World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

"Your Majesty," he said, raising his glass, "Lanfang is different from England."

Ahmed also raised his glass.

"I hope so."

The two wine glasses clinked together, making a crisp sound.

After the banquet, Wang Guojian walked out of the palace and stood on the steps at the entrance, looking at the night view of Tehran.

The moon was round and bright, illuminating the entire city with a silvery glow. The distant mosque, the nearby houses, and the streets leading to who-knows-where all appeared exceptionally quiet under the moonlight.

Chen Dalei walked up to him and offered him a cigarette.

"Commander, what are you thinking about?"

Wang Guojian took the cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag.

"Thinking of that young king." He exhaled a puff of smoke. "He's only nineteen, but he's more mature in his speech and actions than a thirty-year-old."

Chen Dalei nodded.

"Yes, he became king at the age of eight and served as a puppet for eleven years. How could he not be shrewd?"

Wang Guojian remained silent.

He remembered Ahmed's smile at the banquet—the childlike smile of someone receiving praise. That was the real smile. The others—the wary, shrewd, ever-calculating eyes—were all products of being king.

"Commander," Chen Dalei suddenly asked, "do you think we'll withdraw after occupying Iran?"

Wang Guojian looked at him and remained silent for three seconds.

"I don't know. That's a matter for the President to consider. We just need to focus on fighting the war."

Chen Dalei nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

In the distance, a patrol of soldiers passed by, their footsteps particularly clear in the quiet night. They were Lanfang's soldiers, dressed in yellow uniforms, carrying rifles, marching in neat rows, step by step.

Looking at the group of soldiers, Wang Guojian suddenly thought of a question: Did they know what they were doing? Did they know why they came to this unfamiliar country and why they were patrolling in this unfamiliar city?

he does not know.

Perhaps they don't know either.

But they are doing it. They are carrying out orders. They are fulfilling their duties.

This is enough.

Meanwhile, the Abadan oil field.

As dawn broke, Yang Guoyan got up. Wearing a vest and shorts, and barefoot on a straw mat, he walked to the window and opened it.

A salty sea breeze blew in, carrying the scent of oil. In the distance, the massive oil storage tanks gleamed silver in the morning light, like tiny silver mountains. Oil pipelines crisscrossed like the veins of a giant beast. Drilling rigs stood tall, their tops still spewing forth burning fumes.

This is the Abadan oil field—the heart of the British Empire in the Persian Gulf, and one of the richest oil fields in the world.

Yang Guoyan watched for a while, then put on his clothes and left the room.

The camp was quiet; the soldiers were still asleep. Yesterday had been a long day—taking over the oil field, inventorying equipment, and assigning sentries—everyone was exhausted. Only the sentries stood on high ground, vigilantly watching their surroundings.

Yang Guoyan walked to the edge of the oil field, where an Iranian man in work clothes stood. The man was in his forties, with a full beard, and was holding a wrench, inspecting a piece of equipment.

Yang Guoyan walked over and asked in English, "Good morning. What's your name?"

The man looked up, saw that it was a Lanfang military officer, paused for a moment, and then hurriedly nodded and bowed.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Haishan, and I'm the foreman here."

Yang Guoyan nodded.

"Haishan, do you know how to operate these devices?"

Haishen nodded: "Yes, sir. The British taught us. We've worked here for many years."

Yang Guoyan looked at the complex pipes and equipment and remained silent for a few seconds.

"The British are gone, are you still willing to continue?"

Haishan paused for a moment, then nodded frantically: "Yes, sir! We all have wives and children, and we all need to eat. As long as... as long as we get paid."

Yang Guoyan smiled.

"Wages will be paid as usual. Lanfang will pay whatever the British pay. No, a little more than the British."

Haishan's eyes lit up.

"Really, sir?"

"Really." Yang Guoyan patted him on the shoulder. "Go tell the others that those who want to continue can register today. Those who don't want to can leave. Lanfang won't pay for their travel expenses, but she won't make things difficult for them either."

Haishan ran off bowing and scraping, calling back as she went, "Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!"

Yang Guoyan stood there, looking at the equipment that was gleaming in the morning light.

Fan Pupu walked over from behind and stood beside him.

"Old Yang, are you really going to give them more money?"

Yang Guoyan did not turn around.

"Add a little bit, and you'll get thousands of skilled workers to do the work. It's not a loss."

Fan Pupu thought for a moment and nodded.

"That's true. If the British run away and these workers run away too, the oil field will be ruined."

Yang Guoyan turned around and looked at him.

"So we have to let them know that working for Lanfang is better than working for the British."

In the distance, workers emerged from their dormitories one after another. Wearing oil-stained work clothes and carrying tools, they walked towards the construction site in twos and threes. Some looked curiously at the Lanfang soldiers, some walked quickly with their heads down, and some whispered among themselves.

A young worker walked up to Yang Guoyan, hesitated for a moment, and then asked in broken English:

"Sir,... can we... still continue working?"

Yang Guoyan looked at him. The boy looked to be under twenty years old, with a childlike face, but there was something familiar in his eyes—the look of a poor child struggling to make ends meet.

"Yes," Yang Guoyan said. "Not only can we, but we'll also give you extra money."

The child paused for a moment, then smiled. That smile warmed Yang Guoyan's heart.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!"

He bowed, turned and ran, shouting back as he went, "The pay is here! The people of Lanfang are getting their pay!"

More workers gathered around, bombarding him with questions. Yang Guoyan stood in the middle, answering them one by one. Sunlight shone on his face, on his oil-stained military uniform, and on the expectant faces of the workers.

Fan Pupu stood aside, watching this scene, and suddenly smiled.

"Old Yang, you're better than the British."

Yang Guoyan turned around and glanced at him.

"It's not that we're better than the British, it's that we're smarter than the British."

Three days later, Wang Guojian received a telegram from Chen Feng.

The telegram contained only one line:

"The Iran agreement has been approved. Your unit will remain in Tehran to support subsequent operations. Yang and Fan's units will remain in Abadan to ensure the normal operation of the oil field."

Wang Guojian read the telegram three times, then folded it up and put it in his pocket.

He stepped out of his room and stood on the steps outside the palace, looking out over the streets of Tehran. People were coming and going, vendors were hawking their wares, carriages were running, and children were chasing each other. Everything seemed no different from the days before.

But everything is different now.

The British left. Lanfang arrived.

The people who rule this land have changed, but life goes on.

Ahmed came out of the palace and stood beside him.

"General Wang, has the Commander-in-Chief agreed?"

Wang Guojian nodded.

"Agreed. Fair trade, no cheating the young or old."

Ahmed smiled. It was a much more relaxed smile than the one he had at the banquet.

"That's good." He looked at the crowd coming and going. "At least I won't have to spend my whole life having to put up with the British like my father did."

Wang Guojian turned to look at him.

"Your Majesty, you will no longer need to be mindful of anyone's feelings."

Ahmed remained silent for a few seconds.

"Is that so?" he murmured. "I hope so."

In the distance, the call to prayer echoed from the mosque, long and desolate. It was the call to worship, a call that had resounded daily for over a thousand years.

As Wang Guojian listened to the voice, a strange feeling suddenly arose in him—this land was far more ancient than Lanfang. It had witnessed the rise and fall of countless dynasties, the comings and goings of countless armies. The British came and went. The Russians came and went. Now Lanfang had arrived.