World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Foolish." Chen Feng's voice was soft, but filled with suppressed anger. "The Germans are foolish, the British are shameless. And the Merika people... have become sacrifices."

He stood up and went to the balcony. Pearl Harbor was quiet in the night, but that quiet seemed ironic at that moment.

"Wilson canceled the afternoon tea?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yes. But I still hope to see you tomorrow."

"Of course we need to see him." Chen Feng turned around, his face showing a weariness Wang Wenwu had never seen before. "Right now, he needs to hear what we have to say. Or more precisely, he needs to know what we're planning to do."

Do you think it's a done deal that Mika will join the fight?

Chen Feng did not answer directly. He went back to his room, picked up the telegram, and read it again.

"Forty-three people died. In war, that's a small number. But politically, it's enough to change history." He placed the telegram on the table. "Wilson now faces a choice: follow public opinion and go to war; or go against public opinion and insist on peace. The former is political survival, the latter is political suicide."

"He will choose to survive."

“Most LDRs would,” Chen Feng said, sitting down. “But Wilson wasn’t like most LDRs. He was an idealist, and idealists sometimes make irrational choices. The question is, how long can his ideals last? When the whole country is roaring, can one person’s voice still be heard?”

Wang Wenwu thought for a moment: "What else can we do?"

"There's very little we can do," Chen Feng admitted. "This attack has changed everything. Now is not the time for rational discussion; it's the time for emotions to dominate. The only thing we can do is give Wilson one last option—if he chooses to defy public opinion, we need to let him know that he is not alone."

"Will Lanfang support him?"

"If this means avoiding an expanded war, yes," Chen Feng said, "but only if he truly has the courage to choose that difficult path."

He checked his watch; it was 9:30 p.m.

"Send a telegram to Berlin," he said suddenly. "In the strongest terms. Tell them that their foolish actions could ruin everything. If they want Lanfang to remain neutral or supportive in any future conflict, they must immediately cease their unrestricted submarine warfare and be prepared to make significant concessions to initiate peace talks."

Will the Germans listen?

"Probably not. But we have to try," Chen Feng added. "Also, send a carefully worded but clear telegram to London. Tell them we understand what happened. This tactic might bring short-term victory, but it will damage long-term trust. And... those who play with fire will get burned."

Wang Wenwu took notes, then asked, "Should we notify the domestic authorities?"

Chen Feng pondered for a moment: "Notify Liu Yongfu to initiate the second phase of preparations for 'Operation Taishan,' but do not implement it for the time being. Notify Li Te that the Navy should enter Level 3 alert, but refrain from any provocative actions. We must prepare for the worst, but we must not become the last straw that breaks the camel's back."

After the order was given, the room fell silent again.

Chen Feng walked to his desk, opened the Hawaiian history book, but his gaze wasn't focused on the words. He was pondering a larger picture: what if Mirika had entered the war, what if Germany had been defeated, what if the postwar order had been dominated by the victorious powers… where would Lanfang stand? How would a "neutral" country that sold weapons to both sides be viewed?

The more fundamental question is: Was his attempt to change history doomed to failure from the very beginning? Were there forces—nationalism, militarism, the greed of interest groups—so powerful that any rational intervention seemed futile?

The phone rang. It was Lieutenant General Rodman.

"Mr. Chen, I apologize for disturbing you so late. The President asked me to convey his deep regret over the cancellation of today's afternoon tea. Also... you may have heard about the unfortunate events in the Atlantic."

"I have heard. Please convey my condolences to the President."

"I will." Rodman paused. "The President wishes to meet with you at 10 a.m. tomorrow, in the operations briefing room at Pacific Fleet Command. The situation... has changed somewhat; he believes a more formal setting might be more appropriate."

"I understand. I will arrive on time."

After hanging up the phone, Chen Feng said to Wang Wenwu, "See? The location has changed from the garden to the operations briefing room. The symbolism is clear—the peaceful dialogue has ended, and now it's negotiations on the brink of war."

"Do you still have hope?"

Chen Feng didn't answer immediately. He went to the balcony and looked at the night sky over Pearl Harbor. The stars were bright, but they appeared somewhat dim against the backdrop of the city lights.

"Hope always exists," he concluded. "It's just that sometimes hope has to pass through a long period of darkness before it can see the light. And we may be in the darkest part of it."

He turned and went back into the house: "Go and rest. Tomorrow we need all our clarity and wisdom."

After Wang Wenwu left, Chen Feng stood alone on the balcony for a long time. He recalled the original timeline of World War I: April 1917, when Merika declared war on Germany. It was January now, three months to go.

He once believed that with his understanding of history and Lanfang's influence, he could change the outcome. But now, he began to have doubts.

Perhaps the inertia of history is stronger than he imagined. Perhaps some events—the gunshots at Seraev, the Zimmerman telegram, unrestricted submarine warfare, the sinking of the Lusitania—are like pre-programmed sequences that, no matter how much intervention is involved, will occur in some form.

But if that's the case, what is the meaning of his coming into this world? Is he merely an observer, watching tragedy repeat itself?

No. Chen Feng shook his head. Even if the overall situation cannot be changed, at least the details can be changed. Even if war cannot be avoided, at least the manner and outcome of the war can be influenced. Even if everyone cannot be saved, some people can be saved.

This is the responsibility of a leader: to find possibilities in despair and to ignite a glimmer of light in the darkness.

A night breeze blew by, carrying the salty scent of the Pacific Ocean. In the distance, the lights of the "Huaihe" warship outlined its majestic silhouette in the night. That warship represented Lanfang's strength, and also a possibility—that a non-Western country could also master advanced technology and make its voice heard on the international stage.

Tomorrow, he will walk into the operations briefing room of the Pacific Fleet in Milica, carrying this possibility with him. There, he will make one last effort with one of the most powerful men of the time, attempting to weigh a small step on the scales of war and peace.

What can be changed? He didn't know.

But we must try.

Because if you don't try, there's no possibility of even making a change.

As night deepened, Pearl Harbor slumbered. But on the other side of the Atlantic, in Washington, London, and Berlin, countless people were losing sleep over tomorrow. And in Hawaii, an envoy from the East was pondering the same question: Where will the world go tomorrow?

The answer will be revealed in the morning light.