World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"I'm going to the old site of the main hall," Uncle Wang interrupted him. "Let's go now."

Looking into the old man's determined eyes, Amir knew he couldn't persuade him otherwise.

"Alright." He turned to the guard sergeant and said, "Khalid, take a platoon and escort Uncle Wang to the main hall. Take the main road and avoid the combat zone. If anything happens, retreat immediately."

"yes!"

A few minutes later, a small convoy set off: two jeeps and one armored personnel carrier. Wang Bo sat in the passenger seat of the first jeep, while Amir drove—he insisted on accompanying them.

The road conditions were terrible. It was called a main road, but it was really just a slightly wider dirt road, full of potholes, with dense tropical vegetation on both sides. The closer you got to the city, the more obvious the signs of war became: abandoned roadblocks, burned vehicles, and the occasional corpse—mostly Dutch soldiers.

"The Dutch began their retreat after the naval battle yesterday," Amir said as he drove. "But their retreat was chaotic; some units received orders, and some didn't. There's still sporadic resistance in the city."

Uncle Wang didn't speak. He gripped the car door handle tightly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

After turning a corner, the city of Pontianak came into view.

Unlike Dubai's modern cities, Pontianak is more like an enlarged fishing village: low wooden houses, narrow streets, and palm trees everywhere. But at this moment, there are hardly any civilians to be seen on the streets—Dutch authorities have imposed a curfew, and most residents are staying at home.

Only Lanfang's soldiers were active. They searched street by street and alley by platoon and squad, clearing out the remaining enemy forces. Upon seeing the division commander's convoy, the soldiers stood at attention and saluted.

"Where is the main headquarters?" Amir asked.

"Go forward, to the city center," Uncle Wang said softly, "to the largest building... or rather, the one that used to be the largest."

The convoy continued onward. After passing through several streets, a spacious square came into view.

It was less of a plaza and more of a clearing overgrown with weeds. In the center of the clearing, the outlines of building foundations were faintly visible—traces left by a fire. Several charred stone pillars still stood, pointing to the sky like tombstones.

That was the former site of the Lanfang General Hall.

In 1876, Dutch artillery fire breached the gates, soldiers stormed in, shot the last defenders, and then set the entire building ablaze. The fire raged for three days and three nights, reducing the Lanfang Company's 110-year legacy—documents, ledgers, artifacts, furniture—to ashes.

Uncle Wang stopped the car.

He pushed open the car door, and the moment his foot touched the ground, he swayed. Amir quickly steadied him, but the old man waved his hand and regained his balance.

Step by step, he walked toward the ruins.

The wind rustled through the open space. A few crows took flight from the charred stone pillars, cawing and circling. Sporadic gunshots rang out in the distance, but here, only the wind and heartbeats could be heard.

Uncle Wang walked up to a stone pillar and reached out to touch it. The surface of the pillar was weathered, but the exquisite carvings were still visible—a dragon pattern, a symbol of Lanfang.

"This pillar..." The old man's fingers traced the patterns on the stone. "My father personally selected the stone. He said that four dragon pillars should be erected in the main hall to symbolize the solid foundation of Lanfang, which will stand for ten thousand years."

His hands were trembling:

"But it collapsed. It only stood for eight years."

Amir stood behind him, unsure what to say. As an Arab, he couldn't fully comprehend the pain that had spanned forty-four years. But he could feel the weight—a weight like a mountain pressing down on the old man's shoulders.

"My father fell right there," Uncle Wang said, pointing to the center of the ruins. "He was clutching his account books when the Dutchman's rifle butt smashed into his head. Once, twice, three times... I was hiding in the cabinet behind the door, and I saw everything through the crack. Blood... so much blood..."

Tears finally streamed down his face, down the wrinkles on his cheeks.

"Then it caught fire. The Dutch set it on fire. My mother grabbed me and we ran out the back door into the sugarcane field. When we looked back, the entire main building was burning, and the flames turned half the sky red."

He turned around and looked at Amir:

"Commander Amir, do you know why I came back? It's not because of hatred—although I hate the Dutch—but because of a promise. I promised my father that one day I would come back and tell him: Dad, your son hasn't forgotten."

Amir took a deep breath: "Uncle Wang, you can tell him now. We're back, with our fleet and our army."

Uncle Wang shook his head and wiped away his tears: "It's not enough. I need to do... more than just this."

He took a cloth bag from his pocket and carefully opened it. Inside was a pinch of grayish-white stuff—ashes.

"This is..." Amir was stunned.

"My father's remains," Uncle Wang said softly. "After the fire that year, the Dutch wouldn't let us collect the bodies. The ruins of the main hall were leveled, and the bodies were hastily buried. Three years ago, I secretly asked someone to come back and find the mass grave from back then. We dug for three days and only found this small handful... It's impossible to tell whose they are anymore. But I know that his is among them."

He held the ashes, walked to the center of the ruins, and knelt down.

"Dad, your son is back." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear. "Not only am I back, we've also returned with Lanfang's new army. Look—"

He pointed to the edge of the square, where armored vehicles were parked and fully armed soldiers stood:

"Those warships, those cannons, those young men—they are all ours. We've pulled down the Dutch flag. We've reclaimed Pontianak. We'll take back the whole of Borneo."

The wind suddenly picked up, blowing up the ashes, which fluttered in the air like a flock of white butterflies.

Uncle Wang raised his head, letting the ashes fall onto his face:

"Rest assured. Lanfang is not dead; Lanfang has returned. Your grandson—no, your grandson's grandson—will build a new main hall here, bigger and stronger than the original. They will remember you, and all the ancestors who died for Lanfang."

He kowtowed three times, then slowly stood up.

When he turned around, the sadness on the old man's face had faded, replaced by a calm and resolute expression.

"Commander Amir."

"exist."

"Help me with three things," Uncle Wang said. "First, erect a monument on these ruins, inscribed with the names of all those who died in 1876. Second, find the elderly people still alive in the city and invite them here; I want to speak with them. Third... prepare a megaphone for me."

"loudspeaker?"

"Yes." Uncle Wang looked at the street in the distance. "I want to tell the people of Pontianak: Lanfang is back, and this time, she's never leaving again."

Looking at the 68-year-old man, Amir suddenly understood what "backbone" meant.

"I'll take care of it right away."