The Wind Rises in 1898: Becoming a Warlord Starting in Southeast Asia

Chapter 30 Tavern Wit

"Unavailable!" Zheng Mingsong answered decisively.

"Why?" Chen Feng's heart sank, but his face remained calm.

"It's a long story."

Zheng Mingsong took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out, and put it in his mouth.

Chen Feng wasn't in a hurry. He watched quietly as the man pulled out a silver lighter from his pocket, flicked open the cap with his thumb, and lit the cigarette.

Zheng Mingsong took a sip of his cigarette before slowly saying, "It started about three years ago that Luzon descended into chaos. The independence army was making great strides, capturing cities and strongholds. Later, Spain brought in reinforcements from its own territory, which finally suppressed the independence army's momentum. But this war has been going on and off without stopping."

Chen Feng's nasal cavity was filled with the smell of smoke, and he felt an urge to cough.

Zheng Mingsong flicked his cigarette ash, looked up and smiled, "This tiny place has been embroiled in a three-year war of attrition. Brother Chen should know how precious medicines for treating external injuries are, right?"

Chen Feng was not in a hurry upon hearing this.

This guy talks so much nonsense, he obviously has a plan, and he's deliberately keeping people in suspense.

Sure enough, Zheng Mingsong changed the subject: "My Zheng family has been established in Luzon for hundreds of years and can be considered a prominent family. We have some connections and can get some scarce medicines."

"Boss Zheng is straightforward. Just tell me your price." Chen Feng asked directly.

Zheng Mingsong shook his head, his tone becoming serious: "Don't worry about the price for now. What I want to ask is, why should I sell the medicine to your Chinese Free Army?"

The Spanish colonial government is cracking down hard now; weapons and medicines are controlled goods. If the news leaks, my Zheng family will be annihilated—we'll be severely injured, if not killed.

Chen Feng rubbed his nose, a slight smile playing on his lips: "Boss Zheng, let's be frank, who do you think will win this war?"

Zheng Mingsong's eyes flickered, and after a moment's hesitation, he said, "It's hard to say!"

"Boss Zheng's words are a bit insincere!" Chen Feng laughed, casually stuffing the rattle drum into his pocket. "If you thought the Spaniards could win, you wouldn't have talked to me for so long."

"Brother Chen is indeed shrewd!" Zheng Mingsong's eyelids twitched, but he did not refute it.

Chen Feng continued, "I'm recruiting soldiers using US dollars now. You must know that I have Americans backing me."

"Of course I know!"

Zheng Mingsong nodded slightly, trying to regain the initiative: "The Independence Army also has Americans behind them, and they receive far more aid than you."

"That's absolutely right!"

There's not much to refute on that question, so Chen Feng changed the subject and asked, "But Boss Zheng, why don't you consider this: did the Americans spend so much money and travel all the way across the ocean to Luzon just to help the indigenous people gain independence or to do charity?"

"Of course not!" Zheng Mingsong knew perfectly well that once the Spanish were driven away, the American army and the independence army would definitely start fighting.

"Do you know which big Buddha is standing behind me?" Chen Feng lowered his voice.

"Who?" Zheng Mingsong's gaze sharpened, and his body involuntarily leaned forward.

"General George Dewey!" Chen Feng said, emphasizing each word.

This isn't exactly a case of using someone else's name to justify one's actions, since the dollars in his hands were sponsored by George Dewey in his personal capacity.

"hiss!"

Zheng Mingsong gasped, his glasses nearly slipping off his face. He quickly steadied them and asked, "Do you have any proof? You know, none of the leaders in the Independent Army have ever seen this U.S. Navy Rear Admiral."

"Of course I have the credentials, but how could I possibly carry them with me all the time?" Chen Feng lied without batting an eye.

Zheng Mingsong's face showed suspicion as he stared at him, scrutinizing him, and said, "How do I know you're trying to trick me?"

"How about this? I can bring you along next time I meet him." Chen Feng didn't know if this would actually work out, but that didn't stop him from making a boast.

The suspicion on Zheng Mingsong's face dissipated considerably. After pondering for a moment, he said, "If I could meet General George Dewey in person, I can give you the medicine you want for free."

Upon hearing this, Chen Feng deliberately put on airs and changed the subject: "However... Boss Zheng, it's not that I look down on you."

General George Dewey was the commander of the U.S. Pacific Fleet, a position of immense prestige.

Although you are a member of the Zheng family, I really can't think of any suitable reason to bring you before him.

Zheng Mingsong was taken aback at first, then realized what he was worried about and burst into laughter: "Hahaha... Brother Chen, so that's what you were worried about!"

Let me introduce myself again. I am Zheng Mingsong, the third son of the current head of the Zheng family. I am representing the Zheng family in a meeting with General George Dewey. Is that sufficient?

"So Brother Zheng is the eldest son of the Zheng family. I was blind to your greatness!" Chen Feng cupped his hands in greeting, his face full of smiles, but he was inwardly troubled.

As the commander of the U.S. Pacific Fleet, how could George Dewey be so easily seen?

Especially since this guy is just a legitimate son, not the head of the family.

It seems the only option left is to figure out a way to package it and deal with whatever comes our way!

"Brother Chen, you're too kind. It's fate that we two brothers met. Tonight, I'll treat you to a good drink at the Casa Hotel." Zheng Mingsong buttoned up his open shirt, his previous casual demeanor completely gone.

Chen Feng readily agreed, nodding and saying, "Then I will respectfully comply."

The Casa Hotel is located in the city center and was opened by Spaniards who settled in Luzon. It is a simple three-story stone house with nothing particularly eye-catching about it.

The church standing next to the hotel, however, is particularly eye-catching, with its thick and solid stone walls and towering bell tower that casts a long shadow in the setting sun.

Zheng Mingsong led the way, pointing to the church and introducing it: "This is the Barasoy Church, which was built in 1630. It is 52 meters high and about 15 meters wide, and is the oldest church in Malolos."

"1630? Emperor Chongzhen had only been emperor for three years at that time!" Chen Feng laughed.

"If the Ming Dynasty hadn't fallen, our Zheng family wouldn't have ended up in this barbarian land." A hint of melancholy flashed across Zheng Mingsong's face as he turned and walked into the hotel.

"A loss may turn out to be a blessing in disguise!" Chen Feng said, leading Qian Biao to catch up.

The hotel was not spacious; the first floor housed the lobby and restaurant, while the second and third floors contained guest rooms. Perhaps due to the war, it was nearly evening, and almost all of the dozen or so tables in the restaurant were empty, except for a red-haired couple sitting in a corner, talking quietly in Spanish.

The waitress was a blonde woman in her thirties with freckles all over her face, but she had a very sexy figure. She was wearing a Spanish-style lace blouse and walked with a graceful sway.

Zheng Mingsong rattled off a list of dishes in fluent Spanish, then pointed to the corner by the window: "Let's sit over there."

Chen Feng glanced at the spot, which offered a clear view of the restaurant's commotion. It was a safe and good place, nestled against the wall and facing the window, with a panoramic view of the entire restaurant and an escape route. He immediately nodded, "Alright, I'll have a couple of drinks with Brother Zheng tonight."

After the two were seated, the blonde woman quickly brought over the cutlery. The silver knives and forks were neatly arranged, and a white napkin was placed next to them.

Chen Feng glanced at the tableware, then at Zheng Mingsong, cursing inwardly.

There are quite a few Chinese people in Malolos, so there must be Chinese restaurants, but he insisted on choosing Western food.

If one is not used to using cutlery, then the credibility of the previous claim about connecting with George Dewey will be greatly reduced.

Fortunately, I had eaten a lot of Western food in my previous life and was very familiar with the use of knives and forks.

Soon, the waiter brought out two steaks, accompanied by roasted potatoes and vegetables.

Chen Feng picked up his knife and fork, and with a slight flick of his wrist, smoothly cut the steak into small pieces. He forked a piece and put it into his mouth, his movements natural and skillful, without the slightest hint of unfamiliarity.

Qian Biao's movements were very stiff; he tried to cut the steak a few times but couldn't get it right.

Zheng Mingsong saw all of this and let out a barely perceptible sigh.

Chen Feng put down his knife and fork, picked up his wine glass, and gently swirled it: "Brother Zheng, instead of enjoying yourself in Manila, why are you here?"