diymy Chapter 775 The Cyprus Conference
Chapter 775 The Cyprus Conference
At 9:30 a.m. on June 20, at the Cyprus Conference Center.
The newly built building sits on a gentle slope on the east side of the island. Its white walls gleam brilliantly in the sunlight, and its circular dome resembles a giant pearl set into the hillside. In front of the building is a wide plaza with five tall flagpoles lined up in a row: the golden dragon flag of Lanfang, the American flag of Meilika, the French tricolor flag, the German tricolor flag, and the British Union Jack, all fluttering in the morning breeze.
The square was filled with heavily armed soldiers. Lanfang's soldiers wore yellow uniforms, Meilika's soldiers wore khaki uniforms, French soldiers wore blue uniforms, German soldiers wore grey uniforms, and British soldiers wore khaki uniforms—soldiers from five countries, each occupying a corner, seemingly unrelated to one another, yet jointly guarding this land that would soon determine the fate of the world.
Reporters were kept outside the police cordon around the square. A dense crowd huddled together, cameras pointed at the conference center's entrance. Flashes of light erupted, like a shimmering sea of stars. Some stood on tiptoe, some climbed ladders, some even scaled nearby olive trees, all to get a better angle.
At 9:50 a.m., the first car drove into the square.
It was a black Mercedes, with a small black, red, and gold tricolor flag flying on the hood. The door opened, and Tirpitz stepped out. He was dressed in dark gray civilian clothes, not in his military uniform, and his back was ramrod straight. He glanced around, then strode towards the door. Reporters frantically pressed their shutters, flashes going off everywhere. Tirpitz didn't turn around, didn't wave, and simply walked into the conference center.
A second car pulled in immediately. It was a black Rolls-Royce with the Union Jack on the hood. Asquith stepped out, his face still pale, dark circles clearly visible under his eyes. He glanced at the five flags, then at the Union Jack, then lowered his head and strode through the gate. The reporters were shouting something, but he ignored them.
The third car pulled in. It was a black Renault with the tricolor flag on the hood. Clemenceau stepped out quickly, his face displaying an indescribable expression—a mixture of anticipation, nervousness, and a sense of relief. He waved to the reporters, then turned and walked through the gate.
The fourth car pulled in. It was a white Cadillac with the American flag on the hood. Wilson got out, smiling, and waved to the reporters. His smile was just right—neither too warm nor too cold, neither too distant nor too close, leaving no room for criticism, yet also revealing no true feelings. He stood there for a few seconds, letting the reporters take their pictures, before turning and walking through the gate.
The fifth car pulled up last, the door opened, and Chen Feng stepped out. He was wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit, without any medals, and his face was expressionless. He glanced around, his gaze sweeping over the five flags, the frenzied reporters, and the heavily armed soldiers. Then he nodded slightly, turned, and walked through the gate.
The reporters went even crazier. Some shouted in English, some in French, some in German, and some in Chinese—"President Chen! Look this way!" "President, can you say a few words?" "What are the plans for Lanfang after the war?" But Chen Feng didn't turn around, didn't wave, and just walked through the door and disappeared behind it.
The door slowly closed.
At 10:00 AM sharp, in the conference hall.
In the vast circular hall, five long tables formed a semicircle. Each table was adorned with the flag of its respective country, and several neat rows of documents and teacups were laid out on it. At the opening of the semicircle, directly opposite a podium, on which five flags were displayed, symbolizing the equality of the five nations.
Chen Feng sat at Lanfang's table, with Wang Wenwu to his left and a translator to his right. He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and glanced at the representatives of the other four countries.
Wilson, smiling, sat in the seat reserved for the French, conversing quietly with Lansing. Clemenceau sat in the French seat, his hands clasped on the table, his face expressionless. Tirpitz sat in the German seat, his back ramrod straight, staring straight ahead. Asquith sat in the British seat, his head bowed, lost in thought.
At 10:00 a.m. sharp, Wilson stood up and walked to the podium.
He cleared his throat and scanned everyone present. Then he spoke. His voice was loud and clear, echoing throughout the rotunda.
"Gentlemen, on behalf of the Five Powers Conference, I hereby declare the Cyprus Peace Conference officially open."
Applause broke out. It was sparse, but it was still applause nonetheless.
Wilson continued, "Four years ago, a terrible war broke out in Europe. More than 30 million people were killed or wounded, countless cities were destroyed, and countless families were torn apart. Today, we sit here not to settle scores with hatred, but to build peace."
His tone was melodious and varied, as if he were delivering a carefully prepared speech.
"We come from different countries, have different histories, and speak different languages. But we have a common goal—to make this war the last war, so that our descendants will never have to experience the suffering we have gone through."
Clemenceau listened, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. He'd heard these words far too many times; from 1914 to the present, every politician had said the same thing. He was more interested in what Wilson would say next.
Asquith kept his head down, staring at the table. Wilson's words drifted past his ears without leaving a trace. His mind was filled with last night's conversation—"Learn to bow your head, and you'll survive."
Tirpitz stared directly at Wilson, his face expressionless. He knew the real confrontation wasn't about pleasantries.
Chen Feng picked up his teacup and took another sip. He looked at Wilson, his gaze calm, a slight smile playing on his lips—the pleasantries were over, it was time to get down to business.
Wilson spoke for thirty minutes. He spoke of the cruelty of war, the preciousness of peace, and how nations should put aside hatred and work together to build a new world. After he finished speaking, he returned to his seat, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.
There was a three-second silence in the conference room.
Then Wilson stood up again.
"Gentlemen, this afternoon we will be holding closed-door consultations. But before that, I would like to propose an idea."
He paused, then glanced around.
"I call this idea the League of Nations."
A commotion broke out in the conference room.
Clemenceau's fingers stopped tapping. Asquith looked up. Tirpitz's eyes lit up. Chen Feng put down his teacup.
Wilson continued, "The League of Nations is an international organization composed of sovereign states. Its purpose is to maintain world peace, mediate international disputes, and promote cooperation among nations. Any country can apply for membership, but the decision-making power rests with the permanent council."