Chapter Twenty-Three: Turning the Tables

Before Feng Chengqian had even returned to Berlin, the arms trade between the German Empire and the Great Qing had become a hot topic on the international stage.

Four ironclad warships were not to be underestimated.

Yet, the most intense reaction did not come from the established empires of Britain, France, or Russia; after all, for Britain, and even for France and Russia, four ironclads were not a serious threat.

The greatest shock, unsurprisingly, was felt in Japan, which stood closest to the Great Qing.

In the Far East, ever since the addition of the Dingyuan and Zhenyuan warships, the Beiyang Fleet of the Great Qing had become the strongest naval force in the region, and even ranked among the top ten globally. Should it acquire four more ironclads, even if they were only of the same class as the Dingyuan, the regional balance would be upended.

On the day Feng Chengqian waited at the port of Ningbo for his steamer, the Japanese Prime Minister, Kuroda Kiyotaka, convened an emergency cabinet meeting. Soon after, Foreign Minister Ōkuma Shigenobu formally approached the Qing authorities to express deep concern over their purchase of warships from Germany. Meanwhile, former Prime Minister and current President of the Privy Council, Itō Hirobumi, actively lobbied, viewing the Qing’s naval expansion as the gravest threat and urging the cabinet to take countermeasures.

The timing of this event could not have been more delicate.

Three years earlier, Itō Hirobumi had secretly organized the drafting of a constitution, which was submitted to the Emperor the previous April. After the Emperor established the Privy Council as the highest advisory body, Itō promptly resigned as Prime Minister, allowing Kuroda Kiyotaka to succeed him, while he took charge of reviewing the constitution as President of the Privy Council.

This constitution, drafted and reviewed by Itō, was thus his own creation.

At this critical moment, news of the Qing acquiring four ironclads was bound to influence the yet-to-be-finalized constitution and, by extension, Japan’s future development.

A few days later, Ōkuma Shigenobu boarded a steamer for Britain.

At Kuroda’s behest, Ōkuma, in his capacity as Foreign Minister, visited Britain to negotiate the purchase of warships.

Since the Qing were rapidly expanding their Beiyang Fleet, Japan could not afford to lag behind.

Yet, the matter was not so simple.

The Qing fleet’s expansion also threatened British interests in the Far East. While Britain would not yet consider allying with Japan solely to counter the Qing, Germany’s active role—especially its expansion in the region—meant Britain needed a weighty ally there.

Who else but Japan?

This, clearly, was the negative consequence Feng Chengqian feared.

Without this development, it would have been several years before Japan defeated the Qing in the First Sino-Japanese War, occupied Korea, and then saw its hopes of leasing the Liaodong Peninsula dashed by the joint intervention of Russia, Germany, and France. Only then, fearing the growing power of these three in the Far East, did Britain draw closer to Japan, leading to the later Anglo-Japanese Alliance.

In a sense, the Anglo-Japanese Alliance became a foundation for the subsequent Russo-Japanese War.

Although Britain had yet to lower itself to Japan’s level, and Japan was not yet a true power, rapprochement between the two was inevitable, and Japan’s military expansion would undoubtedly accelerate.

How history would unfold now, Feng Chengqian could no longer predict.

On the third day after Feng Chengqian’s return to Berlin, Ōkuma Shigenobu arrived in London and formally requested to purchase four ironclads from Britain, hoping also to secure a loan.

When the news reached Berlin, Feng Chengqian was reporting the progress of warship construction to Frederick III.

Although Bismarck felt there was no need to purchase an ironclad, Feng Chengqian advanced compelling reasons: the Qing were shouldering most of the research and design costs, allowing the Imperial Navy to benefit and acquire a new warship at the lowest possible price.

The support for building the warship came not only from Feng Chengqian, but also from the majority of the Empire’s capitalists and bankers.

With the construction of a single warship, the Empire could provide shipbuilders with orders equivalent to five vessels, giving work to hundreds of companies and tens of thousands of workers—what reason was there not to proceed?

Bismarck was not truly opposed; rather, he sought to use the opportunity to secure better terms.

Feng Chengqian understood perfectly well that Bismarck did not wish to spend imperial funds, but hoped the capitalists and bankers supporting the project would foot the bill.

The key lay with the bankers.

After several days of negotiations, Bismarck had already compromised, agreeing to allocate the necessary personnel, but the government genuinely had no spare funds.

“You mean, take a bank loan?”

“Deutsche Bank and Württemberg Bank have agreed to provide the loan, but bankers are shrewd—they never part with money for nothing.”

“What do they want?” Frederick III knew well how difficult bankers could be.

“The Empire’s currency issuance rights.”

Frederick III’s brows twitched, his expression turning grave.

“To be precise, the reorganization of the Imperial Central Bank.”

“Do you think that’s necessary?”

“If we give in to the bankers’ demands, it would be a case of losing much for little.”

“That’s exactly my concern.”

“However, we can turn this situation to our advantage.”

“How so?”

“By using the reorganization of the Imperial Central Bank as an opportunity to reclaim control of the Empire’s financial system.”

“This…”

“Your Majesty, finance is the foundation of a nation. Though I can’t claim to be an expert, I firmly believe the financial industry must be controlled by the state, never left in private hands.”

Frederick III remained silent, knowing how thorny the issue was.

“Admittedly, this is extremely difficult and cannot be accomplished overnight,” Feng Chengqian paused briefly, “but for the Empire’s future, we must face the challenge head-on.”

“You’re right, but we mustn’t act too hastily.”

“Your Majesty means…”

“Since Deutsche Bank and Württemberg Bank are willing to provide the loan, let’s take the money for now. As for whether or how to reorganize the Imperial Central Bank, we can leave that for the future,” Frederick III said with a wry smile. “I understand your intentions, but you must realize that these banks hold the Empire’s very lifeblood. Not even the Chancellor could outmaneuver them, let alone you.”

“The Chancellor?”

Frederick III managed a faint smile. “I’ll see that the Chancellor makes concessions. You’ve achieved your goal; leave the rest to others.”

“But…”

“No buts. You must understand, your roots in the Empire are still shallow; you’re not yet in a position to tackle such things,” Frederick III could see Feng Chengqian’s frustration. “To bring down the bankers, my support alone is far from enough. When the time is right, I’ll make the arrangements.”

Feng Chengqian nodded and said no more.

Though he did not fully understand the financial workings of this era, he did know that the German Empire—and indeed all of Europe’s financial system—was dominated by Jewish bankers, especially a handful of illustrious but low-profile families. Prussia’s crushing victory in the Franco-Prussian War, the coronation of the late Emperor Wilhelm at Versailles, and the very rise of the German Empire were all closely tied to Jewish financiers.

Even had Feng Chengqian not known this history, it was clear that Bismarck had played a crucial role in it.

Without the support of these financial groups, Bismarck could never have maintained his position as Imperial Chancellor for more than twenty years, effectively rendering the Reichstag a mere formality.

With this in mind, Feng Chengqian understood the Kaiser’s predicament.

They faced not merely a Jewish financial group, but a financial interest bloc married to politics, with the Imperial Chancellor at its core.

Feng Chengqian could not help but sigh.

Clearly, Bismarck was not only the Imperial Chancellor, but also the mouthpiece of a vast web of interests.

Perhaps, in the history Feng Chengqian knew, Bismarck’s forced resignation soon after Wilhelm II’s accession was not simply a case of bad relations with the Emperor.

Fortunately, the problem that most concerned Feng Chengqian had been resolved.

With the banks willing to provide loans, the final obstacle to warship construction had been removed.

Two days later, the Kaiser approved Bismarck’s financing plan, merely stalling on the question of reorganizing the Imperial Central Bank and instructing Bismarck to draft a more detailed proposal. Frederick III then met privately with Feng Chengqian, urging him to produce the ship’s blueprints and commence construction as soon as possible, to secure the promised loans before any unforeseen troubles arose.

The Emperor’s meaning was unmistakable: once the money was in hand, all promises could be set aside.

Even if the bankers harbored grievances, they would not oppose the Emperor of the Empire over such trivial matters, nor would they sacrifice long-term interests for short-term gains.

Still, the Kaiser presented Feng Chengqian with a difficult problem.

On his journey home, Feng Chengqian had decided to design a new kind of “dreadnought” warship, aiming to rewrite the history pioneered by the British Navy.

Yet, upon returning to the Empire, he realized how unrealistic his ambition was.

In the history he knew, the Dreadnought represented a new era, its key technological features being not only an all-big-gun armament, but also innovations far surpassing earlier ships—such as the replacement of reciprocating steam engines with turbines, and the introduction of an armored belt protecting the ship’s vital areas.

By comparison, fitting a ship with uniform-caliber, long-barreled main guns was the simplest part.

The German Empire’s industry was not yet strong enough; it would be an achievement to produce a high-powered steam turbine within a decade, let alone in the short term. If forced to use reciprocating engines, the ship’s endurance at high speeds would be problematic. As for the armored belt, the key was whether the Empire’s steelworks could produce armor plate of sufficient quality—and for now, they could not.

At this point, even designing a large warship was a formidable challenge, let alone building one.

Previously, the largest ships constructed by the Empire were the Dingyuan and Zhenyuan, which had been sold to the Qing.

Now, the Qing were demanding even more powerful ships, with displacements exceeding those of the Dingyuan and Zhenyuan, making the design process extremely difficult.

With sufficient time, Feng Chengqian would have been confident.

After all, the knowledge he possessed—especially regarding warships—far surpassed the era’s best engineers.

Unfortunately, the Kaiser was not granting him that luxury.

If he had to complete the design and begin construction in the short term, he would have to settle for second-best.