Chapter 117
Chapter 117
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: The Belt and Road That Started a Bit Early (2)
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“Nice to meet you. I’m Han Seo-jun, Chairman of Ammunition Group.”
“First time meeting. I’m Hassan, leader of the Muslim Independence Struggle Group.”
Their handshake felt awkward.
Hassan exchanged eye contact with the young East Asian man standing before him and thought to himself.
The man named Yan Long from [Shanghai Capital] he’d met in Bangkok not long ago.
There was no doubt that the conversation they’d had then was connected to this current situation.
“Please wait here a moment. I need to speak with the priest.”
“Don’t mind me—take your time. I’ll wait.”
To gauge the situation, Hassan entered the inner room and waited for the priest to follow. In that brief spare moment, he began mulling over the man he’d just met, Han Seo-jun.
Perhaps from years of training, his palms were rough and callused, contrasting sharply with his refined features.
“That Han Seo-jun… he was the one next to Prime Minister Inthak during the last coup. There must be a reason he’s come to me.”
The firm handshake seemed to shout this to him with conviction.
An offer he couldn’t refuse. No—a presentation of the only viable choice.
“[Shanghai Capital] and Ammunition Group.”
His black hand resting on the table.
Feeling the lingering sensation of the handshake like a faint afterimage, he recalled his meeting with Yan Long in Bangkok.
* * * *
“Our [Shanghai Capital]—no, the Chinese Communist Party above us—hopes that the Muslim Independence Struggle Group will soon become the government of a new nation.”
“A new… nation, you say?”
Those were the first words the Chinese man uttered after they entered the hotel room.
It was a dream he’d harbored for decades… but one he’d never dared believe possible: the founding of a new country.
Hassan’s throat bobbed involuntarily with desire. Seeing this, Yan Long continued with a calm smile.
“There’s precedent for it, after all. We believe it’s feasible.”
“Precedent?”
“Panama. Wasn’t a country created just for the Panama Canal?”
The Panama Canal linking the Pacific and Atlantic.
Indeed… the U.S. had created a new nation solely to secure that prime canal.
“The Kra Canal is no different, is it? The circumstances are similar.”
Yan Long set down the prepared tea with a smile and pressed on.
“A key route for international shipping. The residents’ will for independence. And…”
Everything he said was enticing, grounded in sound premises—logical to the core.
Everything, that is, except for one strange qualm rising from deep in his chest.
“The backing of a reliable patron.”
“A reliable… patron.”
“With [Shanghai Capital]—and China—we can make it happen.”
Tok, tok. Hassan drummed his fingers on the table, lost in thought.
How much time passed?
Having roughly calculated in his mind, he posed a question to Yan Long.
“The price on the other side won’t come cheap, I imagine.”
“It’s not exorbitant, though. Just fair compensation for fair support.”
Yan Long took a sip from his porcelain teacup. Shifting to a more overt negotiator’s demeanor, he continued slowly.
“All China wants from the nation the Muslim Independence Struggle Group establishes is…”
He pointed toward the south-facing glass window with a limp gesture.
It was just a casual flick of the finger, but Hassan fully grasped its meaning.
A cataclysm that would upend heaven and earth was soon coming to that place—his homeland.
“The Kra Canal. Hand that over entirely, and a great power will stand with your new nation from its founding to its stabilization.”
“……”
A long, involuntary silence gripped him.
When the ticking clock synced with his heartbeat, Yan Long handed him something.
“Of course, there’s no ‘use and discard’ here.”
A small brochure appeared before Hassan’s eyes. At the bottom was an official seal from China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and on it was a world map.
A pearl necklace of a route starting from southern China, threading through Southeast Asia, Sri Lanka, the Middle East, and East Africa.
“One Belt, One Road…”
Hassan stared blankly at the map.
A massive wave approaching him and his followers. The superpower China was stirring it, forcing a choice between two paths.
Ride it or drown.
Yan Long stood abruptly.
Leaving just one casual remark, he departed.
“I trust you’ll join us, so we’ll show our sincerity first. When you return to the southern region, you’ll feel the changes immediately.”
* * * *
Late at night, with the Yangtze River’s waters reflecting the city lights in rippling waves.
Yan Long headed straight from Shanghai International Airport to the office.
In the glass elevator, his reflected face bore a confident smile, as if victory was already in hand.
“Looks like things went well, Yan Long.”
“My lord. Still at your desk at this hour?”
From afar, James Wang, the director, watched him with satisfaction. Unlike usual, his expression was brighter and more serene.
“Old Monster Beijing pledged support. Told our [Shanghai Capital] to take the front lines. Like the East India Company in colonial days.”
“Fortunate. Everything seems to be flowing smoothly.”
Yan Long stood before his master with a brief report.
He began briefing him on events in Thailand.
“The situation is positive, first off.”
“Creating a new country for them—they must be thrilled.”
“They’ve suffered such severe discrimination in Thailand; it’s like scratching an unbearable itch. However…”
Yan Long trailed off slightly.
Standing there, he recalled the man named Hassan.
He seemed half-convinced, but as a leader in a radical rebel group, it was uncertain whether he’d bow to the Chinese Communist Party’s typical subservience policies post-independence.
“Given the nature of Islamic militants, control might prove difficult—that’s my assessment. We’ll need something to gag them with…”
“Ah, no need to worry about that. No gag required.”
“My lord?”
“Old Monster Beijing… only plans to discard them once used.”
“……!”
The elder in Beijing who positioned himself as the leader’s mentor. As if recalling that wrinkled face was uncomfortable, James Wang grimaced and spoke.
“As long as the nation’s shell remains, who sits at the top doesn’t matter. That’s their thinking.”
“Truly befitting the Old Monster who’s survived Beijing’s thin ice politics this long.”
“No matter who claims the puppet throne, they need only obey Beijing’s commands. The real issue is…”
Leaning back on the sofa, James Wang tilted his head up.
As always, gazing at the wooden ceiling map, he sighed.
“Those eastern frontier barbarians are doing the same. Beijing’s propping us up, but it seems they’re propping up Ammunition Group’s Han Seo-jun.”
“Ammunition Group—Han Seo-jun…!”
An unpleasant unease gripped Yan Long.
Ammunition Group, Han Seo-jun. To a great power, they were just an obscure small-country firm and its head… but to him, they held special significance in many ways.
“We need to act more aggressively, my lord.”
[Shanghai Capital] had soared unchecked until a single misstep—like a master judoka flipping them using their own momentum—twisted their limbs.
Sensing his subordinate’s anxiety, James Wang nodded. Finishing his thoughts, he issued orders to Yan Long.
“Push the timeline as much as possible. Solidify before they move.”
“Yes, my lord.”
* * * *
At the same time, top floor of Ammunition Group headquarters. Chairman’s office.
Kim Won-cheol sat in the chair with his usual listless demeanor. But unlike normal, his two fingers were plugged in his ears like corks.
The culprit was his aide, Yoo Se-na, standing beside him. With an incredulous expression, she raised her voice to full throttle.
“Oh, come on! Chief Secretary Kim! How can you just let that slide!”
“Mmph? The Chairman ain’t no five-year-old kid, is he? You think he’ll float away if left by the water? Heh heh heh.”
“Sigh, thinking about it, the Chairman’s the problem too. It’s been how long since the bomb terror at the coup site?!”
Within the secretary’s office, their dynamic was infamous—like sworn enemies, almost.
If anything, Yoo Se-na the aide was closer to the dog side. The reason? She barked relentlessly, just like now.
“It’s fine. Totally fine. No danger at all this time.”
A monkey dangling from a tree. Or perhaps closer to a sloth—Kim Won-cheol.
To Yoo Se-na glaring at him with arms crossed, he replied with a broad, carefree grin.
Of course, that grin held not just mischief, but something akin to certainty.
“Hmm…”
She seemed to pick up on the odd vibe. Calming a bit, Yoo Se-na began probing Kim Won-cheol.
“Why so confident?”
“Heh, quick on the uptake.”
“Gotta be. This ain’t the first or second time. Anyway, there must be some special reason for that certainty.”
Yoo Se-na pressed with hands on hips.
Contrasting her, Kim Won-cheol wore a sly grin. With a cheeky look, he raised one hand and answered.
“Man, I’m hungry.”
“Oh, seriously. Come on.”
“Didn’t you say you got those limited-edition cookies earlier? Any left? Heh heh heh.”
Suppressing her irritation, Yoo Se-na fetched the limited-edition cookies from her desk.
From the hot-spot bakery near the office, available only Monday mornings—they vanished straight into Kim Won-cheol’s stomach.
“Whoa, these are good.”
“Sigh, if they’re good, then answer me. What’s the reason for your confidence?”
“It’s worth being confident. ‘Cause… this time.”
Kim Won-cheol wiped cookie crumbs from his mouth with a wet wipe.
Locking his fingers behind his head and sinking deep into the chair, he replied to Yoo Se-na with brimming confidence.
“Truth is, the rebels have no choice but our Chairman as their only option.”