AWB Chapter 378 The Grand Commander has a proposal
Chapter 378 The Grand Commander has a proposal
"Please come in."
The person who came in was a liaison officer sent by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a young official named Schmidt, with blond hair and blue eyes, who was well-mannered but looked tired.
"Mr. Wang, welcome to Berlin," Schmidt said in fluent English. "His Majesty the Emperor thanks President Lanfang for his greetings and welcomes you to the capital. This is the agenda for this afternoon's meeting."
He handed over a document. Wang Wenwu took it and quickly glanced at it. The agenda was brief: polite greetings, exchange of gifts, and "exchanging views on international affairs of common concern"—typical diplomatic rhetoric, saying nothing, yet saying everything.
"I understand." Wang Wenwu nodded. "May I ask, how is His Majesty's mood today?"
Schmidt hesitated. This question went beyond standard diplomatic protocol, but he seemed to judge that frankness would be more advantageous: "Not good, sir. The battle report from Verdun arrived this morning; we've lost over eight thousand men. On the naval front… progress is slow. His Majesty threw a tantrum last night at Sanssouci and smashed a Chinese porcelain vase."
"That's a pity," Wang Wenwu said calmly. "So, do I need to adjust my conversation strategy?"
“My suggestion is… to be direct.” Schmidt lowered his voice. “His Majesty has no patience for diplomatic rhetoric right now. He needs a solution, or at least hope. But remember, we can’t appear to be giving alms; His Majesty is very sensitive.”
"Understood. Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Schmidt."
After the liaison officer left, Wang Wenwu took a thick folder from his briefcase. Inside were not documents, but photos—high-resolution images of two majestic warships under construction in the dock, their hulls already painted with dark gray naval paint, the main gun turrets' barrels gleaming coldly in the sunlight.
Bismarck-class battleships. The "Changjiang" and "Huanghe" in the Lanfang Navy's fleet had a standard displacement of 41,000 tons, were armed with eight 380mm main guns, and had a top speed of 30 knots. According to Chen Feng, these two ships were ten years ahead of any active warship of their time.
And these are about to become bargaining chips.
Looking at the photo, Wang Wenwu recalled his last conversation with Chen Feng before leaving Dubai.
“Remember,” Chen Feng said, standing in front of the strategic map at the Presidential Palace with his back to him, “Wilhelm II is now like a gambler who has lost everything. He has bet too much at Verdun, and now he can’t get it back, and he dares not raise the stakes. The navy is his last hope, but Tirpitz has told him that hope is false.”
"So we gave him new hope," Wang Wenwu said.
"An expensive hope." Chen Feng turned around, his eyes sharp. "He can't pay in cash, but we can make him pay with other things—political influence, technology transfer, future trade privileges. Most importantly, we can make him owe us a favor. In international politics, favors are more valuable than gold."
"What if he refuses?"
"He won't." Chen Feng walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of whiskey, "because he has no choice. Either accept our terms, or watch the meat grinder on the Western Front continue to run until Germany bleeds to its last drop. William isn't stupid; he knows how to calculate."
Now, Wang Wenwu is about to perform this calculation.
He put the photos back into the folder and took out another document from his bag—an asset appraisal report jointly issued by the Lanfang Ministry of Finance and the Central Bank, which detailed the principal, interest, and repayment plan of the 30 million pounds sterling loan Lanfang owed to Germany. And, most importantly: if the loan defaulted, Lanfang had the right to use the Hood sterling as collateral.
Everything is ready.
At 2:45 p.m., the Mercedes-Benz arrived again. This time, its destination was Sanssouci Palace.
The west wing of Sanssouci Palace, the emperor's study.
Wilhelm II stood by the window, his back to the room. Today he was wearing the uniform of a Prussian Field Marshal, a dark blue woolen fabric embroidered with gold thread, his chest adorned with medals—the Hohenzollern Family Order, the Black Eagle Order, the Order of Merit… but these gleaming metal and silk ribbons could not conceal the weariness and anxiety on his face.
"Your Majesty, Special Envoy Wang Wenwu from Lanfang has arrived," the attendant announced softly.
"Let him in."
William didn't turn around. He looked out the window at the garden, where the June roses were in full bloom, but he had no heart to appreciate them. The battle report that had been delivered that morning was still spread out on his desk, and those cold numbers—killed, wounded, missing—pierced his eyes like needles.
Verdun. That damned Verdun. Six months have passed, and the Germans have committed thirty divisions there, suffering over three hundred thousand casualties, yet the front line has advanced less than seven kilometers. The French resistance is fiercer than imagined, and Germany's manpower is rapidly being depleted.
Even worse is the navy.
Tirpitz, that stubborn old man, kept making excuses, one after another, with technical reasons. The fleet needed maintenance, the personnel needed training, the ammunition needed replenishment… there was always an excuse. William knew some of the reasons were true, but he needed a victory, a victory that would boost morale at home, give hope to the allies, and instill fear in the enemy.
Even if it's just a small victory.
The door opened and then closed. The steady footsteps were almost inaudible on the thick carpet.
"Your Majesty the Emperor."
William finally turned around. Standing in the center of the study was an Asian man, around forty years old, of medium build, with a calm face and eyes that revealed the shrewdness and composure characteristic of a businessman. He was dressed in a well-fitting suit, carrying a briefcase, and his posture was respectful but not servile.
"Mr. Wang," William walked to the desk, gesturing for the other man to sit in the chair opposite him, "Welcome to Berlin. How is President Chen Feng's health?"
"Thanks to His Majesty, the Grand Commander is in good health." Wang Wenwu sat down and placed his briefcase at his feet. "He entrusted me to convey His Majesty's sincerest greetings and present him with a gift."
He opened his briefcase, took out an exquisite mahogany box, and pushed it to the opposite side of his desk. William opened the box, and inside was a beautiful set of Chinese porcelain tea set—white with blue and white patterns of pine trees and cranes symbolizing longevity, the glaze smooth as a mirror, gleaming with a warm luster under the crystal chandelier in the study.
"Very beautiful." William nodded, but wasn't particularly interested. He wasn't in the mood for art right now. "Please thank Commander Chen Feng for me. So, Mr. Wang, besides offering your greetings, is there anything else you need this time?"
Let's get straight to the point. Just as Schmidt had predicted, the emperor had no patience for pleasantries.
Wang Wenwu sat up straight, placing his hands crossed on his knees: "Your Majesty, I have two purposes for this trip. First, regarding the loan between your country and my Lanfang. Second, Commander Chen Feng has a suggestion that might help Your Majesty resolve some of your current difficulties."
William raised an eyebrow: "Oh? What suggestion?"