Chapter 99: Togo Heihachiro Has Arrived

Silence spread through the study. Only the clock on the wall ticked steadily.

After a long while, Wang Bo said, "Young Master, do you know what the old master's last words to me were before he passed away?"

Chen Feng turned around.

"He said, 'Wang Bo, the greatest regret of my life is not losing Lanfang, but failing to leave hope for those who come after. If... if one day, Feng'er wants to go back, don't stop him. Even if it means death, even if it means defeat, he must try. Because without trying, there is never any going back.'"

The old man walked up to Chen Feng and, just as when he was a child, patted him on the shoulder.

"Young Master, you are not a god. You feel fear, you hesitate, you have nightmares—that's normal. But as long as you remember why you set out, and remember who stands behind you, your path won't go astray. As for winning or losing... we've already lost once. Losing again is no big deal. But what if we win?"

Chen Feng looked at Wang Bo, looked at this old man who had cared for him since childhood, whose hair was now entirely white. Suddenly, he understood why he had been able to endure three years in the desert, why three hundred thousand people were willing to follow him.

Not because he was the "Grand Commander," not because he was the "Young Master."

It was because they believed that following him, they could go home.

"I understand." Chen Feng took a deep breath, walked back to the map, and picked up a red-and-blue pencil. "Wang Bo, go get some rest. I'll look at the map a while longer."

"Your noodles will get cold."

"I'll eat."

After Wang Bo left, Chen Feng actually sat down and finished that bowl of noodles. Then he spread out a fresh sheet of blank paper and began to write.

Not a plan, not an order, but a letter. A letter to all the people of Lanfang.

"To all our fellow citizens of Lanfang:

As I write these words, our second capital warship, the Fuxing, has already been launched. Three years ago, when we set foot on this desert, we had only some tents and three hundred thousand lost souls. Today, we have cities, we have factories, we have world-class warships.

I know many people are still asking: when do we go home?

I don't have an exact answer. But I can promise: within three years, we will launch the 'South Ocean Spark Plan.' Within five years, we will see the Yellow Dragon flag rise again on the coastlines of Borneo.

This path will not be easy. We will face the guns and cannons of the Dutch, the obstruction of the Yingguo, the schemes of the Japanese, and the hostility of all those with vested interests. We will bleed, we will sacrifice, we will experience failure and setback.

But we must walk it.

Because a hundred years ago, our ancestors built the first Chinese nation on Borneo with their own hands. Twenty-three years ago, that nation was swallowed by great powers. Today, we have a second chance—to rebuild our homeland with steel, with wisdom, with the lessons paid for by generations of displacement.

I am not a god; I cannot guarantee victory. But I can guarantee you this: no matter how hard the road ahead, I will walk at the very front. No matter how great the sacrifice, I will be the first.

Because just like you, I want to go home.

Chen Feng

Night of June 15, 1908"

He finished writing, folded the letter, and placed it in the drawer.

Then he looked at the map again. The red-and-blue pencil finally descended, drawing a circle at the position of Pontianak, then an arrow pointing from the Persian Gulf to the Strait of Malacca.

First step, second step, third step...

The Chilean delegation arrived three hours ahead of schedule.

When Wang Wenwu received the call from the port authority, he was reviewing a steel import manifest. He set down his pen and glanced at the clock on the wall—9:10 a. m.

"How many people?"

"Eight," said the voice on the phone. "The one leading them is named Carlos Silva, title Special Procurement Commissioner for the Naval Ministry. Plus two engineers, one translator, and four aides. Not much luggage, but they brought two large leather cases that look packed with documents."

"Arrange for them to stay in Building 2 of Palm Palace, Class A reception standard." Wang Wenwu thought for a moment. "Tell the kitchen to prepare seafood for lunch—they've come from South America, they should like that. Wine... open the Chilean wine, we have some in stock, right?"

"Yes, samples left over from last year's trade exhibition."

"Use those. I'll be there in half an hour."

Hanging up the phone, Wang Wenwu stood and walked to the window. From this angle he could see part of the port. A passenger liner was pulling in, its hull painted white, its funnel bearing the red, blue, and white of the Chilean flag.

They got here fast.

The news that Argentina had purchased a battleship from Lanfang had spread three months ago, and with the Argentines showing off about it, the Chileans naturally couldn't sit still. A South Pacific arms race was business delivered right to Lanfang's doorstep.

He straightened his suit jacket and was about to head out when his secretary knocked and came in.

"Minister, another ship has just entered port. The Japanese delegation."

Wang Wenwu stopped in his tracks. "When did they arrive?"

"Right after the Chilean ship, berthed at Pier 3. The one leading them is Togo Heihachiro, the Commander-in-Chief of the Combined Fleet himself. Twelve people in his entourage, all naval officers."

"Where are they being arranged?"

"As per your instructions, Building 4 of Palm Palace. Someone's already been sent to receive them."

Building 4 was on the westernmost edge of the grounds, near the perimeter wall, farthest from the main facilities. The rooms were clean, but the furniture was simple, there was no telephone, and the windows faced the back of the warehouse district.

Wang Wenwu nodded. "Notify the reception office that all activities of the Japanese delegation must be submitted for approval twenty-four hours in advance. Tour scope is limited to the civilian port area and the public industrial exhibition hall. Entry within three kilometers of the dry docks, steelworks, and power plant is strictly prohibited. Also, all cameras and drafting tools are to be temporarily confiscated at customs."

"Yes, sir."

"Additionally," Wang Wenwu picked up his briefcase, "call the Security Bureau and have them send two teams—one to follow the Chilean delegation in a protective capacity; one to follow the Japanese delegation in a surveillance capacity. Togo Heihachiro is no ordinary officer. He has a sharp eye and a quick mind."

The secretary took rapid notes, then asked, "Which side will you see first?"

"The Chileans." Wang Wenwu pulled open the office door. "The Japanese... let them wait. Tell them my schedule is full today; arrange a preliminary meeting for ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

As the elevator descended, Wang Wenwu saw his own face reflected in the metal doors. His temples were starting to show white hair, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes looked like contour lines on a map. This job was really not easy.

But he had no time for sentiment. The Chileans wanted to buy ships, and so did the Japanese, but they were completely different matters. One could be sold; the other absolutely could not. How he handled this distinction would determine Lanfang's stance in the South Pacific and the Far East. (Mostly it depends on what you, dear readers, think—later on, Japan will become a vassal state; veteran readers all understand this. Once the European war breaks out, yours truly will continue running the Japan "labor dispatch" company.)

The car was already waiting downstairs. The driver was a young man in his early twenties who had arrived from Sumatra just three months ago. He sat with his back ramrod straight, as if taking part in a military parade.