World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chen Feng listened quietly. He knew that Dubois wasn't just chatting idly, but was conveying some kind of message.

"And now," Dubois turned to Chen Feng, his gaze sharp, "you suddenly appeared on the track, not only catching up with the leaders, but possibly even overtaking them. This changes everything."

"We don't want to participate in any competition," Chen Feng said. "We're building ships simply to go home."

"I understand. But sometimes, even if you don't want to compete, the track will still find you." Dubois pulled a small, exquisite box from his pocket. "A little gift, representing France's gratitude."

Chen Feng took it and opened it. Inside was a medal—the French Legion of Honour, Knight rank. The golden cross gleamed on the velvet lining.

"this……"

"This is an informal, private gift," Dubois said. "It does not represent the French government, but only myself—and all those who are grateful to Lanfang for helping France rebuild its navy."

Chen Feng looked at the medal. He knew what it meant: France was extending a personal gesture of goodwill towards him, attempting to establish a private connection that went beyond official relations. It was an ancient diplomatic art, using sentiment and personal relationships to solidify ties of interest.

"Your Excellency Minister," he said, closing the box, "this gift is far too valuable."

"What's truly valuable is your technology and integrity," Dubois said. "All five warships were delivered on time, and all met or even exceeded standards. This is rare in the history of shipbuilding worldwide. You have proven that the Chinese can not only make the best porcelain, but also the best warships."

Chen Feng handed the box to Uncle Wang behind him. The old man accepted it with both hands, as if holding a sacred object.

"Well then," Chen Feng said, "as a return gift, I would also like to give you a present."

He made a gesture. Uncle Wang took out a wooden box from his cloth bag, opened it, and inside was a sophisticated nautical chronometer. The brass case was polished so fine that it reflected a person's image, and the dial was marked in both Chinese and French. Through the glass cover, one could see the intricate gears in motion.

"These are the first products from the Lanfang Watch Factory," Chen Feng said. "The daily error is no more than 0.5 seconds. We hope that the French Navy's warships will always keep accurate time while at sea."

Dubois took the nautical chronometer and examined it carefully. He was a connoisseur and could tell at a glance that the watch's craftsmanship was no less than that of top Swiss products, and even featured innovations in its shockproof and moisture-proof design.

"You guys can even build this?" he asked in surprise.

"We've only just begun," Chen Feng said modestly. "But just like building a ship, given time, we can build world-class products."

Dubois laughed, this time a genuine laugh: "Mr. Chen, I'm beginning to understand why the British both fear and respect you. You not only build warships, but you're also building a complete industrial nation. That's what's truly terrifying."

"What's frightening isn't industry itself, but the people who use it," Chen Feng said. "We hope to use it to build, not destroy."

"I hope so," Dubois said, but there was a hint of doubt in his voice—he had seen too many nations, after gaining power, ultimately choose expansion and conquest.

The delivery ceremony concluded at noon. The "Provence" was towed to a deep-water anchorage, and French sailors began boarding. They would spend two weeks familiarizing themselves with the ship's operations before setting sail for home. Meanwhile, in the same dry dock, workers had begun clearing the site in preparation for laying the keel of the German "Kaiser Frederick III".

Chen Feng and Dubois shook hands and said goodbye.

"I look forward to meeting you again, Your Excellency Minister."

"Me too, Mr. Chen. I hope next time it will be in Paris—in a café on the Champs-Élysées, rather than on the grandstand at the dock."

"That day will come."

After Dubois left, Chen Feng didn't leave immediately. He stood on the empty reviewing stand, watching the workers busily at work. The massive dry dock was being pumped out, revealing the concrete foundation beneath the drained water. Cranes were dismantling temporary structures, and welders were cutting away excess support frames. In forty-eight hours, this place would be ready to welcome the next warship.

Uncle Wang walked up to him and whispered, "Young Master, the German delegation has arrived and is waiting for you in the reception room."

"Let them wait half an hour," Chen Feng said. "I want to stand here a little longer."

"Yes."

Wang Bo took two steps back, but did not leave. He knew Chen Feng needed this moment of quiet—after delivering a warship that represented three years of hard work, and before starting the next round of busy work.

Chen Feng closed his eyes. He heard the wind blowing through the dock, the shouts of workers in the distance, and the sound of waves crashing against the breakwater. These sounds intertwined, like a symphony of the industrial age.

Three years ago, there were only the sounds of wind and waves here.

Three years later, here you'll hear the clanging of steel, the hissing of steam, and the cries of humankind.

They changed this land. And this land, in turn, changed them.

"Uncle Wang," Chen Feng opened his eyes, "how are Elder Salman's people doing at Dock Ten?"

"Very good," Uncle Wang said. "They are familiar with the desert and know how to work in the high temperatures. They are also very disciplined—they coordinate their own shifts during the five daily prayer times, never delaying the project's progress."

"What about identity registration?"

"The first batch has been completed. The blue ID cards have all been issued. The medical team sent by the hospital reported that the vaccination rate for children in the tribe has reached 80%, which was unimaginable before."

"That's good." Chen Feng looked into the distance, where the construction site of the tenth dock was already taking shape. "Tell them that once the dock is completed, an auxiliary facility—a reservoir or a clinic—will be named after Elder Salman."

Uncle Wang's eyes lit up: "Young Master, this is a token of my appreciation..."

"This isn't charity, it's respect," Chen Feng said. "They chose to trust us, and we must live up to that trust. Red ID card, blue ID card—different colors, but the rights and obligations are the same. This is Lanfang's promise."

"I understand. I will pass it on."

Chen Feng took one last look at the "Provence," which was being towed out to sea. The warship would sail seven thousand nautical miles back to France and then join the Mediterranean Fleet. Its guns might never be pointed at the enemy, but its very existence was a force to be reckoned with.

Just like Lanfang.

They built these steel behemoths not to conquer, but to avoid being conquered. Not for expansion, but to return home.

But in the process, they inadvertently altered the world's balance of power and unwittingly became new players in the great power rivalry.

This is dangerous. It's like dancing on a knife's edge.

But you have to jump.

Because stopping means falling.

"Let's go." Chen Feng turned around. "Let's go see the Germans. Let's see what Emperor Wilhelm wants this time."

They stepped down from the viewing platform. Behind them, in the dock, the pumps were still roaring, and the workers were still busy. Further away, on the newly vacated dock foundation, the positioning lines for the first keel had already been drawn.

The old has ended, and the new has begun.

This is the rhythm of the industrial age: never stopping, always moving forward.