Chapter 128
Chapter 128
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 128
Chapter Title: A God for Whom? (1)
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Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
On a road flanked by palm trees on both sides, two men sat in the back seat of a black sedan flying a red Chinese flag, their faces grim as they conversed.
“I do hope you've committed to memory why Minister Zhang insists on such a convoluted approach.”
Wang Lung, China's newly appointed Foreign Minister, occupied the left-hand seat. Peering sideways through his glasses, he addressed James Wang, the director seated to his right.
“The Belt and Road Initiative still needs time to mature. It wouldn't do for the Party or the government to take the lead on something like this.”
“I'm well aware that Shanghai Capital must play the role of the old imperial East India Company in those bygone days of empire.”
Wang Lung nodded in satisfaction.
The quintessential elite diplomat, he adjusted the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and gazed ahead at the Petronas Twin Towers, the venue for the China-Malaysia summit.
“Even if you're wearing the mask of a private entity now, remember the weight on your shoulders is considerable.”
“Rest assured. The plan is flawless, without a single deviation.”
The sedan came to a smooth halt before the summit venue with a screech of brakes. As the heavy car door thudded shut behind them and they entered the building, Foreign Minister Wang Lung spoke to Director James Wang.
“They'll be discussing other diplomatic matters first, no doubt. Come right in when you're called.”
* * * *
Director James Wang didn't have long to wait.
No sooner had he entered the room than he was greeted by a Malaysian diplomat with dark skin, who thrust out a large, calloused hand for a firm handshake.
“I've heard from Foreign Minister Wang Lung. Since this is unofficial business, let's skip the formalities and get straight to it.”
The discussion raced ahead like a torrent. Despite the Malaysian's eagerness for a swift conclusion, Director James Wang merely held his gaze steady.
‘An ambitious one. The kind who dreams of reaching the pinnacle of his nation someday.’
Known for his voracious appetite for power, he was undoubtedly aiming for the prime ministership of Malaysia. To get there, amassing every possible achievement as a foreign affairs official was essential.
Having sized him up, Director James Wang cut straight to the heart of the matter.
“The Kra Canal, to be managed by Thailand. It serves no purpose for Malaysia's national interests, does it?”
“…Go on.”
He seemed intrigued. Jutting his chin toward Director James Wang, the Malaysian diplomat shifted in his seat.
“Which is why the Kra Canal should be overseen by forces that China and Malaysia can jointly control.”
“Forces we can jointly control.”
Director James Wang took in the man's smile, a sign his interest was piqued.
Without further ado, he laid out the blunt proposal he had prepared.
“To be direct: the Islamic extremist groups fostered by Malaysia's intelligence service. Send them to southern Thailand.”
“Those bastards…?”
“We on the Chinese side will sponsor everything they need. From funding to managing international opinion—all of it.”
Malaysia shared a border with Thailand.
That was why they covertly supported Islamic terror groups from the shadows.
This was the perfect chance to put those good-for-nothing layabouts—who did nothing but recite scriptures—to use.
The Malaysian Foreign Ministry official's face lit up, and he nodded to himself, murmuring.
“Indeed. There's no more fitting approach.”
Without a moment's hesitation, he gave Director James Wang his immediate response.
“Very well. I'll discuss it with our intelligence people and give you a positive reply.”
“A wise choice. You won't regret it.”
Their hands clasped once more, just as at the start. But the emotions and calculations gripped within were worlds apart from before.
“Time to get things moving. Until we meet again, when opportunity allows.”
The large hand of the grandfather clock on one wall had advanced two notches.
Their final exchange of farewells. The Malaysian capped it with a pointed well-wish.
“We're pleased to join hands with the Chinese side. I never imagined you'd be so favorable toward Islam.”
* * * *
“The talks went well, I take it? No need to worry about seeing your head roll back in Beijing.”
In the car heading back to the hotel after the summit.
Foreign Minister Wang Lung smirked as he heard the brief report and turned to Director James Wang.
“Well, Minister Zhang will be pleased, which is good for me too.”
“It'll keep going smoothly. Nothing difficult about it.”
“Confidence is a fine thing. That said… Sigh, what in the world is this now?”
A groan escaped Foreign Minister Wang Lung amid the low rumble of the engine.
Something from headquarters had just updated on the tablet in his hand.
Director James Wang cautiously probed the frowning minister.
“Foreign Minister?”
“Ah, it's nothing.”
With a snap, Wang Lung closed the tablet's cover.
A faint glow leaked from the seam, illuminating a report on the bloody unrest in China's far western Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region.
“In any case, never fully trust those who follow Islam. Stay vigilant to the end.”
* * * *
“Welcome, my brother! Come in, come in.”
Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia, after a long absence.
Inside a palace verdant with greenery that belied its desert setting, an extravagance of hospitality unfolded—one beyond anything I'd ever experienced.
A golden swan statue plated in gold leaf, a nameless fish dish dangling from its beak. Desserts hanging from a rainbow of platters. A whole roasted camel that widened the eyes just to behold.
All of it prepared for one person alone.
For whom?
For me.
“Come closer. It's been too long since you last held it.”
“Crown Prince?”
Bin Salman, Crown Prince, slung an arm around my stiff shoulders.
Reminiscing about old times, he summoned his aide for a metallic 007 briefcase, then popped it open without delay.
What he placed in my hand was none other than.
“A golden pistol. It's been a while, hasn't it?”
“…Yeah, it has.”
“The grip feels perfect every time. Suits a real man like you, always dipping a toe into the world's power struggles.”
Bin Salman Crown Prince labored under some strange misconception.
No matter how I protested, the so-called ‘Han Seo-jun World Government Puppetmaster Theory’ showed no signs of fading. If anything, the whispers from the high-ranking diplomats around us only grew louder.
‘Holy shit! That's Chairman Han Seo-jun of Ammunition Group…? The one who backed Bin Salman in the battlefield?’
‘They say the Thailand coup prevention this time came straight from his mind too. Seems like… someone to handle with care.’
‘Word is he's the hidden whale in Macao's casinos, and at an age young enough to be my son, that kind of boldness… Impressive.’
Rumors that held a kernel of truth but were exaggerated all the same.
The murmurs peaked when Kim Won-cheol, thoroughly sloshed on date palm liquor, let slip a comment from my side.
“Urgh, Crown Prince. I'm Kim Won-cheol.”
“Ah, it's been ages for you too. I hear you've been faithfully assisting Chairman Han Seo-jun.”
“I do my part as best I can, but there's one thing I can't manage.”
After chatting at length with a tipsy Russian official nearby—his nose flushed red from the drink—Uncle Kim Won-cheol apparently figured his role here was just to lighten the mood. Flashing a goofy grin, he turned to Crown Prince Bin Salman.
“Our chairman here has zero interest in women. Hell, he's head over heels for work itself.”
“Good heavens…! It happens to the finest men sometimes. I've neglected our Chairman Han Seo-jun too much!”
No, please don't.
Despite my inner plea, Crown Prince Bin Salman kept his grave expression.
Rolling his eyes upward in thought for a moment, he soon cracked a smile and addressed me.
“I have a favorite among my sisters.”
“You mean… your sister, Crown Prince?”
The whispers around us spiked at his words. I could already picture the rumors spreading like wildfire through business circles.
Uncle Kim Won-cheol was in for a workload bomb the moment we got back to Korea. I'd have to ask Grandma to rein him in.
“That's right. She's younger than you, perfect match.”
“Heh, our chairman's totally smitten. How old is the princess, Crown Prince?”
Clueless—or worse, fully aware and stirring the pot—Uncle Kim Won-cheol.
Crown Prince Bin Salman seemed pleased by his clownish antics.
Beaming broadly, he gave an answer that strayed far from my common sense.
“Eight. Perfect age for a betrothal based on family lines, no?”
“…Perfect age for her future husband to end up in a Korean prison.”
Some extraordinary Islamic marriage custom.
The crisis that nearly landed me in jail for violating current laws was defused by Advisor Yoo Se-na, who had been watching the exchange.
“Well then, time to wrap up this banquet.”
Night had deepened before we knew it.
A chill wind, opposite the day's scorching heat, swept through the palace gardens.
Crackle, crackle. Charcoal blazed in the iron brazier, flames dancing.
As I stared at it, entranced, Crown Prince Bin Salman approached and took the seat beside me.
“Take my sister when she reaches the age Korean law allows. Provided you haven't found someone else by then.”
“N-No, that's not… Thank you just for saying it.”
“You're no fun.”
I'd barely dodged the pedophile label and prison time.
Before the roaring brazier, Bin Salman and I chatted lightly for a few minutes.
Memories—not quite memories—from the Saudi coup last time. Updates from back home. Innovations in finance via Cocoa, and the business viability of the Kra Canal.
“I see. That should wrap up the investment neatly.”
“Thank you for understanding, Crown Prince.”
“Of course. A investor's first rule is trust in the venture. Speaking of which.”
Crown Prince Bin Salman prodded the fire with an iron poker in hand.
Watching the sparks play in the basin, he suddenly recalled and got to the point with me.
The point about the Islamic forces, something he as their leader could answer.
“You had a question for me about the Islamic forces?”