William's Ambition

Berlin, Sanssouci Palace.

The banquet had been going on for three hours, but the atmosphere remained as vibrant as ever. Under the crystal chandelier, generals, dignitaries, and industrial tycoons raised their glasses in celebration, their faces glowing with the rosy light of victory.

Wilhelm II sat in the main seat, slightly tipsy. He had just given an exclusive interview to the Berliner Zeitung, in which the reporter devoted two full pages to describing how His Majesty the Emperor was "visionary," "overruled dissent," and "created the glory of the German Navy."

Now, he had his arm around Tirpitz's shoulder and was speaking loudly—loud enough for everyone at the table to hear.

"Alfred! My dear Alfred! Do you know what the editorial in today's *London Times* says?" Wilhelm II mimicked the English accent, "'A formidable challenger has taken the stage'—ha ha ha! Challenger? No! We are the masters!"

Tirpitz maintained a polite smile, but his body was somewhat stiff. He wasn't used to such close contact, especially in front of so many people.

"Your Majesty," he tried to steer the conversation back on track, "the British reaction is more intense than expected. Our military attaché reports that the London Parliament is discussing an unprecedented shipbuilding program."

"Let them discuss! Let them build!" Wilhelm II waved his arms. "By the time they build their first ship, we'll have ten! By the time they build ten, we'll build twenty! How can those island barbarians compare to the strength of Germany?"

Gustav Krupp, chairman of the Krupp Company, immediately raised his glass in agreement: "Your Majesty is wise! Krupp's steel mills and artillery workshops are ready to serve the Imperial Navy! Once the orders are placed, doubling production is not a problem!"

"Did you hear that, Alfred?" Wilhelm II slapped Tirpitz hard on the back. "We have the best industrialists, the best engineers, the best sailors! And now, we have the best warships!"

He paused, then suddenly lowered his voice, but it was still clearly audible to the people around him:

"By the way, that Chinese man... Chen Feng. When will his second batch of ships be delivered?"

Tirpitz finally found a chance to escape the Emperor's embrace, straightened his uniform, and said: "According to the contract, the first ship will be delivered in eighteen months, and all four will take three years to complete. But Chen Feng said that if resources are sufficient, it can be reduced to two years."

"Tell him we have as many resources as he wants!" Wilhelm II declared confidently. "Gold? We have it! Are the gold bars from South Africa just sitting in the treasury rusting? No, they should be turned into warships! Turned into cannons!"

Upon hearing this, Finance Minister August von Heltling's face flashed with worry. He raised his glass, pretending to drink to conceal his expression.

But the emperor noticed.

"August, my dear Chancellor of the Exchequer," Wilhelm II's voice was tinged with mockery, "you're doing the math again, aren't you? Thinking about how much this will cost, aren't you?"

Heltling put down his wine glass and said with a wry smile, "Your Majesty, the six Westvalon-class ships have already cost over ten million pounds. The second batch of four will cost nearly ten million more. And that doesn't even include the associated ammunition, maintenance, and personnel training… The Empire's finances are indeed…"

"Indeed what?" Wilhelm II interrupted him. "Indeed we should invest in the future! August, think about it, once we control the North Sea, the British global trade routes will be our ATM! The gold coins we spend now will flow back tenfold, a hundredfold in the future!"

Foreign Minister Count Bernhard von Bülow interjected at the opportune moment: "Your Majesty, regarding that Chen Feng...should we consider deeper cooperation? Sending a formal mission to the Persian Gulf to establish some kind of...official liaison?"

Tirpitz immediately became alert: "What does the Count mean?"

“What I mean is,” Bilo said slowly, cutting the foie gras on his plate, “that a power capable of building Westfallen-class warships, whatever its name, deserves a certain degree of… diplomatic recognition from the Empire. At the very least, de facto contact.”

"Recognize a Chinese regime?" Count Alfred von Schlieffen, Chief of the Army General Staff, frowned. "This will cause dissatisfaction among other European countries, especially the Netherlands—the Lanfang Republic was destroyed by the Dutch."

"The Netherlands?" Wilhelm II scoffed. "A third-rate country that lives off the colonies its ancestors seized. Do their opinions matter?"

He thought for a few seconds, a glint of insight flashing in his eyes:

"But Bilo is right. That Chen Feng... is a talent. At twenty years old, he can organize such an industrial system and even negotiate with us. A person like that, either become a friend, or..."

The emperor didn't finish speaking, but everyone present understood.

You either become friends with him or you have to get rid of him before he grows up.

"Tirpitz," Wilhelm II turned to his naval commander, "when you contact that Chinese man next time, pass on a message for me."

"Your Majesty, please speak."

"Tell him: The German Empire appreciates capable partners. If he can prove his worth... the Empire doesn't mind having a special ally in the East."

This statement is vague, but its meaning is profound.

Tirpitz nodded: "I will pass it on."

The banquet ended at midnight. Guests gradually departed, but Wilhelm II kept Tirpitz behind alone.

The two entered the emperor's study. It was much quieter here, with only the crackling of the firewood in the fireplace.

"Alfred, tell me the truth," Wilhelm II said, his drunkenness gone, his eyes clear and sharp. "What's so special about these Chinese ships?"

Tirpitz knew what the Emperor was asking. Not the propaganda of "the world's strongest," but a genuine assessment based on technical skill.

"Your Majesty," he chose to speak the truth, "as it stands, the Westphalian-class is indeed at least a generation ahead of all other active warships in the world. The all-heavy gun design, steam turbines, unified fire control... these are all revolutionary. Our sailors, during their training in the Persian Gulf, felt most deeply that operating this system was like operating the future."

"The future..." Wilhelm II murmured, "So, how long will it take the British to catch up?"

"If we go all out, it will take two years. But in those two years, we can build more. And..." Tirpitz hesitated for a moment, "Chen Feng might have even more advanced designs."

The emperor looked up abruptly: "More advanced?"

"It's just speculation. Our engineers in the Persian Gulf reported that at least two super-large dry docks at the Lanfang shipyard are under tight security, codenamed 'Leopard's Nest.' Personnel and supplies entering and leaving are subject to the strictest checks. They speculate that what's being built there might be larger and faster than the Westphalian-class."

The study was quiet for a moment.

"Alfred," Wilhelm II began slowly, "tell me... if we ask to share those designs, would Chen Feng agree?"

"It's difficult. He's not an ordinary arms dealer. He has a clear goal of nation-building and 300,000 followers. Technology is his only bargaining chip, and he won't give it up easily."

"Then buy it," the emperor said decisively. "Add money. Add gold. Or... exchange it for something else."

"for example?"

Wilhelm II walked up to the world map, his finger sweeping eastward from Europe, across the vast and declining territory of the Ottoman Empire, and stopping at the southern shore of the Persian Gulf.

"For example, help him gain some 'legitimate status' internationally. For example, tacitly allow him to... reclaim some 'homeland' in Southeast Asia."

Tirpitz took a deep breath: "Your Majesty, this could trigger a conflict with the Netherlands, or even England."

"Conflict?" Wilhelm II laughed, a laugh tinged with the fervor of a gambler. "Alfred, the world is about to undergo a major reshuffle. The old order is collapsing, and a new order is urgently needed. In this reshuffle, whoever can grasp more cards will decide how the next round of the game will be played."

He turned around and stared at Tirpitz:

"And Chen Feng is an ace we unexpectedly acquired..."

William paused, then added, "By the way, my admiral is now ready for a 'friendly' visit to Britain."