Chapter 119
Chapter 119
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 119
Chapter Title: A Slightly Earlier Start to the One Belt One Road (4)
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“Any way to… survive?”
Hassan didn’t have much time to mull over his dilemma. His loyal subordinates were the type to prove their worth through actions rather than words.
-Bang!
“Grab him! Don’t kill him, but tie him up so he can’t resist!”
These guys weren’t just wearing rebel labels for show—their moves were brutally rough.
About twenty armed men surged into the room like a tidal wave.
Without any specific orders from Hassan, they seized the opportunity to demonstrate their loyalty, immediately tackling me to the floor and binding me with ropes.
“Captain! He’s subdued, sir! So, what should we do with this bastard now?”
“Ha! This Han Seo-jun punk looks like a total pretty boy parasite—really rubs me the wrong way! Just like those sleazy villains in the dramas my wife watches.”
It felt personal, the way they tied the ropes so tightly. My wrists burned under the strain.
But now wasn’t the time to worry about trivial pain like that.
Lying face-down on the ground, I lifted my head and spoke to Hassan in a calm voice.
An offer he couldn’t refuse.
“A highly autonomous special zone local government. And a guarantee that the Muslim independence fighters will lead that local government.”
“……!”
Hassan froze on the spot like an ice pillar, eyes wide open at my words.
One of the rebel soldiers took it as insolence. Suddenly, he grabbed my tongue with his soot-blackened hand and yanked it.
“Look at this punk still flapping his tongue like that. You, come here—I’ve been itching to give someone a beating anyway….”
“Wait!”
Just as a salty taste spread across my tongue—rivaling any potato chip—Hassan raised a hand to stop him.
He was slow on the draw. Should’ve done that sooner.
“Stop. For now… stand him up like that and sit him in the chair.”
Hassan stared down at me intently while I stood. His dark eyes scanned every inch of my expression, as if interrogating me.
Then, in a trembling voice, he spoke.
“You know those words you just spat out are nonsense, right? Or am I wrong?”
“What’s nonsense is that booklet in Chinese on the table over there, isn’t it? My proposal actually has some realism to it.”
“Ha! Ridiculous!”
Hassan exploded at my claim of realism.
He knew full well how absurdly unfavorable China’s Belt and Road plan was. He was just desperate enough—like a man dying of thirst gulping down saltwater handed to him by Shanghai Capital—to take the chance.
“How can we trust the Thai central government? Just because of some guarantee from Ammunition Group? You expect me—and everyone here—to stake our lives on that flimsy safety pin?”
“Who said it’s just Ammunition Group guaranteeing it?”
“What…?”
That’s why he needed a clean guarantor—pure water.
Luckily, I knew just the perfect one for this situation.
Hassan looked flustered. I continued confidently.
“I know a pretty solid guarantor. Rich, powerful, and loves being called the big brother in Islamic circles.”
Someone I had a good relationship with, who’d see the benefit for himself too.
“Crown Prince Bin Salman. Saudi Arabia, the heartland of Islam, will act as guarantor. Alongside Ammunition Group.”
* * *
Rewind the clock a bit—to Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia.
In the heart of the city, fresh after a fierce sandstorm had passed, Crown Prince Bin Salman strolled through the palace gardens. He gazed at a document handed to him by his secretary and smiled faintly.
“He’s still as entertaining as ever. Doesn’t he have a foot in every political door around the world?”
“He’s got guts, too, Your Highness. He’s heading off alone to the separatist stronghold of the southern Thai warlords soon.”
Bin Salman nodded as if it were only natural. He made his way to his office and sank into the chair at his desk.
His eyes immediately fell on a large frame on the wall. It held a commemorative photo from after the Saudi coup—a shot of him holding a golden pistol.
Right beside him, an awkward-looking young East Asian man raised the pistol’s trigger high.
“A man needs that kind of boldness. That’s why he qualified to hold the golden pistol with me.”
“So… what does Your Highness think of Chairman Han and his proposal?”
Bin Salman chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back.
The Kra Canal. A highly autonomous Thai Islamic local government overseeing it.
The man in the photo, raising the golden pistol, was asking something of Saudi Arabia—and of Bin Salman.
To be a reliable guarantor for the rebels in this deal.
“If he’d just begged for my mercy, I’d have been disappointed. But.”
Bin Salman straightened up.
He spun a golden-globe desk ornament with his palm, then suddenly stopped it, facing forward.
His gaze settled on the Islamic nations stretching out from the Middle East on either side.
“Seo-jun Han knows my situation well.”
“It was impressive how he pinpointed exactly what Your Highness needs—like a tongue in your mouth.”
After seizing power in the coup, Bin Salman wanted to position himself as the big brother among those many Islamic nations. For that, he needed a symbolic gesture.
Something like giving wings to Islam’s global expansion.
“The new Saudi with its new master. It’s about time to remind the Islamic world who the hegemon is.”
“Wise words indeed, Your Highness. And the Kra Canal alone will bring immense benefits to Saudi Arabia.”
“Exactly. Cutting logistics costs means boosting oil demand.”
Bin Salman picked up a fountain pen from the desk. He gestured for his secretary to bring the approval documents.
Scritch-scratch—the diamond nib danced smoothly across the page, finishing with his signature.
He slid the documents toward his secretary with one arm. Stretching with a satisfied expression, he spoke.
“Proceed as is. Standing as guarantor is nothing for a hegemon like me.”
* * *
Fresh out of the printer like newly baked bread, the single sheet of paper carried the heavy scent of ink and lingering warmth.
Yan Long hummed cheerfully as he picked up the paper scrap. Even though he’d designed it himself, the contract clauses reflected in his eyes still seemed miraculous.
Because he could clearly see his hidden intent—to exploit them utterly—coming to life before him.
“With this, we can turn those Muslim bastards into long-term colonial pawns.”
On the surface, the clauses gleamed attractively.
Loans provided, Chinese troops stationed, policy advisory teams dispatched, and study abroad for the leadership’s children in China.
A starving jackal would lose its mind and drool before a huge hunk of meat.
“No, even if they realize there’s poison on this bait… they’d have no choice but to swallow it right now.”
On the table lay photos of the discriminatory treatment the Thai central government had inflicted on southern Muslims.
The images showed landscapes utterly excluded from all development and privileges, left with nothing but poverty.
“The funds squeezed from these backwater places must be running dry soon.”
Flick—he reached for another photo below.
It depicted central government troops training in southern Thailand a few months back.
“They crushed the military hardliners’ coup with those forces? Then the Thai central government must be aligned with Han Seo-jun.”
The central army’s growing successes gave Yan Long a confident misconception.
The Muslim independence fighters—and their leader Hassan—had no one to turn to but Shanghai Capital.
“Head Yan Long, Captain Hassan will arrive within ten minutes.”
“Send him straight to me the moment he arrives.”
He ordered his secretary, then gazed out the window.
Was it because of that unpleasant incident in Bangkok last time?
Hassan had insisted on changing the meeting to Singapore.
Skyscrapers stretched beyond the window, blue sea peeking between them, and ant-like ships dotting the waters.
Absorbing the picturesque view, Yan Long swirled his wine glass and muttered something.
“Discussing the future hub from Southeast Asia’s current logistics center isn’t bad.”
He swallowed the wine, his face flushing soon after. Moments later, his secretary’s voice announced Hassan’s arrival.
“Let him in.”
Yan Long set down his glass. Hinges creaked as the familiar dark-skinned man entered.
“Welcome. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“…Good to see you. Let’s skip the unnecessary preamble and get to the point.”
Feeling his heartbeat quicken more than usual, Yan Long spread his arms wide.
As if ready to embrace the massive interests the bumbling rebel leader would bring.
“Have a seat first. I’ve prepared the specific contract terms. Ones you’ll find… fully acceptable.”
He handed over the contract.
Though the paper’s terms were utterly unfair, Yan Long was confident.
He knew Hassan had no choice but to drink from this poisoned chalice.
“…….”
“Well? Do the terms meet with your approval?”
Hassan’s deliberation dragged on. Growing impatient with the slow response, Yan Long pressed for an answer.
He got the reply he’d been craving soon enough.
In a form completely opposite to what he’d expected.
“So that’s how it is. He was right.”
“Captain Hassan? Ah, no…!”
Rip, tear! Hassan shredded the contract with hands bulging with veins.
The paper tore into eight pieces, fluttering up then drifting down like first snow.
Yan Long couldn’t hide his panic. Mask slipping in the unexpected crisis, he screamed.
“What is this? What insolence…!”
Hassan stepped closer to the furious man.
His face calm despite the action, he replied slowly.