World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chen Feng shook his head.

"No one completely loses, and no one completely wins. The war will end in some way, with both sides exhausted and suffering heavy losses. Then, someone needs to clean up the mess."

He turned to look at Laval.

"Who will clean up?"

Laval did not speak.

Chen Feng continued, "Britain? They're drowning in debt, have lost half their colonies, and their navy has been decimated. Germany? Millions have died, and the country is starving; it's uncertain whether the emperor can even retain his throne. Mexico? They have money and power, but they're separated by the Atlantic; they can't interfere in European affairs."

He paused.

"Those countries that were not exhausted in this war are the ones that can truly clean up the mess."

Laval's eyes lit up.

You mean—

Chen Feng nodded.

"Lanfang was committed to establishing an international league after the war to maintain world peace. This league would have several permanent member seats with veto power. Any major international matter would require the unanimous consent of the member states to pass."

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Lanfang was very interested in making France one of the permanent members of the Security Council."

Laval was stunned.

Permanent members of the Security Council. Veto power.

He had never seen these words in the charters of any international organization before. But he instantly understood their significance.

That meant France could retain its great power status after the war. That meant France could veto any international resolutions that were unfavorable to it. That meant France—a country already exhausted by the war—could stand on equal footing with Merleka and Lanfong in the future world order.

"Commander-in-Chief," his voice trembled slightly, "you mean—"

Chen Feng looked at him calmly.

"What I mean is that a new order is needed after the war. No longer will Britain be the only one calling the shots, and European powers will no longer be dividing the spoils behind closed doors. A new order requires new rules and a new power structure."

He picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"France should have a place in this new order."

Laval didn't know how he got out of that office.

All he knew was that when he stood at the entrance of the Grand President's residence, the sun was already setting. The sunlight shone warmly on his face, but he felt cold all over.

Dumont came forward, looking anxious.

"Mr. Ambassador! How did the talks go? You've been inside for four hours!"

Laval looked at him, opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

He recalled every word Chen Feng had said during those four hours.

The idea of ​​the League of Nations, the permanent seats on the Security Council, the design of the veto power—he had never heard of these things in any diplomatic setting, yet they seemed to be things that should have existed from the outset. Chen Feng spoke slowly, explaining every detail clearly, as if he had been thinking about them for many years, as if the diplomats in Lanfang had prepared countless contingency plans.

He recalled Chen Feng's last words: "Mr. Laval, go back and tell Prime Minister Clemenceau—France is Lanfang's most important partner in Europe. We hope that after the war, we can work with France to jointly safeguard world peace."

Partners. Not vassals, not underlings, not pawns to be sacrificed at will.

Rather, they are partners.

He took a deep breath and said to Dumont, "Back to the ship. Immediately."

Dumont was stunned: "But Mr. Ambassador, you haven't eaten yet—"

"Back to the ship!" Laval practically roared. "I need to send a telegram to Paris immediately!"

That evening, the "Santa Maria".

Laval locked himself in his cabin and wrote and crossed out the draft telegram repeatedly.

The first version read: "Chen Feng proposed the formation of the League of Nations after the war, with France as one of the permanent members. This should be carefully considered."

Too lenient. Being a permanent member of the Security Council is no small matter and cannot be "carefully considered."

The second version reads: "Lanfang is willing to establish a postwar strategic partnership with France, on the condition that France recognizes Lanfang's vested interests in Asia."

Taixu. Strategic partnership—what does that mean? It's not clearly stated.

The third version reads: "Chen Feng proposed that after the war, major powers should jointly manage world affairs, with France having veto power. This move could fundamentally change the international landscape. It is recommended that this be given high priority."

This time, he felt it was about time.

The seven words "completely change the international landscape" were enough to make Clemenceau take them seriously.

He picked up his pen and added, "Lanfang's sincerity is extremely high; I suggest the Premier make the decision personally."

After writing it, he read it three times and then handed the telegram to Dumont.

"Send it out. Use the highest priority."

Dumont took the telegram, glanced at it, and his expression changed.

"Mr. Ambassador, this..."

"Send it out," Laval repeated. "Not a single word can be wrong."

Dumont nodded and turned to leave.

Laval walked to the porthole and looked out at the pitch-black night.

He suddenly remembered a question: Why did Chen Feng help France?

A permanent member of the League of Nations Security Council—that's immense power, immense benefit, immense temptation. Lanfang could have acted alone, he could have acted with Meilika, he could have acted with Germany. Why drag France, a country that was already half-dead, into it?

He thought for a while and suddenly understood.

Because Lanfang needed an ally in Europe.

Merleka was too far away, Germany was too weak, and Britain was an enemy. Only France possessed a certain level of strength, was dissatisfied with Britain, and desperately needed a patron to support it after the war.

Chen Feng is playing a very big game.

A game of chess spanning Eurasia and involving the next few decades.

And he, Laval, had the honor of becoming a piece in this game.

But he didn't mind.

Because at the very least, this is a piece that can change the fate of France.

December 15th, Paris.

Clemenceau sat in his office, the telegram from Dubai in front of him. He had read it more than a dozen times, each time his heart pounding.

"Permanent member of the Security Council," "veto power," "joint management of world affairs"—these words burned like a fire in his mind.

Foreign Minister Pixiong sat opposite him, read the telegram as well, and looked equally shocked.

"Prime Minister, is this... possibly possible?"

Clemenceau did not answer.

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the Parisian night was deep. The Eiffel Tower in the distance appeared and disappeared in the darkness, like a lonely finger pointing to the sky.

He recalled four years earlier, when the war had just broken out. Back then, German cannons were pointed at Paris, and everyone thought the city was doomed. He stood by the same window, watching the fleeing crowds, wondering: How long can France hold out?

Three years have passed.

France survived. Verdun survived, the Somme survived, and those meat grinders that killed 300,000 people survived.

But now, France faces a different challenge—the post-war world order.