diymy Chapter 771 Who decides is determined by strength, not by seat.
Chapter 771 Who decides is determined by strength, not by seat.
Tirpitz paused for a few seconds. "But wouldn't that push the British too far? What if they…?"
"What if they do what?" Hindenburg turned to look at him. "What if they stop doing business with Germany? What right do they have to stop doing business with Germany now? What if they join forces with France to isolate us? The French are shrewd; they won't offend Lanfang for the sake of Britain."
He walked back to his desk and sat down.
"Moreover, Chen Feng will help us. He needs us."
Tirpitz nodded. "You're right. Chen Feng will help us." He paused, then continued, "Marshal, what do you think we can get at the Cyprus Conference?"
Hindenburg thought for a moment. "The five permanent members of the UN Security Council. A veto. And—dignity."
Tirpitz paused, taken aback. "Dignity?"
Hindenburg nodded. "Yes. Dignity. Not the dignity of the victors, but the dignity of the vanquished. To be able to live standing up, instead of kneeling and begging."
He stood up and walked to the window.
"Tirpitz, you will represent Germany in Cyprus tomorrow. I will stay in Berlin to handle domestic matters."
Tirpitz stood up, stood at attention, and saluted. "Yes, Marshal."
Hindenburg didn't turn around. He looked out at the pitch-black night and said softly, "Tell Chen Feng that Germany will not forget."
The French delegation's residence.
Clemenceau sat at his desk, holding a document in his hand. It was a secret agreement he and Chen Feng had reached—France would support Lanfang's postwar order vision, and Lanfang would support France's permanent seat on the League of Nations Security Council.
He looked at the document for a long time, then locked it in the safe.
Pi Xiong stood to the side and asked softly, "Prime Minister, what do you think we can achieve at the Cyprus conference?"
Clemenceau looked at him and smiled. "We've already got it."
Pi Xiong was stunned. "You got it?"
Clemenceau nodded. "Alsace and Lorraine, we've taken them back. The military restrictions, Germany accepted. The demilitarization of the Rhineland, they accepted that too. We've taken everything we were entitled to."
He stood up and walked to the window.
"What remains is a game between Lanfang and Meilika. We just need to choose the right side and not choose the wrong one."
Pi Xiong asked, "So which side should we stand on?"
Clemenceau turned to look at him. "Don't take sides. Try to please both. Don't offend either."
He paused.
"France is no longer a superpower. We need to learn to dance between two giants."
The residence of the Lanfang delegation.
The diplomat surnamed Lin sat at his desk with three reports spread out in front of him—one was the record of the day's negotiations, one was a copy of Wilson's telegram, and one was a reply telegram he had just received from Chen Feng.
He looked at the document for a long time, then put it away and locked it in his briefcase.
Outside the window, the night in Frankfurt was deep. The distant church spires were faintly visible in the moonlight. He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the unfamiliar sky.
He recalled Chen Feng's words before he left: "Going to Frankfurt isn't about negotiating, it's about observing. Seeing what those people are thinking, seeing how this show is going to play out."
He read it. And he understood it.
The British panicked, the French became shrewd, the Germans hardened their stance, and the Americans waited. They waited for an opportunity, a turning point that could control everything.
Now, that opportunity has arrived.
Cyprus.
Frankfurt Central Station, early morning of June 11.
Five special trains were parked on the platform, their locomotives belching white steam. Soldiers stood in formation on the platform, fully armed, guarding the surroundings. There were no reporters, no crowds to see them off, only cold steel guns and silent faces.
Wilson was the first to board the train. He stopped at the door and glanced back at the Frankfurt sky. The sky was overcast, with thick, low-hanging clouds. He thought of his feelings four years earlier when he first came to Europe. Back then, he believed that Maryka could change the world.
Now he understands. The world isn't easily changed. What can be changed is only the way we participate in the game.
He stepped into the carriage.
Clemenceau was the second to board the carriage. He walked quickly, without looking back. He had only one thought in his mind—Alsace and Lorraine were finally coming back.
Asquith was the third to board the train. He staggered, his face pale. He hadn't slept a wink the night before, his mind filled with Hindenburg's slap. He didn't know if he could hold his head high at the Cyprus Conference. But he knew Britain had no way out.
Tirpitz was the fourth to board the train. His steps were steady, and his back was ramrod straight. He was dressed in civilian clothes, not his military uniform. This was Chen Feng's suggestion—"Wearing a military uniform would be too conspicuous. Wear civilian clothes, it'll be more low-key." He accepted.
Representative Lan Fang was the last to board the vehicle. The diplomat surnamed Lin, carrying a briefcase, walked at a leisurely pace. His face wore a polite smile, revealing no emotion.
The steam whistle blared.
Five special trains slowly departed from the platform, heading in different directions. They would travel along different routes, pass through different countries, and eventually converge at the same place.
Cyprus.
That small island in the Mediterranean is about to become the center of the world.
Dubai, June 11, evening.
Chen Feng stood in the study of the Presidential Palace, holding a telegram he had just received. It was sent from Frankfurt by a diplomat surnamed Lin, detailing every aspect of the day's negotiations.
He read it once, then put down the telegram and went to the window.
Outside the window, the Persian Gulf shimmered, and several warships were slowly entering the harbor. The setting sun dyed the entire sky blood red, like endless blood.
Wang Wenwu stood behind him and asked softly, "Commander-in-Chief, wasn't Hindenburg's slap a bit too harsh?"
Chen Feng didn't turn around. "Ruthless? Not ruthless. Just right."
He turned around and looked at Wang Wenwu.
"The British need this slap in the face. If they aren't woken up, they'll still think they're the world's number one."
Wang Wenwu nodded. "So, how will we discuss this at the Cyprus Conference?"
Chen Feng walked back to his desk and sat down.
"It's very simple. We have one permanent member of the UN Security Council, Maryland has one, France has one, Germany has one, and the UK has one. Everyone has a veto. On the surface, we're all on equal footing."
He paused.
"But in reality, who has the final say depends on strength, not on the number of seats."
Wang Wenwu nodded thoughtfully.
Chen Feng stood up and walked to the window again. Looking at the blood-red sea in the distance, he said softly:
"The war is over. But the real battle has just begun."
June 18th, evening, Cyprus.
The sun was sinking into the Mediterranean, painting the entire sky a brilliant golden-red. The sea shimmered, as if sprinkled with shards of gold. The distant mountains were outlined in the undulating silhouettes of the setting sun, while the nearby olive groves rustled in the evening breeze. This island had been peaceful for far too long, almost forgotten. But starting tomorrow, it would become the center of the world.
Chen Feng stood on the second-floor terrace of the villa, looking at the sea in the distance that was darkening.
He had arranged to rent this villa in advance; it wasn't in the hotel area where the conference was scheduled, but rather in a secluded bay on the east side of the island. White walls, a red roof, and a pergola covered with vines—typical Cypriot style. From the terrace, one could see the entire bay, the fishing boats returning to port in the sunset, and the children playing on the beach.