World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

The car drove through several streets and stopped in front of an inconspicuous courtyard.

Laval got out of the car and looked at the building before him. It wasn't as grand as he had imagined, nor did it have any glittering decorations or armed guards. It was just an ordinary two-story building with gray walls, simple windows, and two guards standing at the door—that was all.

Seeing him in a daze, Lieutenant Lin smiled.

"Mr. Laval, please. The President is inside."

Laval followed him into the courtyard, through a corridor, and finally stopped in front of a door.

Lieutenant Lin knocked gently on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Laval went inside.

The room was simple. There was a desk, a few chairs, a bookshelf, and a huge world map hanging on the wall. Two cups of tea sat on the desk, still steaming. Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting warm shadows on the floor.

Chen Feng was sitting behind his desk, reading a document. Hearing footsteps, he looked up, put down the document, and stood up.

In that instant, Laval carefully examined the man who kept all of Europe awake at night.

He was of medium build, even thinner than he appeared in the photos. He wore a dark gray Zhongshan suit, without any medals or insignia. His face was expressionless, but his eyes—those eyes were so bright, so bright that Laval was reminded of Clemenceau. The same sharpness, the same unfathomable depths, the same intimidating gaze.

"Mr. Laval," Chen Feng began in fluent French, "Welcome to Dubai. You must have had a long journey."

Laval was taken aback—he hadn't expected Chen Feng's French to be so good. His pronunciation was standard, his vocabulary accurate, and it even carried a touch of the intellectual air of the Left Bank of Paris.

"Your Excellency," he said with a slight bow, "thank you for taking the time to see me. Prime Minister Clemenceau asked me to convey the greetings of the French people to you."

Chen Feng smiled, a faint but sincere smile.

"Prime Minister Clemenceau is too kind. Please have a seat."

The two sat down opposite each other at the desk. Lieutenant Lin quietly closed the door and left.

The room was silent for a few seconds.

Chen Feng picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then put it down.

"Mr. Laval, Prime Minister Clemenceau didn't send you here just to greet me, did he?"

Laval looked at him and secretly admired him—no beating around the bush, straightforward. That's the kind of person who can achieve great things.

"The President is right. I've come to discuss important matters."

He took a document out of his briefcase and pushed it in front of Chen Feng.

"Your Excellency, in 1911, the French bank lent Lanfang a loan of thirty million pounds. This is a copy of the contract from that year."

Chen Feng took the document, glanced at it, and then put it down.

"I remember. It was an annual interest rate of 3%, with a five-year term, but because of the war, so..."

Laval nodded.

"The President remembers it very clearly."

Chen Feng looked at him without saying a word.

Laval took a deep breath and uttered the words he had prepared all along the way.

"France doesn't want this loan."

The room fell silent again.

Chen Feng picked up his teacup and slowly took a sip. His face was expressionless, just as Laval had simply remarked, "The weather's nice today." In truth, he had understood the situation from the moment the French hadn't asked for the loan back when it was due, even as the French struggled on the battlefield...

Laval looked at him, feeling a little uneasy.

Thirty million pounds. That was three years' worth of French military spending, the equipment for 300,000 soldiers, and the cost of several battleships. He had expected Chen Feng to at least react—surprise, doubt, excitement, or even the slightest bit. But Chen Feng showed nothing. He simply drank his tea, watching him as if he were watching an interesting performance.

After a long time, Chen Feng finally put down his teacup.

"What are the conditions?"

Laval breathed a sigh of relief—as long as he asked about the conditions, there was room for negotiation.

"Lanfang cannot harm French interests in Asia, especially in Indochina—Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. Lanfang must respect France's suzerainty in these regions."

Chen Feng nodded.

"Anything else?"

Laval paused for a moment—there was more?

Chen Feng looked at him, a faint smile in his eyes.

"Mr. Laval, thirty million pounds is no small sum. France is willing to give up such a large amount of money; there can't be only one condition."

Laval fell silent.

He recalled Clemenceau's words before he left: "Pierre, Chen Feng is a smart man. Don't lie to smart people. The more sincere you are, the more likely you are to succeed."

He gritted his teeth and decided to tell the truth.

"The President is right. Besides our interests in Asia, France also hopes—"

He paused.

"We also hope that Lanfang can restrain Britain and make the British focus their attention on Asia instead of always keeping an eye on Europe."

Chen Feng smiled. This time, his smile was even more pronounced.

"Mr. Laval, you've finally hit the nail on the head."

He stood up and walked to the huge world map on the wall.

"Look, the British have already lost Singapore, Burma, and Iran in Asia. India won't last much longer either. They'll definitely have to draw troops from Europe to come to Asia's aid—that's what you're worried about, isn't it?"

Laval nodded.

"Yes. Once Britain withdraws its troops from France, we will be under great pressure. The Germans are still eyeing us on the western front, and the reinforcements from the Merlekas have not yet arrived. If the British withdraw 200,000 troops, France will be in danger."

Chen Feng turned around and looked at him.

"So you hope that Lanfang will stop fighting so that the British won't withdraw from France."

Laval was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"Yes."

Chen Feng walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Mr. Laval, do you know why Lanfang wanted to fight Britain?"

Laval paused for a moment.

"Because the British attacked your fleet in the Arabian Sea?"

Chen Feng laughed. That kind of laugh sent chills down Laval's spine.

"Mr. Laval, you're a smart man. Let's not beat around the bush."

He looked directly into Laval's eyes.

"We all know what happened with Jericho."

Laval's pupils contracted slightly.

Although he had already guessed it in his heart, hearing Chen Feng say it with his own ears still sent chills down his spine. It was a trap that made twelve capital ships of the British Royal Navy fight for three hours, caused Britain to lose half of Asia, and let the whole world see the photos of "the British Empire waging war without declaring war".

The person who set the trap was sitting right across from him.

Chen Feng continued, "Lanfang fought the British not for revenge, but for profit. The British have taken advantage of Asia for a hundred years, and now it's time to give it back."

He paused.

"So you don't need to ask me to restrain the British. I was going to restrain them anyway. In fact, I'll restrain them even more severely."

Laval remained silent for a long time.

Then he asked, "Commander-in-Chief, what do you want?"

Chen Feng stood up and walked back to the map.

This time, he was not pointing to Asia, but to Europe.

"Mr. Laval, have you thought about what the world will be like after the war ends?"

Laval walked over to him and looked at the map.

Will Germany lose? Or will Britain lose?