Chapter 120
Chapter 120
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 120
Chapter Title: A Belt and Road That Began a Little Early (5)
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“Annual interest rate of 12%, jumping to 24% on default. Plus, all construction personnel from design engineers to site laborers dispatched straight from China. And the collateral for that...”
Hassan’s voice was lower and rougher than usual. The contents of the contract, which had soared into the air like the first snow only to scatter across the floor, were being read aloud one by one from his lips.
His fury was plain to see beneath his expressionless face. Glaring at Yan Long, Hassan opened his mouth.
“The Kra Canal. Not just operating rights—full ownership.”
“......”
“The fine print in this contract is telling me as much. Well? Anything else you’d like to say?”
The shredded fragments of the contract were a riot of complex English legal jargon.
Traps so cunningly crafted that even seasoned lawyers or bureaucrats might miss them in a blink.
‘Looks like he’s not as dumb as I thought. Or maybe... this Muslim has some advisor playing staff officer.’
Reproaching himself for underestimating the situation, Yan Long shed his mask of arrogance.
In its place, like a Peking opera actor swapping faces in an instant, he donned a mask of friendliness.
“Are you worried we might swallow up the Kra Canal? That’s overly paranoid.”
Yan Long began responding to the unexpected turn with a suddenly calm voice.
He didn’t seem fazed at all. A plausible excuse was already bubbling up from the sack of tricks in his head.
“Overly paranoid? Based on this contract, I wouldn’t call it that.”
“Haha... We’re well aware you have the nationalization card up your sleeve. The nation you’re building, Commander Hassan, is no different.”
Yan Long was saying that if push came to shove, they’d devour the Kra Canal too.
Was he pleased at dismantling the other side’s argument?
Wearing a mask decked out in false courtesy, he strung together nothing but sweet-sounding words to press his case.
“The interest rate clause you mentioned is essentially a gentlemen’s agreement built on mutual trust...”
“Enough. Stop right there.”
At that moment, Hassan raised one hand. As if there was no more to hear, he began listing another poison pill from the contract.
The horrific poison prepared to choke him, tucked inside what should have been the holy grail.
“Deployment of People’s Liberation Army units for Kra Canal security. Chinese scholarships for the children of Muslim independence struggle leaders.”
“......”
“In a pinch, you’d overthrow the regime. Using those kids in China as hostages.”
Thud, thud. Hassan crushed a scrap of paper on the floor with his boot.
The stark white back of the paper now bore the black imprint of his military boot. With all his rising rage concentrated at his feet, he glared at Yan Long and spoke.
“Then your policy advisory team from China would seize all administrative control? Just like running a colonial governor-general’s office?”
“Ahem...”
“Isn’t this contract a bit too transparent, Director Yan Long?”
Tick, tock. The room filled only with the sound of the clock in the sudden silence.
That awkward hush didn’t last long. Hassan shot up from his chair with resolute force.
“We’re done here. There’s nothing left to discuss.”
Leaving behind the scraps of paper etched with their shallow schemes, he walked away.
The arrow already loosed at the target had slipped the string and, absurdly, turned back toward his own chest. Foreseeing the wound of failure to come.
“You’ll regret this. Reject this offer, and you’ll be crushed by the Thai central army before long, won’t you?”
Yan Long grabbed at the departing man like a street urchin.
Did those curse-laden words stir something in him? Hassan stopped in place, turned, and spoke.
“Crushed? Me?”
As if it were absurd, Hassan burst into laughter right there.
How long did he let that scornful laugh echo? Eventually, as if remembering something he’d overlooked, he pulled a letter from his pocket and tossed it at Yan Long’s feet.
“Right... that’s right. Hey, Director Yan Long. I almost forgot one thing.”
“What insolence is this...!”
“Insolence? You started it. Anyway, no need to see me out. I wasn’t expecting it anyway.”
Hassan departed without even a farewell.
As the metallic click of the door latch echoed, Yan Long’s eyes dropped to the floor.
Atop the pitifully torn contract scraps lay a carelessly flung letter.
“What’s this...?”
Shoulders slumped like a defeated general on the battlefield, Yan Long tore open the envelope and began reading the contents.
In the sender field was the name Han Seo-jun, mocking him like a taunt.
“This... this bastard!”
Suppressing his surging blood pressure, Yan Long’s eyes were then assaulted by the seven-character title, striking without mercy.
-Yeosu Jang Ujung Moon Si (與隋將于仲文詩)
Yeosu Jang Ujung Moon Si.
The poem Goguryeo general Eulji Mundeok wrote to mock Sui general Yu Zhongwen.
Its contents—praising the enemy’s “ghostly strategies reaching the heavens”—were dripping with sarcasm so infuriating it burned Yan Long’s eyes.
And at the end, five characters emphasized in red ink.
A tiny yellow smiley sticker plastered beside them. Seeing it, Yan Long’s hands began trembling like aspen leaves.
-Know Contentment and Turn Back (知足願云止)
“Han Seo-jun...! You madman dare insult me like this!”
* * * *
“Eheheh. Ehahahaha. I never imagined our Chairman would use something like this to crush those jjajangmyeon kids.”
Back in Seoul.
Kim Won-cheol’s boisterous laughter rang through the chairman’s office.
It wasn’t just the Yeosu Jang Ujung Moon Si that tickled his fancy.
No, it was the yellow smiley sticker right next to the final line. One that looked exactly like a drunk Kim Won-cheol. It had clearly hit the mark.
“This is it. This is how you tease people—scratch ‘em right in the gut.”
“And I’ve learned all my tricks just watching from the side.”
“Heh heh heh. It ain’t for nothing I sass our ghost granny... er, Director Seo, even when she salts me good. Playing fetch with the rod? That’s a talent too.”
Of course, I still couldn’t match his rod-fetching skills. That was innate.
Today, too, Kim Won-cheol munched away at his chocolate cake with that infuriating grin. As the fork clinked onto the empty plate, he slapped his belly and turned to me.
“Anyway, we’ve crossed a big mountain now, right? With that Hassan or whatever grabbing our hand.”
“We’ve got two solid guarantors. First, Ammunition Group, and...”
Guarantors.
The two safety pins ensuring Hassan’s Muslim armed struggle group—and the southern region’s Muslims—wouldn’t face bloody betrayal.
Unlike the first safety pin, which Hassan might have found a tad shaky... the second was tougher and grander than I’d imagined.
“Bin Salman. The master of Saudi Arabia himself.”
Crown Prince Bin Salman had signaled his approval in just one day after my request.
And in for a penny, he offered to fund the construction as a loan—and reached straight for a stake in the Kra Canal.
With an amount too massive to refuse.
“Perfect. The new Islamic local government in the south? That loan’s coming straight from Uncle Bin Salman’s pocket.”
“That’s how it shook out. Anyway, now it’s all about speed on construction. Seong Won-sik’s in for some hard work ahead.”
A blissful situation where every variable seemed resolved.
Seong Won-sik was in the jungle anyway—born under a tough star—so that was fine. For me, it finally meant a breather.
Savoring this rare downtime, I was pondering what to do with it when Kim Won-cheol tossed a suggestion my way.
“Alright, the sun’s waving us home, so let’s call it quits. Before heading out, how about a quick soju?”
“More booze? You can’t even hold your liquor.”
“Hey, a day like today calls for it, don’t it? Let’s go salty with the snacks. Like those rebel soldier fingers our Chairman tasted.”
He brought up the time we’d been bound by the sudden rebel ambush.
That soldier’s finger... filthy as it was, it really was salty. Like a salt lump on the tongue.
“...People overhear that, they’ll think we’ve got a cannibal for a chairman.”
“Plenty of places sling grandma bone haejangguk under neon signs. Mom’s homemade spots too. Anyway, you in or what?”
His urging was stronger than usual—he must’ve been thirsty.
Me too, tension easing, I felt like wetting my whistle for once.
Standing, I shrugged on my suit jacket from the rack and said,
“Then let’s head out early today.”
“Heh heh heh. Where to? Somewhere quiet’d be nice.”
“My officetel first. We’ll have a drink there, then move spots... Wait, hold on, hold on.”
A sudden buzz.
Phone out of my pocket, screen showed a now-familiar weird number format.
I picked up right away. As always, the caller stated the brief business and hung up.
“Looks like... I’ll be drinking soju with someone else tonight.”
A soft sigh from me.
Fate wouldn’t let me sit back with a glass in peace, it seemed.
“What? A woman? Nah, when’d a workaholic like you find time to fly the pigeon?”
“Not a woman. Like always, the ones chasing me are mostly drab old men.”
Drab old men would be better if they were comfy execs like the board. Lately, everyone contacting me was a pain to deal with.
Especially this one calling me now—worse than most.
“The President wants to meet. Right now. At some safe house near the Blue House in Gungjeong-dong.”