Chapter Twenty-Two: All That Is Missing Is a Fleet

The following day, Feng Chengqian took the initiative to visit Li Hongzhang and brought up the matter of kickbacks directly. This was the method Richterhofen had given him; after all, Feng Chengqian, as the Minister of War for the German Empire, was not well-versed in the intricacies of Qing society, and being straightforward was much preferable to beating around the bush. Li Hongzhang was no fool either; years earlier, he had dealt with Germans and understood their temperament well.

Clearly, the business of arms trading finally began to take shape.

Compared to outright bribery with silver, covert kickbacks were not only more discreet but far more advantageous. The expansion of the Kiel Canal required hundreds of thousands of laborers; the imperial government had made preliminary calculations and estimated at least two hundred thousand would need to be hired from abroad. Even with Qing labor being cheap, the monthly wage bill ran into several hundred thousand taels of silver, amounting to millions over a year. A fifty percent kickback would be a fortune. Beyond hiring laborers from the Qing, there were plans to establish munitions factories there, which would naturally involve further kickbacks. Including the cost of other military supplies purchased from the Qing, this single transaction could bring Li Hongzhang benefits amounting to tens of millions in silver taels.

By contrast, the hundred thousand taels prepared by Richterhofen were a mere drop in the ocean.

Three days later, Li Hongzhang and Feng Chengqian signed a letter of intent. The Qing would purchase four ironclad warships from the German Empire for twenty million taels of silver—fifteen million would be paid in exported labor, the remaining five million through land and taxes for imperial enterprises establishing factories in the Qing. Li Hongzhang stipulated a special condition: the ironclads ordered by the Qing must be equipped for the imperial navy.

To put it simply, the warships sold to the Qing must be those ordered by the German imperial navy.

Though it was only a letter of intent, the deal was essentially settled.

On March 3rd, Feng Chengqian returned to Ningbo and boarded the steamer back to the German Empire. The detailed negotiations would be handled by the diplomats; his involvement was no longer needed.

Before departure, Feng Chengqian sent a telegram to the Kaiser and the Chancellor.

This journey to the Qing had yielded remarkable results: exchanging four ironclads for two hundred thousand laborers was a highly profitable deal.

The issue was Li Hongzhang’s requirement that the imperial navy first order the warships.

It was not unreasonable—previously, the Qing had commissioned the Dingyuan and Zhenyuan, supposedly custom-built for them, but even the imperial navy had little interest in those ships. Though powerful, armed with three-hundred-millimeter cannons, they had numerous shortcomings.

The Beiyang Fleet had clearly recognized these flaws.

To Feng Chengqian, this was not a problem but an opportunity—Li Hongzhang’s special requirement could be leveraged to build a new type of warship for the imperial navy.

The next step was to plan the construction of an advanced warship.

Feng Chengqian had long had ideas but had waited for the right moment. He hadn’t expected Li Hongzhang would create that opportunity for him.

During the voyage home, Feng Chengqian spent most of his time in his cabin, occasionally joining Tirpitz on deck for fresh air.

“What did you gain from your trip to Shandong?” Tirpitz hadn’t accompanied Feng Chengqian to negotiate with Li Hongzhang; instead, disguised as a missionary under Richterhofen’s arrangements, he had toured various parts of Shandong, focusing especially on the Jiaozhou Bay region mentioned by Feng Chengqian.

“Jiaozhou Bay is a natural deepwater harbor. I’ll definitely choose it as the base for the imperial navy’s Far East fleet.”

“What about the local people?”

“They’re fairly honest; it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Feng Chengqian nodded. “Now, all we lack is a fleet.”

Tirpitz smiled and shook his head. “We’ve always lacked a fleet.”

“Don’t worry, bread will come, and so will the fleet.” Feng Chengqian patted Tirpitz’s shoulder. “Li Hongzhang’s demand for a first purchase is actually an excellent chance to develop the imperial navy. At the very least, we can build a flagship for the navy.”

“Just one ship?”

“How many do you want?”

“At least two warships are needed to call it a fleet.”

“There’s no need to rush. Right now, our priority is laying the foundation, not expanding the fleet’s strength.”

Tirpitz nodded, showing he understood Feng Chengqian’s point.

These days, Feng Chengqian had spent considerable time discussing naval matters with Tirpitz, especially the imminent technological revolution in naval warfare.

Though Tirpitz was somewhat skeptical about the likelihood of such a revolution within ten years, he couldn’t deny the realities—diesel engines had emerged, steam turbines matured, steelmaking had advanced, and new industrial machinery was everywhere. These developments in industry and technology would directly impact naval progress and warship performance.

“What kind of warship does the Count envision?”

“A kind that has never existed before.”

Tirpitz smiled. “You seem confident, Count; it appears you already have a plan.”

“Man proposes, God disposes. Our efforts may not always bear fruit, but doing nothing guarantees failure.”

“So where do you intend to start?”

“What’s the foundation of warship construction?”

“Shipyards.”

“And?”

“Well…”

“Besides shipyards, there are steel mills, chemical plants, gun factories, ammunition factories—even the carpenters making decorations count.” Feng Chengqian turned and leaned against the rail. “To be direct, the foundation for building warships is a nation’s entire industrial system. Only a strong industrial base can produce powerful warships; otherwise, you end up like the Qing, paying others for them. Unfortunately, we’re not the Qing; those nations capable of building advanced warships won’t sell them to us.”

“Then we must be self-reliant.”

“Exactly, we need to start from scratch, from the fundamentals.”

Tirpitz nodded in agreement.

“General, if we were to reorganize the empire’s shipbuilding industry, where would you start?”

“Count, I’m just a soldier; that’s not really—”

“As the saying goes, the observer sees more clearly. You’re outside the system; your perspective is broader.”

Tirpitz thought for a moment. “I would use orders strategically—by allocating contracts, we could eliminate some shipyards and consolidate the industry. But if we want to go further, manipulating orders isn’t enough; we’d need other methods.”

“So you’re not just a soldier.”

“You flatter me, Count.”

“Your insight is sound; for now, using orders is our best option.” Feng Chengqian studied Tirpitz for a while before saying, “I think you’re better suited to managing the navy than commanding a fleet in battle. Consider it; we’ll discuss it further when there’s an opportunity.”

Tirpitz stayed silent, for Feng Chengqian had hit the mark.

Tirpitz had a clear understanding of how to build a powerful fleet, but when it came to commanding one in battle, he was at a loss.

This was not his flaw but a common issue in the imperial navy.

In this era, among all the admirals, none could be considered a competent fleet commander, because the imperial navy had never possessed a true fleet.

“Don’t think you’re being slighted,” Feng Chengqian saw through Tirpitz’s thoughts. “Right now, building a fleet is far harder than commanding one. Besides, constructing a fleet will take at least twenty years, maybe longer. In twenty years, neither of us will be young, and it won’t be our place to lead the fleet into battle. For the empire to grow, it will take more than one or two generations. Since we live in this era, we must recognize our roles—even if it’s only laying the groundwork for our successors.”

“You have great vision, Count; I can only admire it.”

“You’re too modest, General. Even if I hadn’t said it, you’d have understood these truths.”

Tirpitz smiled. “You’re right, Count; we must think long-term, not just chase immediate gains.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.”

“When do you plan to establish the Far East fleet?”

“Impatient?” Feng Chengqian laughed. “Let’s wait until we actually have a fleet—no matter how eager, it’ll be two or three years before anything happens.”

“I doubt it will take two or three years.”

“Oh?”

“Your journey has already disrupted the balance in the Far East; do you think Britain, France, and Russia will sit idly by?”

“You mean they’ll increase their efforts in the Far East?”

“The Qing is a fat prize; everyone is watching, and no one wants to let it slip away. Your generosity, Count, is essentially gifting four main warships to the Qing—there will surely be a storm. Moreover, Japan is rising fast and surely has its eye on the Qing, ready to take its share. I fear that before we reach Berlin, the winds will already be howling.”

“That’s actually a good thing; no need to worry.”

“A good thing?”

“The current international situation favors the old empires like Britain and France. If there’s no turmoil, we’ll never gain an advantage.” Feng Chengqian smiled. “The greater the unrest, the greater the change, and the more opportunities we’ll have. If we seize even one, the empire can flourish.”

“So you did this intentionally?”

“Not exactly; I’m merely following the tide of the times.”

Tirpitz pondered for a long moment before saying, “Count, your foresight is unmatched—only the Chancellor might rival you.”

“You overestimate me, General.”

“I speak only from the heart, not flattery.”

“Even so, keep it in your heart. No need to say it aloud; understanding is enough.”

Tirpitz nodded, showing he understood Feng Chengqian’s meaning.

To leverage the Far East situation was a risky move, but also a brilliant one. If played well, it would yield immense returns; if not, it could end in total failure.