Republic of China: Ace Pilot

Chapter 687 A White Lie, The Silver Tower Restaurant War Bet

Fang Wen, Lin Baoluo, Gong Xiuneng, and other managers from the Paris branch who came to greet them left the airport and headed to Taishan Airlines' Paris branch, which was a few hundred meters away.

The branch office was deserted at this time; the storefronts of the business departments were closed and the doors were locked.

Paul Lin unlocked the gate, pushed open the iron gate, and Fang Wen went inside.

The office building, the dormitories for pilots and crew members, and the canteen were all empty.

Paul Lin explained, "Everyone has gone to Geneva to prepare for the opening of the Geneva company."

Fang Wen nodded: "Once you're done with things here, you should go to Geneva too, and bring your mother with you."

"It's the general manager, what are you planning to do?"

"Tell me about your matter first." Fang Wen took the briefcase from Gong Xiuneng, opened it, and took out a document. "The company has been helping you find your father, and now we have news."

Paul Lin's father returned to his home country many years ago and has never visited his mother and son in France since, nor has he written to them. This has always been a source of regret for him.

Fang Wen knew about this when he first came to Europe and met Lin Baolu. Later, when he hired Lin Baolu as the manager of the Paris branch, he even asked the company to help him find someone.

In the past two years, I actually found it.

Paul Lin was very excited about this, hoping that the mystery that had troubled him for decades would be solved.

He asked instinctively, "Is he still alive?"

"He died ten years ago. His original name was Lin Yuansheng. He was from Guangdong. His family was poor when he was young. When the Qing Dynasty recruited students to study in France, his family signed him up. He studied for a year, but had to drop out due to the fall of the Qing Dynasty. After staying in France for ten years, he returned to China by ship, bought property and land in his hometown, married and had children. Ten years ago, the war between the Guangdong and Guangxi warlords was fought, and his hometown was affected by the war. He died of a sudden relapse of his old illness while fleeing. This is what I know from his neighbors and children."

After Fang Wen finished speaking, he took out a photo of two men and a woman standing in front of a tombstone. The tombstone read "Tomb of Lord Lin Yuansheng" and "Born on the 20th day of the winter month of the Dingyou year of the Guangxu reign of the Qing Dynasty, died on the 6th day of the first month of autumn of the Yichou year of the Republic of China."

Looking at the photo, Paul Lin didn't show much emotion.

“General Manager, it’s strange, I feel relieved now. I don’t even want to know why he didn’t come to us, but this matter is very important to my mother, and I would like to ask you to tell me personally, preferably with a good reason.”

Fang Wen had met Paul Lin's mother, a tall French woman who never remarried and waited for Paul Lin's father to return.

Giving her a good reason is indeed a good choice.

"Okay, I'll come to your place later. Now it's time to get down to business. You should arrange a meeting with Pierre. I'd like to speak with him in person tonight."

"Okay, I'll contact them right away." Paul Lin took out his notebook and dialed the number using the still-functioning office phone.

After a while, he replied, "Mr. Pierre is in Paris. He has agreed to meet tonight at the Silver Tower Restaurant."

"Alright then, while we still have time, let's go to your place first." Fang Wen stood up.

Half an hour later, the car stopped in front of a small building in Paris.

Gong Xiuneng waited in the car while Fang Wen and Lin Baoluo entered.

The tall, elderly woman greeted Fang Wen with a broad smile as soon as she saw him: "Mr. Fang, welcome back again. I will prepare your latest recipes."

Paul Lin quickly explained, "Mom, the general manager brought back important news: he's found Father."

The old woman froze, one hand pressed to her chest, the other hand supporting her as she sat on a chair by the dining table, clearly feeling uncomfortable from the sudden excitement.

"Pour your mother a glass of water; her blood pressure might be too high," Fang Wen said.

Paul Lin quickly poured water and handed it to his mother.

After drinking some water, the old woman felt a little better.

She looked at Fang Wen with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

Fang Wen sat opposite her and said gently, "Your husband's real name was Lin Yuansheng. He returned to China to participate in the revolutionary war, just like your French Revolution. Unfortunately, he was shot in a battle. Medical conditions were very poor at the time, and his wound became infected, and then..."

After hearing Fang Wen's explanation, the old woman burst into tears.

Paul Lin, in his forties, comforted his mother like a child.

Fang Wen patted Lin Baoluo on the shoulder: "Take good care of your mother. I know where the place is."

The old woman waved her hand and said, "No need, let Paul go with you. I want to be alone."

Even though Paul Lin was unwilling, the old woman still pushed him out of the house.

Seeing this, Lin Baolu said, "General Manager, let me take you there. My mother is like this."

Fang Wen nodded and got into the car parked by the roadside.

Guided by Paul Lin, the car drove south, crossed the Seine, and stopped on the riverbank opposite Île Saint-Louis.

The waiter by the roadside took Fang Wen's keys, gave him a number plate, and drove the car to the parking area.

Paul Lin explained, “This is the ‘Grande de la Silver’ restaurant, one of the best restaurants in Paris. Their most famous dish is blood duck, and each blood duck is numbered. It is said that Wilhelm I of Germany, Tsar Alexander II and Tsar Alexander III also dined here.”

The three entered the restaurant, a waiter came over to ask them what was going on, and then they were led to their seats.

Fang Wen sat alone at a table waiting, while Lin Baoluo and Gong Xiuneng sat in other seats.

After a while, Pierre arrived.

He seemed to be a regular here; many diners greeted him as he walked by.

When they reached Fang Wen's table, Pierre opened his arms and gave Fang Wen an exaggerated hug.

The two spoke in French.

"Long time no see, Fang. I heard you're fighting in the East, and I've been worried about you."

"You don't need to worry anymore," Fang Wen said with a smile.

The two sat down, and a waiter came over to inquire about the dishes.

Fang Wen naturally ordered the most famous dish here: blood duck.

Pierre, however, ordered only a regular steak for dinner.

After the waiter left, he whispered, "Once you know how it's made, you won't like it anymore."

"How did you do it?" Fang Wen asked.

"They used a torture device to crush the bones and internal organs of the duck, extract the liquid mixed with blood and bone marrow, and then use it to stew the duck meat."

Although Pierre used the term "instrument of torture," Fang Wen didn't take it seriously. There are countless Chinese delicacies that consume blood and bone marrow, so this is nothing special.

The key is that it has to taste good.

Just then, the waiter brought over the dishes.

In front of Fang Wen were exquisite silver tableware, a plate containing a lump of duck meat and a dark red soup.

This is the blood duck.

Fang Wen took a bite of the dish, which was said to have been served to many members of the royal family.

It's not fishy, ​​and has a unique flavor.

It has the flavors of red wine and duck liver, the soup is rich and fragrant, and the duck meat is tender.

It's not bad, but it's not good either; at least for Fang Wen, it's just so-so.

Fang Wen wiped the soup from the corner of his mouth with a napkin and spoke up.

"I'm here to ask you for help with something very important."

Pierre put down his steak knife and fork. "What is it?"

“You have a wide network of connections. I want to ask you to set up a company specifically for recruiting talent,” Fang Wen said, revealing his purpose but not telling Pierre his true assessment of the situation.

"In what aspect?" Pierre pressed.

"We're mainly targeting technical personnel in the industrial sector. By the way, these companies are our primary targets." Fang Wen took out a piece of paper and handed it to Pierre.

Upon seeing the contents of the paper, Pierre's expression changed, and he leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"Renault, Schneider Electric, Tabb Forging, Brest Shipyard. Fang, are you crazy? If I help you recruit from these companies, the military will definitely lock me up. You and your company will also be affected."

"I'm not crazy."

Fang Wen replied calmly.

These companies are the leaders in the French defense industry.

Renault's military production covers the army, navy and air force. About 40% of the tanks in service with the French army are produced by Renault, including the R-35 and B1 series.

Schneider's artillery was the only one in Europe that could rival Krupp's.

The Tabbe Forging Plant is a major ammunition production base in France.

Brest shipyard is a major French warship manufacturer, specializing in naval equipment.

These companies would soon be occupied or destroyed by Germany, and their employees would either flee or be coerced into continuing production.

Rather than letting the Germans benefit, we should take this opportunity to expand the strength of Taishan Military Industry.

Pierre, sitting opposite him, shook his head vigorously like a rattle-drum: "No, no, I won't cooperate with you."

It seems that some tactics will be needed to persuade this art investor.

Fang Wen pondered a solution.

At this time.

The other side of the restaurant.

Two officers were also dining here.

One of the officers looked towards Fang Wen and spoke to his partner: "Do you remember the military analysis report I gave you last time?"

"What report?"

"The document written by Fang Wen, the controller of Taishan Aviation."

"It was pure fantasy; I threw it in the trash that very day."

"He's right there in the restaurant, over there."

"Come on, let's go there."

The two officers got up and went to Fang Wen's table.

Fang Wen, who was pondering how to persuade Pierre, saw two officers approaching.

The other person's gaze indicated that they were directed at him.

Unsure of what was going on, Fang Wen took precautions just in case.

Two officers stopped in front of Fang Wen, and one of them asked, "Hello, are you Fang Wen, the general manager of Taishan Airlines?"

"It's me. And who are you?"

“We have had the pleasure of reading your analysis of the military situation in France,” the officer replied.

His voice was loud, attracting the attention of other diners in the restaurant.

With everyone's eyes on him, his emotions surged.

He raised his voice: "This pilot from the East has analyzed the situation in France with his exceptional military acumen. He believes that if the Germans attack, they will break through the Maginot Line. What do you think?"

The diners in the restaurant burst into laughter, except for Fang Wen and Lin Baoluo's tables.

In response, Gong Xiuneng stood up, clenched his fists, and glared angrily at him.

"Sit down," Fang Wen said calmly.

Upon hearing Fang Wen's order, Gong Xiuneng, though furious, managed to suppress his anger and returned to his seat.

Fang Wen coldly looked at the officer: "I only made an analysis. As for how things will develop in the future, I don't know. It may be right, it may be wrong. Only time will tell."

“Yes, Gypsies dance flamenco and can calculate the same thing with a crystal ball. How about we make a bet?” the officer pressed.

Clearly, he was very confident in his judgment and did not believe that the German army could break through the seemingly impregnable Maginot Line.

Many people share his judgment; everyone in the restaurant does too.

Therefore, when the officer proposed the bet, many people sided with him.

Even Pierre agreed with this view.

This gave Fang Wen an idea.

He replied, "Wait a moment, let me discuss it with my friend."

"Okay." The two officers didn't make a fuss and sat down in the seats next to them to wait.

Fang Wen whispered to Pierre, "You see? That's why we started this company."

Pierre shook his head: "Fang, you're a madman. Although I've been through thick and thin with you and admire your abilities, this is a war between nations, and it can't be decided by one-sided thinking. Stop your crazy behavior."

"No, things will be settled soon. You can join this bet too. If I lose, you can choose one item from my collection. It's an absolute steal."

Fang Wen's answer impressed Pierre.

He knew that Fang Wen was another adventurer and must possess some rare and valuable items that ordinary people would never see. For an art investor, this was an unparalleled temptation.

Thinking to himself that even if they started a company together, it wouldn't have much of an impact as long as things were handled properly, he nodded in agreement.

After securing Pierre's services, Fang Wen smiled.

He said to the two officers at another table, "I agree to take your bet. Who here is willing to be a witness to this bet?"

Immediately, several people stood up.

They all knew each other, and some who felt they were not of a high enough status sat down on their own.

The remaining two came over and introduced themselves.

The man on the left is nearly sixty years old, with his silver-gray hair neatly combed, a well-trimmed goatee, and a custom-made dark gray tailcoat with a green olive branch badge of the French Academy pinned to his collar.

His name was Henri de Rochechoval, a duke, a member of the French Academy, and an heir to the Rochechoval family.

The woman on the right looks to be in her forties or fifties. Because of her fair skin, it's hard to judge her age. She's wearing an Italian-made off-white cashmere suit with a silk shirt underneath.

His name is André Bettencourt, President of Banco Nacional de Paris and Chairman of the French Arts Foundation.

Their status is indeed very high, enough to be a witness.

Fang Wen and the officer agreed.

Then, the restaurant manager brought out paper and pen and, in front of all the diners and two witnesses, signed a betting agreement.

The agreement was simple: if Fang Wen's analysis did not come true by the end of the year, the officer would lose; otherwise, Fang Wen would win and the officer would lose.

The stakes in the bet are real estate.

Both parties pledged the property owned by Taishan Airlines' European branch and the ancestral home of the officer in Paris, with the original property certificates handed over to André Bettencourt, president of the Paris National Bank, as a witness for safekeeping.

Such a bet quickly spread throughout Paris.

Meanwhile, the message was also transmitted to Berlin via radio waves.

(End of this chapter)