Xiaomi Heavy Industry, its first entrepreneurial venture!

Chapter 154 Escaping Syria! (First Update!)

After reading the entire news article, Lin Yi felt a sense of familiarity, as if he had seen it before.

He turned his head and laughed. This news about Syria was almost a carbon copy of the chaos in Tunisia in his past life.

They just changed the main character.

It's the same familiar recipe and the same familiar operating method.

If this wasn't done by the CIA, Lin Yi would have twisted his own head off and used it as a football.

After the news segment ended, the program resumed normal broadcast, and the attention of the people in the cafeteria shifted from the television back to their dining tables.

At this moment, Liu Daneng suddenly asked, "Boss, how far is Syria from the country of those two businessmen who came last time?"

"If they start fighting over there, will our business be affected?"

When asked this question, Lin Yi, holding a prawn with his chopsticks, didn't know whether to say it was difficult or easy to make.

Although Liu Daneng was involved in the entire process of the last gas cylinder shell transaction, he never actually saw what it looked like when assembled.

They naturally didn't know it was a shell casing.

He didn't really want to answer the question, but when he came to his senses, he found that the once noisy restaurant had become quiet, and the workers who had been all smiles had turned to look at him.

Noticing these gazes, Lin Yi knew he needed to offer some comfort.

Otherwise, morale could easily collapse.

Pretending to frown and ponder for a moment, Lin Yi let out a long sigh:
"Syria is right next to Iraq, and the two countries are actually of the same ethnicity."

"The chaos in Syria is affecting Iraq, and it's also impacting our business."

"But it's okay, we can sell it elsewhere."

“Look, our goods are selling very well in Japan.”

So eat and drink as you please.

"We have a holiday tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and the day after that. Remember to come to work on time."

After fooling the person, he lowered his head and continued peeling the shrimp in his hand.

Before I could finish peeling the shrimp in my hand, a slender hand handed me a peeled shrimp.

Following closely behind was Ji Shuangshuang's emotionless voice: "Eat!"

Lin Yi accepted the shrimp without hesitation, and the next second, the people at the table started making a series of strange noises.

"Alas--"

"Yo--"

"Hey--"

Lin Yi ignored him and focused on enjoying the prawns.

After eating one, there's another one left.

The unrest that occurred in Syria, thousands of miles away, had little impact on China.

It has a greater impact on neighboring countries.

Basra, Iraq.

Khalid sat in the corner, huddled in the shadows, clutching a cell phone in his hand.

The screen of a mobile phone is dimly lit, and if you are not careful, you may just mistake it for a piece of reflective glass.

He would occasionally look down at his phone screen, only to find no new messages. Then he would look up again, gazing at the sky with a helpless expression.

Just then, he heard a rustling sound of footsteps beside him. He quickly turned his head, grabbed a pistol from his pocket with his free left hand, and aimed it at the source of the sound.

"it's me!"

In the darkness, Muhammad walked on the sand, carrying an oil lamp in his left hand and a basket in his right. The basket was uncovered, and by the light of the oil lamp, one could vaguely see two flatbreads and a bowl of yogurt inside.

Putting down the basket, Muhammad ignored Khalid, picked up a flatbread, poured some yogurt on it, and began to eat it as if no one else was there.

After eating half a pancake, he turned around and noticed that Khalid still hadn't eaten anything, so he simply asked:
"Hasn't your brother replied to your message yet?"

"No reply!"

With a reply, Khalid stuffed his phone into his pocket, picked up the biscuits from the basket, poured the remaining yogurt onto the biscuits, and began to eat them in large bites.

Halfway through his meal, he looked up at the sky and said helplessly:

"It depends on their luck."

"If you're lucky, nothing will happen; if you're unlucky, then it's really bad."

Tearing off a piece of bread and stuffing it into his mouth, Muhammad turned his head curiously: "By the way, why didn't you send your brother to Europe?"

"The benefits there are great; you can eat and drink for free there, and it's safe too."

“It’s hard to leave one’s homeland!” Khalid suddenly said in Chinese in the darkness, which puzzled Mohammed.

He didn't understand, but he could tell it was Chinese.

He stuffed the pancake into his mouth, took a bite, and then promptly changed the subject:
"Ahmed just told me that he's going to China. That Mr. Lin asked him to bring back some fun things."

"He asked me to ask you if there's anything else you need to bring back, so he can bring it along with you."

Khalid lowered his eyes and thought for a long time, but couldn't think of anything he should bring.

Just when Muhammad thought he wasn't going to bring anything, he suddenly spoke again:
"Have him bring me some vegetable seeds!"

"what?"

"I suddenly want to grow some vegetables!"

"Oh!"

After stuffing the last bite of bread into his mouth, Muhammad tossed the empty bowl into his basket, stood up, dusted himself off, and slowly walked into the darkness.

Khalid, who remained where he was, waited until the sounds around him gradually faded away, then took out his phone and stared intently at the screen.

About twenty minutes later, a message popped up on the screen.

[Brother, all is well! Your younger brother, Holimud.]

Seeing the pop-up message, Khalid hurriedly typed a message and sent it.

Leave Damascus immediately, leave Syria. Syria is unsafe, even more unsafe than Iraq. Go to England; it's safe there.

Within seconds of the message being sent, the other party replied with a few words.

I'm packing my bags; I'm leaving first thing tomorrow morning!

Khalid breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the message.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, dusted himself off, got up, and walked into the darkness.

Basra heads west, crosses the desert, goes across the border between Iraq and Syria, and continues along the highway to reach Damascus, the Syrian capital.

In Europe, Damascus is a symbol of history, culture, and romance, thanks to the special and prized Damask rose it produces.

These roses are very beautiful, extremely beautiful.

Yet this city, hailed by Europeans as a symbol of culture and romanticism, was anything but romantic at this moment.

In the darkness, countless people, their bodies shrouded in robes, rode motorcycles, carrying torches and burning Molotov cocktails, wandering the streets and alleys of Syria.

Upon seeing Syrian National Defense Army or police in uniform, they would simply throw a torch at them or hurl a Molotov cocktail at them.

The Molotov cocktail contains no alcohol, only gasoline.

The bottle shattered upon impact, spilling gasoline all over the ground. The flames from the bottle opening instantly ignited the gasoline, which in turn ignited everything around it.

Hollem leaned against the window, looked at the scene outside for a while, then decisively closed the window and turned to the children behind him, saying:
"Get up early tomorrow morning, have breakfast, and then go to the airport with your mother."

"From now on, you must listen to your mother. When your mother is not home, no matter who knocks on the door, you must not open it. Baka, you are the older brother, so you must take good care of your younger sisters."

"Don't bully your sisters. They are your closest relatives in this world, besides your parents."

"You must remember this!"

"Also, when you are in a foreign country, you must listen to your mother. But if anyone dares to bully your mother and sister, you must bravely stand up for them."

"Because you're a little man now!"

Holim grabbed his son's fist with his left hand, while he himself clenched his left fist, and the two fists gently collided together.

The son let out a cheerful laugh, turned around, and slowly herded his three younger sisters into the bedroom, throwing them all onto the bed and forcibly covering them with blankets.

After instructing the children, Holimd turned and headed towards the master bedroom. Inside, his wife, Salma, was packing her luggage. Hearing the noise at the door, she immediately looked up, her eyes filled with tears, and gazed at her husband.

"Are we really going to leave?"

Hollemd walked over, gently embraced his wife, patted her back softly with his right hand, and whispered a few comforting words.

After his wife calmed down, he said in a firm tone, "I have to leave!"

Salma could hear the determination in her husband's words, but she couldn't bear to leave her homeland.

Suddenly having to leave the hometown where you've lived for decades is not something you can do easily; you have family, relatives, and friends here.

Sensing his wife's reluctance, Holim placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.

The two looked into each other's eyes for a long time, and then Holim said softly:
“You know what? A month or two ago, my brother Khalid told me that America was going to take action against Islamic countries.”

"And it is very likely to be Syria."

"He asked me to take you to Europe."

“I tested your attitude at the time, and you didn’t really want to leave, so I rejected him.”

"But now, my dear, we must leave."

"Even if this is our country, our homeland, we still have to leave."

"Even if we leave, our family of five will live happily together."

"But if I stay here, I don't know what will happen."

His tone was very serious, and after listening, his wife Salma slowly lowered her head.

After a while, she raised her head again, looking at her husband with a pleading expression:

"Can I bring my mom and dad?"

Upon uttering those words, Holimd's newly formed serious demeanor vanished instantly. He let out a long sigh and placed his hands on Salma's shoulders:

"You and the child should go out first and get to a safe place."

"I'll stay here to take care of my parents and earn a salary on the side."

"If the situation improves, you can come back. If the situation doesn't improve, I'll find an opportunity to bring my parents and your younger brother to join you."

Her husband's words, which sounded like his last words, overwhelmed Salma with grief. She hugged him tightly and wept uncontrollably.

Scenes of separation occurred in ordinary families, as well as in high-ranking families in Syria.

On the other side of the city, in the Maliki district north of Damascus.

This is a traditional wealthy area of ​​Damascus, Syria. Unlike the low-rise houses in other parts of the city, here stand tall buildings and villas.

In the north-central part of the affluent area, several military trucks with desert paint schemes were parked in front of a very inconspicuous villa.

Syrian Defense Minister Suleimania sat in the third car in the convoy, not in the front, but in the back.

He sat on that very ordinary-looking little stool, lighting a cigarette every now and then, but not smoking it; he just held the cigarette between his fingers, glancing at it every now and then.

When the third cigarette burned out, he finally picked up the walkie-talkie and roared into the other end:
"Where are they? What's going on? Why haven't they come out yet?"

His roar elicited a trembling, fearful voice from the other end of the walkie-talkie:
"General Suleimania, the lady has been tidying up her jewelry and hasn't finished yet, and she's still putting on makeup."

Upon receiving this message, Suleimania was so enraged that he flew into a rage and began cursing into the walkie-talkie:
"Give her the walkie-talkie!"

"No, give the walkie-talkie to the young master."

A series of hurried footsteps came through the walkie-talkie, and soon, a boy's voice came through:
"Father!"

"Take your younger siblings out right now, and I'll have someone take you to a safe place. As for your mother, don't worry about her."

After saying that, Suleimania hung up the walkie-talkie.

The walkie-talkie was disconnected, and he was about to light another cigarette when the back curtain of the truck was pulled open, revealing his bodyguard standing there holding a satellite phone.
"General, it's President THAAD on the phone!"

Cursing under his breath, Suleimania reluctantly took the phone:
"Mr. President!"

An aged voice came through the satellite phone, carrying a hint of authority and a touch of anger:
"Suleimania, where are you?"

"Mr. President, something just happened at home, I'm coming right away."

After hanging up the satellite phone, Suleimania summoned the captain of his personal guard, arranged things at home, and then immediately rushed to another car, ordering someone to drive it at high speed toward the October Palace, west of the Marie Forbidden Zone.

Fortunately, the distance between the two is not far, only 1 kilometer as the crow flies, and even with the detour, it does not exceed 2 kilometers.

A dozen minutes later, led by security personnel, Suleimania entered the simple command center of the October Palace.

In the operations command center, besides President Saad, there were also the Director of the Security Bureau, Isar; the Chief of the General Staff, Maher; the Commander-in-Chief of the Army, Saloi; the Commander-in-Chief of the Air Force, Andros; the Russian commander stationed in Syria, Sherikov; and Hassan, an instructor dispatched by the Iranian Revolutionary Guard.

A group of people were standing there, seemingly discussing something. Hearing the noise at the door, they all turned their heads and stared intently at Suleimania as he entered.

After chuckling twice, Suleimania immediately leaned closer: "Mr. President, is there anything I can do for you?"

Sadr did not speak, but simply turned his gaze to Hassan and Sherikov.

Wearing the uniform of a Russian Navy rear admiral, Sherikov tapped the table with his hand:
"In the coming period, our air force will cooperate with the Hezbollah combat brigade under Instructor Hassan to carry out targeted strikes against the armed groups in Korla in the northeast region."

"Minister Suleimania's task is to ensure the supply of materials and the medical care of personnel."

"As long as we don't panic, the current chaos isn't a big problem."

(End of this chapter)