World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The "Fuxing" and "Guangfu" high-speed trains have already weighed anchor and are preparing to depart. They will follow the "Malaya" across the Indian Ocean, round the Cape of Good Hope, and head to Britain.

There, they will receive new names, participate in new battles, and witness another chapter of history.

Here, a new history is being born amidst the clanging of steel.

Chen Feng got into the car and said to the driver, "Back to the office. Time to prepare for the next step."

The car drove away from the port. Behind it, the ship's horn sounded a long blast as two giant ships slowly sailed out to sea, heading toward an unknown fate.

Meanwhile, under the skies of Dubai Harbour, even more ships are under construction.

Never stop.

On the bridge of the battlecruiser "Malaya," Asquith gazed out the porthole at the receding Dubai harbor. The two newly commissioned warships followed behind, maintaining a standard escort formation.

Belfort walked over and handed him a glass of whiskey: "Have a drink, you've had enough today."

Asquith took the drink but didn't drink it: "How sincere do you think Chen Feng's proposal is?"

"Zero points." Belfort was blunt. "He's playing a balancing act. He gives Germany tanks, us warships, and now he wants to sell Japanese soldiers. What he wants is for the war to continue; the longer it goes on, the more he profits."

"I know." Asquith finally took a sip of his drink, the fire burning his throat. "But we... might need this option."

Balfour's eyes widened: "Herbert, you're not really considering this, are you? Using Asians as cannon fodder? That would ruin the Empire's reputation!"

"Honor?" Asquith smiled bitterly. "Arthur, two months into the Somme War, we've already lost two hundred thousand men. You saw the anti-war protests across the country, women holding up pictures of their sons in Downing Street, miners striking to demand a ceasefire, and even the church is questioning the justice of this war."

He turned around, leaning against the porthole: "If we can make a breakthrough before Christmas, even a small one, the domestic sentiment can be stabilized. But if it drags on until next spring... I don't know what will happen."

Balfour remained silent. He was the First Lord of the Navy, but he was also aware of the army's situation—human resources were nearing their limit.

"But the people of Japan..." He still couldn't get over that hurdle in his heart.

"Chen Feng is right. If the Germans can use it, why can't we?" Asquith walked to the chart table. "Besides, it's not necessarily a bad thing. If Japan sends troops to both sides simultaneously, their performance on the battlefield will... be diminished. After all, who would truly fight for the enemy?"

He paused, a calculating glint in his eyes: "More importantly, this will drag Japan deeper into the quagmire of war. After the war, regardless of who wins, Japan will be in a difficult position because it has offended both sides. At that time... we will have one less potential rival in the Far East."

Balfour gasped. It was the first time he had ever seen such a ruthless side in the prime minister, who was known for his mild-mannered nature.

"So now we..."

"Return to London and report to the King." Asquith put down his wine glass. "Then, have the Foreign Ministry contact Japan. But not through Chen Feng—he wants a commission, and we won't let him."

"He will be unhappy."

"Then let him be unhappy," Asquith sneered. "He's caused us so much trouble, why should we let him have his way?"

He looked toward Dubai, where the city had already disappeared below the horizon.

"Chen Feng is a smart man, but those who are too smart are often trapped by their own cleverness," he said in a low voice. "He wants to play the balance game, to maneuver skillfully between the various parties. But war... will eventually end. When that happens, all the scores will be settled."

Belfort recalled the malfunction during the ceremony, the cold reception, and Chen Feng's unfathomable smile.

"What do you think he really wants? Is it really just oil?"

Asquith pondered for a long time, then slowly shook his head: "Oil is a means, not an end. What he wants is... status. To transform Lanfang from a regional power into a world-class player. To transform Chen Feng from an exile into someone who sits on equal footing with kings, emperors, and presidents."

He walked to the edge of the bridge, gazing at the endless sea: "A hundred years ago, Napoleon wanted this. Fifty years ago, Bismarck achieved it. Now... it's the Orientals' turn."

The sea breeze carried a salty, fishy smell.

In faraway Dubai, Chen Feng stood by his office window, also gazing towards the sea.

Wang Wenwu delivered the latest report: "Commander-in-Chief, Asquith left without attending the luncheon. He seems... not very happy."

"Of course he's unhappy," Chen Feng said without turning around, "but it doesn't matter. He'll be even more unhappy soon."

Why?

Chen Feng turned around, a mysterious smile playing on his lips: "Because in Japan... Saionji Kinmochi won't easily agree to the British's demands. And then they'll have to come back to me."

He walked to his desk and unfolded a document: "Notify Liu Yongfu to accelerate the production of the 'Jianghe-class' destroyers. The British must deliver those seven ships on schedule, not a single screw can be missing. We need to let them know—Lanfang keeps its word in business."

"That tank technology..."

"The simplified specifications will be 'leaked' to British intelligence tomorrow." Chen Feng sat down and began reviewing the documents. "We need to make them believe that the Germans only received a transitional model, and that the better ones are still in our hands. That way... they'll continue to negotiate with us."

Wang Wenwu finished recording, but did not leave.

"Is there anything else?" Chen Feng looked up.

"Commander-in-Chief, I have a question." Wang Wenwu hesitated for a moment, "Won't doing business with everyone at the same time really get us into trouble?"

Chen Feng put down his pen and looked earnestly at the Foreign Minister: "Minister Wang, what do you think international politics is?"

"Is it... a struggle over national interests?"

"It's a competition for survival," Chen Feng corrected. "The strong prey on the weak; it's always been that way. The only difference is that in the past, it was about swords and spears; now it's about industry, finance, and diplomacy."

He stood up and walked to the window again: "When Lanfang was founded, what did we have? A desert, tens of thousands of refugees, and the whole world was waiting to see us starve. And now? We have world-class warships, a rising industry, and forty million citizens. How did we do it?"

"Thanks to your leadership and everyone's hard work..."

"It depends on opportunity," Chen Feng interrupted him. "The Europeans are fighting amongst themselves and can't afford to worry about Asia. The Americans are still observing and don't want to get involved. The Russians are struggling on the Eastern Front. This is a once-in-a-century window of opportunity—if we seize it, we can rise to power. If we miss it, we'll end up like the Ottomans, slowly decaying and waiting to be partitioned."

His fingers tapped lightly on the glass: "So we must seize every deal, exploit every contradiction, and grow in the cracks. By the time the war ends, by the time the great powers realize what's happening, we will be strong enough that they will have to take us seriously."

"But...won't this be too tiring?"

Chen Feng smiled, a genuine smile, tinged with weariness but also with determination: "Tired, but worthwhile. Because we are creating history—not passively enduring history, but actively writing it."

He looked out the window. The sun was setting, and Dubai Port was bathed in golden light. The cranes were still working, and welding sparks flickered like stars.

On the other side of the planet, the war continues, people continue to die, and empires continue to struggle.

Here, a new force is quietly growing.

Silent and unstoppable.