In an inconspicuous spot among the crowd meeting the arrivals, a Chinese man, perhaps around thirty years old, held up a folded sheet of A4 paper. Scrawled on it in stiff Chinese characters were the words: “Welcoming the guests from China who have come to see the ships.”

The text was described as “stiff” partly because the phrasing was awkward, and partly because the script itself was strange; the character for "nation" () was even the traditional form, resulting in an incongruous structure.

“Guests to see the ships? That reminds me of the tickets for the 2012 apocalypse, haha,” Zhao Yu chuckled, sounding rather boisterous.

Wang Zhuo smiled faintly and shook his head. He was simultaneously scanning all the arrival signs with his supernatural ability, never expecting Zhao Yu to be so lucky and sharp-eyed as to spot their contact right away.

The group laughed as they walked toward the short man. Seeing five Chinese men approaching, the man waiting instantly knew these were the principals he was meant to meet. A polite smile crossed his face, and he dipped his head twice in a slight bow.

Wang Zhuo paused for a moment, then suddenly realized—this man was Japanese. No wonder the reception sign looked a bit odd!

Through his work, he had dealt with many foreigners and recognized this as a very common Japanese gesture. Li Mingxu and the others, however, assumed the man was merely being extra courteous. They walked forward cheerfully and greeted him in Chinese.

Waiting awkwardly until they finished speaking, the Japanese man bowed and apologized: “Sowwy, I amu Jeponise…”

Li Mingxu and the others were instantly dumbfounded. They tried to communicate with the Japanese man again, but not only were they poor at spoken English, they knew even less Japanese—only snippets like Arigato, Kawaii, Yamete, Iku, and phrases like Ohayou gozaimasu. They truly had nine apertures open but were proficient in none.

After the Japanese man had said Hai several times, both parties finally understood: there was a severe communication barrier! This Japanese man’s broken spoken English was only comprehensible to other Japanese people, perhaps half-understandable to the British, while the group from China spoke English that only they could understand—even the British couldn't follow it, let alone the Japanese!

It was Wang Zhuo who first wrote a line of English on a small notepad for the man to see, finally breaking the deadlock. The group then proceeded to communicate like a collection of mutes, using handwritten English.

The Japanese man introduced himself as Yuzuki Hanado, which he had written out for them in Chinese characters. He had been working in the UK for three years, employed by an international travel agency.

Regarding why the British hadn't sent someone capable of translation to meet them, Yuzuki Hanado explained it was due to budget constraints. Since he had given the British side the impression of being a China expert during previous engagements, the task had fallen to him.

Wang Zhuo and the others then understood: the British had sent a Japanese man to meet them precisely because it was cheaper. Their national pride swelled immediately. See? This proved that hiring a Chinese person was more expensive than hiring a Japanese one!

In reality, this thought process was somewhat unbalanced. The practical factors were likely that the British felt hiring a Chinese translator would be both a waste of money and a hassle; perhaps they assumed the Chinese delegation already had someone proficient in English, and using a familiar Japanese contact would be more straightforward.

However, rational people like Wang Zhuo were rare. Military enthusiasts often possessed a fiery streak; essentially, they liked a fight. Among them, those harboring anti-Japanese or anti-American sentiments were certainly not few. Given this chance to stand tall, they naturally accepted the situation with enthusiasm.

Led by Yuzuki Hanado, the group exited the airport. A dark green MG minivan was already waiting in the parking lot. The driver was a British man with a prominent nose, deep-set eyes, and blond hair. His short hair, trimmed to half an inch, looked neat and capable, clearly indicating a military background.

The MG minivan surprised Li Mingxu and Kang Yangqiu slightly. They murmured approvingly that the British reception seemed quite high-standard. But Wang Zhuo and Zhou Jiyuan shook their heads with wry smiles. In Britain, the status of this kind of vehicle was only marginally higher than that of a Wuling Hongguang in China. The British Ministry of Defence hosting guests this way suggested they were truly short on funds.

Yuzuki Hanado introduced the driver to Wang Zhuo’s group. It turned out the driver was a Corporal, an active member of the Royal Marines. This Corporal, named Stephen, explained through Yuzuki Hanado that the British media was a major problem, forcing the military to use personnel and vehicles from the travel agency for a low-profile reception of the guests arriving from China, asking for their understanding.

He produced relevant identification for Wang Zhuo to inspect. Wang Zhuo went through the motions symbolically; he had already discerned that neither of these two men were imposters. After all, while documents and identities could be fabricated or disguised, the hidden intent lurking in eyes and expressions could never escape his fiery golden gaze.

London traffic was slightly better than Beijing’s, but gridlock was still common. It took nearly an hour for the car to reach the four-star hotel where Wang Zhuo and his party were lodged.

Along the way, Zhao Yu and the others had become quite familiar with Yuzuki Hanado. Zhou Jiyuan wrote the characters Yuzuki Tina for Hanado to see. Hanado-kun gave a thumbs-up, and the men shared a knowing, hearty laugh. Yuzuki Hanado then wrote out the name Sakuragi Hanamichi, and explained in English that his father was a die-hard basketball fan, which is why he had chosen that name for his son.

As soon as they placed their luggage in their rooms, an officer in a British Royal uniform arrived to receive them. This short officer, a Lieutenant named Johnson, informed Wang Zhuo that appraisal teams from around the world had already arrived, and so far, three Chinese teams were among them.

After Johnson left, Kang Yangqiu remarked with a smile, “It’s quite lively, that’s interesting.”

Zhao Yu asked, “Brother Wang, the other two Chinese groups are our competitors, right?”

Wang Zhuo considered it for a moment and replied, “Maybe there are more than two groups, but whether they are competitors remains to be seen. We’ll have to wait and check when the time comes.”

The day for inspecting the vessels was set for the weekend; today was Thursday, leaving a day and a half for free activity. Wang Zhuo gave the supposed China expert, Yuzuki Hanado, three hundred Euros as a tip and sent him on his way.

“He’s just a little Japanese guy; there was no need to tip him,” Zhou Jiyuan grumbled slightly about the gesture.

Wang Zhuo gave a wry smile. Seeing the expressions on everyone’s faces, he couldn't help but laugh, explaining, “Can you people drop this narrow-minded national sentiment? Whether a nation is strong depends on its own efforts, not its attitude toward other nations. I am superior to the Japanese man, so he served me, and I tipped him. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

The four looked at each other. Kang Yangqiu, being the eldest, offered a hesitant smile: “We just thought you gave him a bit too much.”

“What’s this?” Wang Zhuo waved his hand cheerfully. “If I don’t give a little extra, how can I convey our sense of superiority? If two insignificant bills can make a Japanese man remember for decades how wealthy and generous Chinese people are, recounting it to his compatriots, perhaps altering the Japanese perspective and attitude toward China, lowering their demeanor toward Chinese people—I think that’s worth doing.”

Although Li Mingxu wasn't an ardent young hothead, he inwardly felt a strong disdain for Wang Zhuo’s reasoning. Wasn’t it precisely because China was wealthy that it suffered Japanese aggression? How could one hold such a belief?

Zhao Yu was young and highly admired Wang Zhuo, so he immediately accepted the logic, praising Brother Wang’s wisdom. Kang Yangqiu sighed, noting that only someone as wealthy as Wang Zhuo could afford this kind of investment. Zhou Jiyuan was persuaded by Wang Zhuo’s argument; recalling the obsequious way Yuzuki Hanado had accepted the money, it did indeed lend a feeling of looking down from a height.

In short, the five men held differing opinions. Wang Zhuo made no move to impose his way of thinking on the others. As their predecessors used to say, this was about seeking common ground while reserving differences.

After a short nap, the five went out shopping as a group. The time difference between China and the UK wasn't huge; they had adjusted slightly before departure and compensated more on the plane, so they were mostly acclimated now. With Wang Zhuo’s clairvoyance and the aid of Google Maps’ Street View navigation system, they had no fear of getting lost.

The sights and local customs of London were filled with exotic flavor and historical depth. The city's long history was something the capital of the New China simply could not match. Although he was surrounded only by four other men and no beautiful women, Wang Zhuo enjoyed the excursion thoroughly.

After half a day of walking, Li Mingxu and the others were amazed by Wang Zhuo’s unexpectedly strong capacity to absorb spoken English. By evening, he was even capable of handling the flirtatious advances of streetwalkers with fluent spoken English!

Furthermore, he could occasionally engage in simple exchanges with shop clerks, using his newly acquired "London accent" English to instruct them to deliver his purchases to the hotel where he was staying!

What the hell, was it really that miraculous?

“Brother Wang, you’re practically a prodigy at learning foreign languages!” Zhao Yu said with extreme envy, eagerly asking for instruction, “Can you teach me? How did your spoken English improve so quickly?”

Wang Zhuo chuckled, thinking to himself that he had used his X-ray vision to carefully observe the way the English people formed their sounds, simulating everything from their vocal cords to their oral cavity holographically. This technique was far more effective than instruction from the best language tutor, but it was usable only by him; even if he wanted to teach, he couldn't!

“Watch how others say things, listen a lot, and practice a lot, and you’ll get there,” he explained vaguely, like a mystic. “I did the same thing when I learned the Jiangzhou dialect; it seems to work well for foreign languages too.”

Li Mingxu, who taught Chinese, nodded repeatedly: “The Jiangzhou dialect is almost like ducks quacking; it’s noisy and terribly hard to learn.”

As they were speaking, a mixed-race woman whose cleavage was spectacularly pronounced approached them. It was late February, and the temperature in London was not significantly different from Beijing, yet this woman was wearing an explosive low-cut leather outfit, standing on heels at least twenty centimeters high. It was obvious she was another streetwalker soliciting business.

Not far behind her, by the roadside, stood three other women dressed just as flamboyantly. They were smoking and chatting while watching the scene, clearly eager to secure a business deal with these Chinese men. Although there were five Chinese men and only four women, that wasn't an issue at all; at worst, they could manage a one-to-two arrangement!