Additional Orders?

Wilhelm II raised his hand to silence the murmurs. "Quiet." He looked at Tirpitz. "Do you think it's worth it?"

Tirpitz pondered for a few seconds before offering his expert assessment: "From a purely military perspective, it's worthwhile. The performance of the Westphalian-class has already been proven, and the improved version will only be stronger. Moreover, we're not just gaining ships, but also a training system—the three months of training our sailors received in the Persian Gulf are invaluable, no less than the warships themselves."

"But technology transfer..." Foreign Minister Count Bernhard von Bülow began, "If the Chinese master our core military technology, they may become our competitors in the future."

"They already are," Tirpitz said calmly. "The difference is that they've chosen to work with us now. If we refused, they might have found other buyers—France, Russia, or even…Britain."

The last two words silenced the entire dining table.

Wilhelm II tapped his fingers on his wine glass: "The British would buy warships from the Chinese?"

"Normally not," Tirpitz analyzed. "But if we push too hard and make the British feel desperate, they might set aside their arrogance and adopt a pragmatic approach. After all, when it comes to technological superiority, face is secondary."

The emperor fell into deep thought. After a long while, he asked, "What exactly does Chen Feng want? Money? Technology? Or something else?"

“According to our observations, he wants three things.” Tirpitz had clearly done his homework. “First, industrial capacity. He’s building a complete industrial base in the Persian Gulf, requiring machine tools, steelmaking equipment, and chemical plants. Second, international recognition. He calls himself a representative of the ‘Lanfang Republic’ and hopes to gain de facto diplomatic recognition from major powers. Third…” He paused, “security. His 300,000 Chinese immigrants need a safe home, and the Persian Gulf is currently in a power vacuum.”

"So he's trading warships for living space." Wilhelm II understood. "Very clever. Knowing he can't protect his wealth on his own, he drags in major powers, creating a bond of shared interests."

"That's right, Your Majesty."

The Emperor surveyed the table: "Gentlemen, let's vote. Raise your hands if you agree to accept the Chinese terms and sign the new order."

Count Alfred von Schlieffen, Chief of the Army Staff, was the first to raise his hand: "I agree. A strong navy can restrain Britain and create opportunities for the Army's Schlieffen Plan."

The chairman of Krupp raised his hand: "I agree. The orders from the Chinese can support our shipyards and military factories, and gold payments can alleviate our financial pressure."

One by one, hands were raised.

Finally, only Finance Minister Heltling and Foreign Minister Billow have yet to make a statement.

"August?" Wilhelm II looked at the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Heltling gave a wry smile: "Your Majesty, from a financial perspective, this is a disaster. But we have no other choice, do we?"

"If we want to win the naval race, we don't have one," the Emperor said frankly.

Heltling slowly raised his hand.

All eyes turned to Count Bello. The experienced diplomat then spoke last:

"I agree to sign the order. But I suggest adding conditions: First, the technology transfer must be phased to ensure we remain a generation ahead; second, the Chinese must promise that warships of the same class will not be sold to Britain, France, or Russia; third..." He looked at the Emperor, "We should send a formal diplomatic mission to the Persian Gulf to establish official relations with this 'Lanfang Republic'."

Wilhelm II raised an eyebrow: "Official relations? Recognizing them?"

“It’s not legal recognition, it’s de facto contact,” Bilot explained. “Establishing consular offices, signing trade agreements, providing military advisors. If we don’t hold this position, the French, Americans, even the Japanese might go. That place… I’ve studied the map, it’s on the southern shore of the Persian Gulf, near the Strait of Hormuz. It’s strategically important.”

Tirpitz added, "And there may be oil. Geologists report that the geological structure along the Persian Gulf coast is similar to that of western Persia, where large oil fields have already been discovered."

The atmosphere at the dinner table changed. It shifted from a simple discussion about military purchases to geostrategic considerations.

Wilhelm II's eyes lit up: "Oil... if there really are oil fields there, and we have allies there..."

"Not an ally, Your Majesty," Bilo corrected, "a partner. A partner who needs our help."

The Emperor laughed heartily: "Good! Tirpitz, inform the Chinese that we accept the terms in principle. Your negotiating team can finalize the details. Bilo, prepare the delegation; it will depart next month. I need to be by Chen Feng's side, to have our eyes and ears."

He raised his glass again: "Gentlemen, a toast to the vision of the German Empire! A toast to our friends in the East!"

"Long live the Emperor!"

The banquet resumed its boisterous atmosphere, but Tirpitz noticed a complex expression behind the emperor's smile that he couldn't decipher.

While the waiter was pouring wine, Tirpitz asked in a low voice, "Your Majesty, you seem to still have concerns?"

Wilhelm II's smile vanished, and his voice dropped so low that only the two of them could hear: "Alfred, tell me... are we using that Chinese man, or is he using us?"

Tirpitz paused for a moment, then gave the most honest answer: "Your Majesty, in international politics, it doesn't matter who uses whom, as long as both sides get what they want. What matters is that we gain more than we lose."

"But what if one day what he wants conflicts with what we want?"

"Then let's see whose sword is sharper," Tirpitz said calmly. "And for at least the next ten years, Germany's sword will be longer than his."

Wilhelm II stared at the swirling red liquid in his glass and muttered to himself:

"I hope so, Alfred. I hope so."

London, MI5 headquarters basement

The heavy smell of tobacco filled the cramped room. Six men sat around a long table piled high with documents, each with bloodshot eyes.

Sir William Melville, head of MI5, tapped the table: "Gentlemen, it's been twenty-four hours. Any progress?"

Captain Hall of the Naval Intelligence Office spoke first: "We investigated all major shipyards in Germany: Kiel, Wilhelmshaven, Hamburg, and Danzig. There is no record of any shipyard building 20,000-ton warships in the past three years. All large dry docks are building known ships, and there has been no abnormal increase in the number of workers."

"What about the steel?" Melville asked. "Building six of these ships would require at least 100,000 tons of special steel. Have you checked the production records of steel giants like Krupp and Thyssen?"

"We've investigated," another intelligence officer replied. "Germany's production of specialty steel increased by 15 percent last year compared to the previous year, but the increase mainly went to railway construction and civilian shipbuilding. There was no indication that it was concentrated in any secret shipbuilding project."

"Boiler and turbine? The Parsons steam turbine is a British patent; the Germans need a license."

"Parsons' authorized manufacturer in Germany is the Vulcan shipyard," Hall said, flipping through the documents. "Over the past three years, they have produced twenty-two large steam turbines, all for known warships and cruise ships. There is no excess capacity."

A depressing silence fell over the room.