diymy Chapter 735 The "Test" at the Banquet
Chapter 735 The "Test" at the Banquet
Before dawn, the servants in the mansion were already busy. Red lanterns were hung in the corridors, couplets were pasted on the door frames, and red paper-cuts—characters of good fortune, carp, peaches, and all sorts of other designs—were pasted on the windows. Enticing aromas wafted from the kitchen: roasted mutton, pilaf, dumplings, spring rolls, and dozens of other dishes were being cooked simultaneously.
Wang Wenwu stood in the courtyard, directing the final arrangements. He was wearing a brand-new Zhongshan suit with a red silk flower pinned to his chest, and a rare smile on his face.
"Move that lantern a little to the left! Make sure the couplets are pasted straight, not crooked!"
A young attendant ran over: "Minister Wang, the President asks when the guests will arrive?"
Wang Wenwu glanced at his watch: "Soon. Mr. Shinta's car should already be on its way. Mr. Saionji and King Ahmed arrived yesterday and are staying at the state guesthouse. The banquet will begin as soon as Mr. Shinta arrives."
The servant nodded, then turned and ran away.
Wang Wenwu looked up at the red lanterns and suddenly felt a little dazed.
Where was he a year ago today?
He doesn't remember how many things happened or how many places he went in a year! In short, he was very busy, but very fulfilled.
What now?
He is now in Dubai, the pearl of the desert, preparing a Chinese New Year banquet for the heads of state of three countries.
Life is truly wondrous.
The sound of a car engine could be heard in the distance.
Wang Wenwu snapped out of his daze and quickly walked towards the door.
The first car stopped at the entrance. The door opened, and Xin got out.
He was dressed in traditional Burmese attire—a deep purple longyi, a white blouse, and a gold sash draped over his shoulders. A smile graced his face, but weariness lingered in his eyes. He had only rested for four hours during his journey of thousands of kilometers from Myanmar to Dubai.
Wang Wenwu stepped forward and bowed deeply: "Mr. Sinta, welcome to Dubai. The President is waiting for you."
He grasped Wang's hand and said, "Minister Wang, thank you for your hard work. It's an honor for me to spend this Spring Festival here."
As the two were talking, the second car arrived.
Saionji Kinmochi stepped out of the car. The Prime Minister of Japan was dressed in a formal Western-style suit—a black tailcoat, a snow-white shirt, and a perfectly tied bow tie. His hair was completely white, but his back was ramrod straight, and his eyes were as sharp as a young man's.
He walked up to Wang Wenwu and bowed slightly: "Minister Wang, the Sakura Kingdom thanks Lanfang for the invitation."
Wang Wenwu returned the greeting: "Mr. Xiyuanji, you're too kind. Please."
The third car arrived last.
The car door opened, and Ahmed Shah Qajar stepped out.
The Iranian king was only nineteen years old. He wore a magnificent Persian robe—deep blue brocade with gold embroidery—and a tall black lambskin hat topped with a white feather. His face bore the wariness typical of youth, and his eyes constantly scanned his surroundings.
Wang Wenwu walked up to him, placed his right hand on his chest, and bowed slightly: "Your Majesty, welcome to Dubai."
Ahmed looked at him and nodded: "Minister Wang, is the President inside?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. The Grand Commander is waiting for you."
The three people walked through the main gate, crossed the corridor, and headed towards the banquet hall.
Looking at the red lanterns and couplets, he asked curiously, "Minister Wang, are these red things a Chinese tradition?"
Wang Wenwu nodded: "Yes, believe him, sir. Red represents good fortune and luck. During the Spring Festival, every household puts up red paper-cuts and hangs red lanterns to pray for a peaceful and prosperous new year."
Saionji Kinmochi also looked at the paper-cuts: "I've seen similar things in Japan. We also hang shimenawa (a type of Japanese stringed rope) and kadomatsu (a type of Japanese pine) at our doors during the New Year. Although the forms are different, the sentiment is the same."
Ahmed didn't speak. He just watched silently, a complex light flashing in his eyes.
What was he thinking? Nobody knew.
The doors to the banquet hall opened.
Chen Feng stood at the door. (The same pose as Super Boy in The Mermaid!)
In the banquet hall, the long table was laden with a sumptuous feast.
The whole roasted lamb sits in the center, its golden-brown skin sizzling with oil. A small mountain of pilaf, mixed with carrots, raisins, and chunks of lamb, sits on the table. Steaming dumplings are neatly arranged on a plate. Spring rolls are fried to a golden brown and crispy perfection, accompanied by a dish of sweet and spicy sauce. Dozens of other snacks, some sweet, some savory, some fried, some roasted, fill the entire table.
Chen Feng sat in the main seat and invited the three guests to take their seats.
"Mr. Shinta, please sit here. Mr. Saionji, please sit opposite me. Your Majesty, please sit next to me."
The four people sat down. The waiters began to pour drinks—white wine, red wine, and sake—each person could choose what they wanted.
Looking at the table laden with dishes, Saionji Kinmochi exclaimed, "It's been three years since I've seen such a feast in Japan."
He nodded in agreement: "Burma is even worse. The British taxes are too heavy, and the farmers can't even get enough to eat. Before I left, Yangon was still rationing rice, and each person could only get a small handful of rice per day."
Chen Feng looked at them without saying a word.
Ahmed picked up his glass and took a sip. The wine was red, with the aroma of grapes. He put down his glass and said softly, "Iran isn't much better off. The British have been here for a hundred years and taken everything they could. We have oil, but we don't even have a refinery."
Chen Feng finally spoke, his voice very soft, but everyone could hear him clearly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I invited you all here today not just for a meal."
He stood up and walked to the huge world map on the wall.
The map is vast, stretching from Asia to Europe, from Africa to the Americas, with each continent marked in a different color. The red areas represent Lanfang's controlled territories—Malaya, Burma, Iran, and India, which was currently under attack. The blue areas are British territory, gradually fading into the background. The gray areas represent Germany and Austria-Hungary, huddled in central Europe. The green area represents Mecca, across the Atlantic, observing coldly.
Chen Feng pointed to the map, his voice steady.
"The war is almost over. Britain has already lost in Asia and won't last much longer in Europe. Germany is still fighting, but it's on the verge of collapse domestically. The Merlekas have arrived, but they only want a share of the spoils after the war."
He turned and looked at the three people.
"What will the world be like after the war? Who will set the new rules? Who will distribute the spoils of war?"
The banquet hall fell silent.
Saionji Kinmochi put down his chopsticks and looked at Chen Feng. Shin also looked up, his eyes shining. Only Ahmed continued to slowly eat his pilaf, as if none of this concerned him.
Chen Feng walked back to his seat and sat down.
"I've been thinking about a question."
He paused.
Why is it that after every war, a few major powers close their doors and divide the spoils? Smaller countries are left to either wait to be divided or be forgotten?