World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chapter 42 Chen Feng's Late-Night Contemplation

Late at night, in the study on the top floor of the administration building.

Chen Feng stood in front of the sand table—an elaborately crafted sand table of Southeast Asia, marked with major islands such as Borneo, Sumatra, and Java, as well as the spheres of influence of the Dutch and British colonies.

Several colored flags were planted on the sand table: red represented Lanfang's homeland, blue represented the Dutch-controlled area, white represented the British-controlled area, and yellow represented the indigenous kingdom.

Uncle Wang pushed open the door and came in. Seeing Chen Feng deep in thought in front of the sand table, he asked softly, "Young Master, are you still thinking about things in Southeast Asia?"

"Hmm." Chen Feng didn't turn around. "Uncle Wang, look. In western Borneo, in the Pontianak area, is where Lanfang first established its state. It's now controlled by the Dutch, but there are still nearly 100,000 Chinese people there."

He pointed to the sand table:

"Bangka Island in Sumatra has tin mines, and there are many Chinese miners. Batavia and Semarang in Java have strong Chinese business influence. Penang and Singapore in Malaya are also major Chinese-populated areas."

"But they're all scattered." Uncle Wang walked to the sand table. "They were divided and ruled by the Dutch and British, with no contact between them. Moreover, most of the Chinese just wanted to live a peaceful life and dared not resist."

"So we need a flag." Chen Feng turned around, "a flag that all Chinese in Southeast Asia can see. A victory, an example."

He walked to his desk and unfolded a document:

"This is a report sent back from Southeast Asia by 'Dragon Eye.' The Dutch East India Company has recently intensified its repression of the Chinese, raising taxes, restricting business, and forcing labor. Public resentment is accumulating, but there is no trigger."

Uncle Wang took the report and looked at it: "Young Master means...we're going to ignite this flashpoint?"

"The timing isn't right yet," Chen Feng shook his head. "We need two things: first, a sufficiently powerful navy to block Dutch reinforcements; second, a suitable pretext to keep the international community at least neutral."

He walked to the window and looked at the night outside:

"After the 'Fuxing' and 'Guangfu' high-speed trains entered service, we had our first thing. As for the excuse..."

Chen Feng pondered:

"The Dutch will provide it themselves. Colonial rule is always a cycle of oppression and resistance. As long as the pressure is great enough, resistance will happen sooner or later. At that time, we can intervene in the name of 'protecting our compatriots'."

Wang Bo was somewhat worried: "But that would be seen as aggression, and would provoke intervention from Britain and other powers."

"So we need allies, or at least the tacit approval of certain powers." Chen Feng's eyes gleamed with calculation. "The Germans want us to contain British power in the Far East, so they might tacitly approve our actions in Southeast Asia. If the French want our warships, they might make concessions on other issues. Even the British... if their conflict with Germany intensifies, they might not have time to attend to the Far East."

This is an extremely complex game of chess, where every piece is in motion and every player is calculating.

Uncle Wang remained silent for a long time before suddenly saying, "Young Master, you are only twenty-one years old this year. These things... shouldn't be something you have to bear alone."

Chen Feng smiled, a smile that revealed a weariness and determination beyond his years:

"Uncle Wang, from the moment I came into this era, from the moment I knew I was the leader of the Lanfang orphans, this has been my destiny. Three hundred thousand people followed me to this desert, entrusting their lives and fortunes to me. I cannot let them down."

He walked back to the sand table, his fingers gently tracing the outline of Borneo:

"And do you know what? I often dream that I am standing on the coast of Borneo, watching Lanfang's fleet sail into the port. Thousands of Chinese on the shore cheer, children run with yellow dragon flags in hand, and old people say with tears in their eyes, 'We're going home.'"

His voice was soft, but every word carried immense weight:

"That dream felt so real, so real, that I felt it was something that would definitely happen in the future. So I have to keep going, no matter how difficult it is, no matter what price I have to pay."

Uncle Wang's eyes reddened. This old man, who had experienced the destruction of Lanfang and spent half his life in exile, understood all too well the longing for one's homeland and the yearning for the restoration of the nation.

"Young master, I will always be with you. All of us will stay with you until the day you return home."

A clock struck midnight outside the window.

A new day begins.

Chen Feng took one last look at the sand table, then turned off the study light.

In the darkness, the small flags on the sand table were still faintly visible. The red flags planted on Borneo were like sparks, waiting for the moment to ignite a prairie fire.

And on this desert of the Persian Gulf, the fuel for a wildfire is accumulating—steel, oil, warships, and 300,000 hearts yearning to return home.

When the flames finally ignite, they will illuminate the entire South Seas.

It illuminates the path for Chinese people to regain control of their own destiny.

Chen Feng believes that day is not far off.

Because history has changed.

And it was these very people who changed history.

The newly built reception area for foreign guests in Port Dubai, known as "Palm Palace".

This building blends Arabic style with modern functionality, its white facade reflecting the harsh sunlight of the Persian Gulf. Palm trees sway in the courtyard, and a fountain sprays water, bringing a rare touch of coolness to this desert landscape.

But Chen Feng, who was standing in the courtyard welcoming the French delegation, was not thinking about the scenery.

"They'll arrive in ten minutes," Uncle Wang reported in a low voice, standing beside Chen Feng. "As you instructed, everything is prepared to A+ standard. Rooms, food, and translators are all in place."

Chen Feng nodded and straightened his custom-made dark gray Zhongshan suit—this was the "national dress" he had requested, which was neither a Western-style formal suit nor a traditional long gown, representing Lanfang's self-positioning as a modern nation.

"What about the German technical exchange team?" he asked.

"As planned, today they were scheduled to visit a civilian shipyard and machining workshop, and there will be a welcome dinner tonight." Wang Bo paused, "However, Dr. Schmidt—the technical head of the German delegation—again requested to visit the warship construction facilities, which I politely declined on the grounds that it involved military secrets."

"Well done." Chen Feng looked at the convoy approaching in the distance. "The Germans must know that the French are coming this time. We must maintain a balance between the two sides, making them both feel special, but without letting either side feel slighted."

Three black cars slowly drove into the courtyard.

The car door opened, and French Vice Admiral Charles Dubois was the first to step out. The fifty-five-year-old general was dressed in a crisp naval uniform, his chest adorned with medals, but his face bore the weariness of a long journey.

Following him were six members of the delegation: shipbuilding engineer Louis Moreau, marine engineer Pierre Durand, metallurgist Henri Lefebvre, and three diplomatic and intelligence officials.

Chen Feng stepped forward and greeted him in fluent French: "General Dubois, welcome to Dubai. I am Chen Feng."

A hint of surprise flashed in Dubois's eyes—he hadn't expected the legendary "leader of Lanfang" to be so young, nor had he expected his French to be so fluent, without any colonial accent.

"Mr. Chen," Dubois extended his hand in a firm handshake, "thank you for your warm hospitality. On behalf of the French Republic, I extend my greetings to you and the people of Lanfang."

A standard opening remark. But Chen Feng could sense the strength and duration of the handshake—it was a test.

"You must be tired from your journey," Chen Feng said with a smile. "Please go to your rooms and rest. We have prepared a simple welcome lunch, and we can begin our initial exchange this afternoon."

The translator relayed the message to the delegation members. Louis Moreau adjusted his glasses, his gaze already scanning the surroundings—he saw the modern lighting fixtures in the courtyard, the reinforced concrete structure of the building, and the factory chimneys faintly visible in the distance.

These details all speak volumes: this is not an ordinary desert tribe; it has a considerable industrial base.