World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chen Feng pondered for a moment.

"Tell Wilhelm II that Lanfang understands Germany's concerns and will do everything in its power to prevent the war from escalating indefinitely. But at the same time, subtly remind him that Lanfang's investments need security. If Germany wants our help, then whatever the outcome of the war, our contractual rights must be respected."

"Is this... a guarantee?"

"This is business," Chen Feng corrected. "The Germans are desperate now, this is the best time to negotiate. Go."

After Wang Wenwu left, Chen Feng stood alone in the command center for another ten minutes. He recalled that more than a decade ago, when he first came into this world, it was still a desert. He led a group of desperate Chinese immigrants, starting from scratch, building ports, drilling oil wells, setting up factories, and building schools.

The goal back then was simple: to survive, and to live with dignity.

Now? Now he has to decide the fate of a nation, find a space to survive between powerful nations, and plan for the future under the shadow of war.

The responsibility was so heavy it was suffocating. But Chen Feng had no choice. He had chosen this path, and he had to walk it to the end—whether that end was glory or destruction.

He took one last look at the model, then turned and headed for the exit. The tunnel lights cast a long shadow of him on the concrete walls, making him look like a lonely giant.

11 p.m., November 21, 1916, Washington, State Department Telegraph Room.

The room was located in the basement of the State Department building. The walls were lined with soundproofing material, and the ceiling was covered with cable conduits. More than twenty telegraph machines were arranged in four rows. The operators wore headphones and their fingers tapped rapidly on the telegraph keys, producing a rhythmic clicking sound. The air was filled with the smells of ozone, sweat, and musty paper.

Suddenly, a series of urgent signals rang out from the innermost machine—it was a dedicated line from the Pacific Ocean. The operator quickly recorded it, and a paper tape emerged from the machine, displaying a string of Morse code.

Five minutes later, the Morse code was received. The operator cut the paper tape and handed it to the decoder beside him. The decoder, referring to the codebook, began to manually translate it. This was a new code, not belonging to any known code system of belligerent or neutral countries; he needed to consult the recently issued diplomatic codebook.

Ten minutes later, the decoder looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Supervisor, this..."

The head of the telegraph office came over and took the translation. He glanced at it, and his eyes widened.

"Make three copies immediately. Send the original to the Secretary of State's office, the first copy to the White House, and the second to the Office of Naval Intelligence. Quickly!"

Twenty minutes later, Secretary of State Robert Lansing sat in his office, holding the newly delivered telegram. The 53-year-old former lawyer frowned, repeatedly reading the few lines of text.

Telegram content:

"To His Excellency Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States of America, and His Excellency Robert Lansing, Secretary of State: Chen Feng, President of the Lanfang Republic, requests an urgent meeting with His Excellency in light of the current grim developments in the world situation. As a newly emerging nation, Lanfang is deeply concerned about the prospects for world peace and is willing to contribute its wisdom and strength to alleviating the current crisis. The meeting place may be designated by your side, and the time should be arranged as soon as possible. Best regards. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Lanfang Republic, November 21, 1916."

The signature area features a unique seal design: a coiled dragon encircling an olive branch.

Lansing pressed the call button on the table. A few seconds later, his special assistant pushed open the door and came in.

"Investigate this 'Lanfang Republic.' I need all the information I can find, especially regarding their LDR Chen Feng. Also, arrange a call with the president, saying there's an urgent diplomatic matter."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary."

After his assistant left, Lansing walked to the world map on the wall. His finger moved between Asia and Africa, finally stopping at the Persian Gulf. There was a newly marked dot in pencil, next to which was written "Dubai—Capital of the Lanfang Republic".

A country that has only been established for a little over a decade, a mysterious LDR, requests a meeting with the president at this critical moment.

Coincidence? Or meticulously planned?

Lansing returned to his desk and began reviewing the latest intelligence briefings. The entries concerning Lanfang were few, mostly fragmentary information:

"...It is believed to have been established by Chinese immigrants, with the main ethnic groups including Han Chinese, Arabs, and Malayan indigenous people..."

"...possessing a considerable industrial base, particularly in shipbuilding and arms manufacturing..."

"...selling weapons to both sides during the ongoing war, including battleships, tanks, rifles, etc..."

"...close relations with Germany, but also trade with Britain..."

"...Leader Chen Feng, background unknown, is rumored to have been educated in the United States, is fluent in multiple languages, and possesses superb political skills..."

Fragmented information pieced together a vague but alarming image: an opportunist, a shrewd businessman, a new player seeking survival in the great power game.

The phone rang. Lansing answered it.

"Mr. President."

"Robert, I received the telegram." Wilson's voice came through the receiver; the background was quiet, clearly from a private study. "What do you think?"

"It's quite sudden, Mr. President. Lanfang is almost entirely absent from our diplomatic dialogue. Their request for a meeting at this time is likely on behalf of Germany, or perhaps they are trying to gain advantages for themselves."

"Or perhaps both." Wilson paused. "But the wording in the telegram... 'Deeply concerned about the prospects for world peace and willing to contribute wisdom and strength to alleviating the current crisis.' That doesn't sound like something a pure opportunist would say."

Lansing sensed the president's interest in his tone. Wilson was an idealist who would instinctively pay attention to any proposal that might promote peace.

"Would you like to see them?"

"They let us specify the location."

"That means they're willing to come to Melaka, or at least halfway," Lansing pondered. "How about Hawaii? Pearl Harbor? It's far from the mainland, safe and secure, and it's very symbolic—meeting in the middle of the Pacific suggests a…equal dialogue."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Okay," Wilson finally said. "Reply to them: Melika agrees in principle to the meeting. The location is Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and the time... early January next year. The specific date and arrangements will be coordinated by the State Department."

"Shall we set an agenda?"

"No. Tell them to be open to the agenda, but hope they can prepare some 'concrete suggestions.' I want to hear what Chen Feng actually has to say."

"Understood, Mr. President."