundations. Farther off, a simple but orderly residential district had already been built—that was for new immigrants to live in.

"Are the census results in?" Chen Feng asked.

"Preliminary count, four hundred and sixty thousand." Wang Bo said, "Last month three ships arrived from Fujian and Guangdong, about six thousand people. Even more from the South Ocean side—after the Batavia incident, many Chinese felt there was hope and brought their whole families running here."

"Can they all be settled?"

"Barely. Housing is insufficient, and grain reserves will last three more months. Zhou Nian is accelerating the railway construction—as long as the railway reaches the inland farming reclamation zones, grain will be self-sufficient."

Chen Feng nodded and closed his eyes.

He was thinking of Lin Hai. What that young man had taken over was not just a ship, but the baton of an era. They were running at the fastest possible speed, but their opponents were running too. Yingguo, Deguo, Japan... no one would stand still and wait for them.

"Wang Bo."

"Mm?"

"Order the security department: from today on, all new immigrants must undergo background checks. Those from Japanese-controlled areas in particular must be closely screened."

"Young Master is worried..."

"Not worried—inevitable." Chen Feng opened his eyes. "Togo Heihachiro is coming. If he can't buy ships, he'll find other ways. Espionage, sabotage, bribery... the Japanese excel at this."

The car entered the administrative district. Along both sides of the street there were already shops, teahouses, even a movie theater—the projector was imported from Faguo, the films were all silent, but every evening it was packed.

This was the city they had built. A city dug out of the desert, bit by bit.

Chen Feng suddenly felt very tired. Not physical tiredness, but the kind that penetrates to the marrow, the tiredness of carrying too much.

But he could not stop.

Because three hundred thousand people followed him, because there were still millions, tens of millions waiting in the South Ocean.

Because the road home had only just completed its first step.

At eleven o'clock at night, the light in the top-floor study of the administrative building was still on.

Chen Feng sat before a huge map of the South Ocean, holding a red-and-blue pencil, but for a long time did not put it down. The map was already covered with markings: red for Lanfang's ancestral land of Kunming, blue for the Dutch-controlled zone, yellow for the Yingguo colony, black for the sphere of influence of the indigenous kingdoms.

Complex as a deadlocked chess game.

The door was knocked softly.

"Come in."

Wang Bo came in carrying a bowl of noodle soup and set it on the desk: "Young Master, eat something. You barely ate at dinner."

"Thank you." Chen Feng set down the pencil and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Wang Bo, tell me... can we really go back?"

The old man did not answer immediately. He walked to the map and looked at the South Ocean, carved into fragments by all kinds of colors.

"My father was among the first group of people who came to Kunming with Lord Luo Fangbo the Grand Commander." Wang Bo spoke slowly. "He used to say that in those days Borneo was covered in jungle, swamps, and wild beasts. Several hundred of them, with hoes and machetes, cleared the land bit by bit and built villages. Later, as more people came, they built a city and founded a nation."

He paused: "When the Dutch came. I remember that day—their gunboat sailed into the Kunming River, its gun barrels aimed at our council hall. Your grandfather—stood on the pier and said to the Dutch commanding officer: 'Lanfang is a nation of the Chinese. We do not fight outsiders, but neither do we fear outsiders' threats.'"

"And then?"

"The Dutch opened fire anyway." Wang Bo's voice was very soft. "Not that day—it was years later. They nibbled away bit by bit, with treaties, with bribes, with threats of force. Our people—some died in battle, some were exiled, some fled into the mountains..."

Chen Feng closed his eyes. He had heard these stories many times, but each time his chest felt as if a stone pressed upon it.

"When I fled with you, you were only six years old," Wang Bo continued, "We were on a fishing boat, drifting at sea for seven days and seven nights. You ran a high fever, babbled incoherently, shouting 'Father, Mother.' At that time I thought, as long as we survive, as long as I can raise you, it would be worthy of my old master."

He turned around and looked at Chen Feng: "But now, we not only survived, we have ships, we have cannons, we have four hundred thousand people. Yingguo's ministers must negotiate with us, Deguo's emperor must court us, Faguo's people must beg us to sell ships. Young Master, you ask whether we can return— I don't know. But I do know that we have already gone farther than anyone imagined."

Chen Feng opened his eyes, his eyes were red.

"Wang Bo, I'm scared."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Afraid of taking a wrong step and leading everyone into the abyss," Chen Feng's voice trembled, "During the Java incident, I let Li Te fire the cannon, but my palms were sweating. What if the Dutch refuse to yield? What if Yingguo intervenes opportunistically? What if... what if our people die?"

He stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Wang Bo.

"I am their 'President', they call me 'Young Master'. They trust me and entrust their lives to me. Yet I am only twenty-four, Wang Bo. Even in my dreams I see the ship sinking, the gun turret exploding, everyone pointing at me and saying, 'You are the one who killed us.'"