novelSusiti Chapter 94 The Japanese hate you.
Chapter 94 The Japanese hate you.
The negotiations in Paris went more smoothly than expected.
The French are pragmatic—perhaps because they've already tasted success with the lead ship of the Courbet-class, the France, already having its keel laid in Dubai.
Foreign Minister Thomson hosted a banquet for Wang Wenwu on the day of his arrival. The banquet was held in the Foreign Ministry’s banquet hall, which was smaller than the one in London, but the atmosphere was much warmer.
"Mr. Wang, how are the talks going in London?" Thomson asked casually as he raised his glass.
"An understanding has been reached," Wang Wenwu said. "Britain agreed to lift the trade ban, and we agreed not to transfer the latest technology to Germany."
"Smart," Thomson laughed. "The British have finally learned to be realistic. And what about us? After the Courbet-class, what room for cooperation is left?"
"Many," Wang Wenwu listed. "We can purchase French minerals in Vietnam and Algeria on a long-term basis. We can import French optical instruments and precision machinery. Of course, there are also many more warship orders."
Thomson's eyes lit up: "A new design?"
"It's 20% better than the 'Courbet' class, but the price will be higher," Wang Wenwu offered as bait. "If France is interested, we can provide a solution."
"What are the conditions?"
"Two," Wang Wenwu said, holding up one finger. "First, France's colonies in Southeast Asia must have completely open ports to Lanfang's merchant ships. Second, France must support Lanfang's legal status in international arenas—no formal recognition is required, but don't oppose it in the vote."
Thomson and the Navy Minister Dubois, who was standing next to him, exchanged glances.
"We can talk," Thomson said, "but we need to see the design proposal first."
"You'll see it later."
Over the next three days, Wang Wenwu met with twelve groups of people in Paris. Bankers wanted to invest in oil fields in the Persian Gulf, industrialists wanted to sell machine tools, and shipyards wanted to take orders for parts for the Courbet-class destroyers—although the entire ship was being built in Dubai, French companies could provide the necessary components.
General Dubois privately invited Wang Wenwu to dinner at a small restaurant on the left bank of the Seine.
"Mr. Wang, to be honest," the old general sighed after a few rounds of drinks, "I envy you."
"What's there to envy?"
"I envy you for being able to build the 'Restoration'," Dubois said. "The French Navy... used to be the best in Europe, but now it can't even catch up with Germany. We bought your ship because we can't build it ourselves."
This was said very bluntly, and even a little sadly.
Wang Wenwu poured him a drink: "General, technology is fluid. Today we are in the lead, tomorrow it might be France. The key is... to maintain an open and learning mindset."
"Learn from?" Dubois smiled wryly. "Learn from whom? Britain? They treat us like thieves. Germany? They wish we would stay behind forever. Only you... are willing to sell truly advanced technology."
He paused, then lowered his voice:
"Mr. Wang, there's something... We've heard rumors in Paris that the Russians are contacting you?"
The news spread really fast. Wang Wenwu remained calm: "Routine diplomatic contact."
“It’s not just a routine,” Dubois stared at him. “The Tsar himself invited you, didn’t he? Let me remind you—the Russians are unreliable. They can be your sworn brothers today, and betray you for their own gain tomorrow. Look at how they treated the Qing Dynasty in the Far East, and look at how they’re treating Japan now.”
"Thanks for reminding me."
"And another thing," Dubois said in an even lower voice, "if you really want to go to Russia, be careful of the Japanese. They have a lot of spies in St. Petersburg, and... they hate you."
"Do you hate us?"
"You humiliated the Dutch in Java, and the Japanese saw it," Dubois said. "They felt that you were Asians, yet you mingled with Europeans and built better warships than them. This mentality... is complex. Most importantly, you are... Chinese!"
Wang Wenwu remembered it.
On the night before leaving Paris, Wang Wenwu met one last person in his hotel room—John Reed, a correspondent for The New York Times in Europe. A young man in his early thirties, his eyes held the keen insight typical of a journalist.
"Mr. Wang, excuse me," Reed said quickly in English. "I just have one question: Does Lanfang intend to visit the United States?"
The problem came as a complete surprise.
Wang Wenwu countered, "Why do you ask that?"
"Because people in Washington are watching you," Reed stated bluntly. "The Navy, the State Department, even the White House. After the photos of the 'Revival' were sent to the United States via Suez, they sparked a lot of discussion. Some were worried, some were curious, but everyone wanted to know—what exactly is this suddenly emerging Chinese nation trying to do?"
"We want to go home," Wang Wenwu said. "Back to Southeast Asia to rebuild our country."
"It's that simple?"
"This is already very difficult for an exiled people."
Reed stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded. "I believe you. But Americans probably don't. They're used to assuming the most complex motives in others."
He pulled a business card from his bag: "If you really want to go to America, call this number. I can help you get in touch with the right people."
Wang Wenwu took the business card: "Why did Mr. Reed help us?"
"Because I hate imperialism," Reed said bluntly. "Britain, France, Germany, Russia, Japan... they were all carving up the world. Now suddenly a challenger appears, and it's an oppressed nation. This story... is fascinating."
He stood up and put on his hat:
"Mr. Wang, history is written by the winners. But if the losers can also have a voice, history will be more truthful. I hope Lanfang can have a voice."
he's gone.
Wang Wenwu looked at the business card in his hand, with its New York address and phone number. The other side of the world was also watching.
The special train from Paris to St. Petersburg took three days.
The further east we went, the more gloomy the weather became. As we left Germany and entered Poland, the June sun vanished, and leaden clouds hung low. Crossing the Russian border, the landscape grew even more desolate—vast forests and swamps, with the occasional village consisting of wooden huts with crooked roofs.
Li Mingyuan looked out the window and whispered, "This place... is even more desolate than the desert in the Persian Gulf."
"But underground there is oil, minerals, and forests," Wang Wenwu said. "Russia is a giant begging for food while holding a golden bowl."
The train stopped overnight in Vilnius to change locomotives and add carriages—the Russians sent an official from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and a translator to accompany them, ostensibly to "assist," but in reality to monitor them.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, the train finally pulled into St. Petersburg.
This capital city, built by Peter the Great, spreads out at the mouth of the Neva River. The Winter Palace's dome gleams with gold, and the Admiralty Building's spire pierces the sky, but the streets are sparsely populated, and carriages splash mud as they pass by—St. Petersburg is built on swamps and is perpetually damp.