Chapter 109: The Arabs Want to Join?

July 14, 1906, noon.

The desert heat wave baked the air until it warped. Chen Feng stood beside an open‑top jeep, watching the distant Gobi—where the site for Dock No. 10 would be chosen. Wang Bo held a large black umbrella behind him, its shade shrinking into a tiny patch on the sand.

"Young Master, they have arrived," Wang Bo whispered.

A caravan of camels appeared on the horizon—about twenty, arranged in a loose Column, their bells tinkling in the hot wind. The riders wore traditional white robes, red‑and‑white checkered headscarves, and curved knives at their waists.

Chen Feng smoothed his sweat‑damp collar. Today he deliberately wore a plain khaki shirt and trousers, not his signature Zhongshan suit. It was a posture—not as president, but as neighbor, as negotiator.

The camel caravan halted thirty meters away. Leading it was a man in his sixties, his beard speckled with gray, his face etched with desert‑wind wrinkles. He dismounted with still agile movements, landing almost silently.

"Elder Sa Leman," Chen Feng greeted in Arabic, his pronunciation a bit stiff but clear enough.

The elder's deep eyes surveyed Chen Feng, then he smiled, revealing a few gold teeth: "Mr. Chen, you are younger than I imagined."

"You are also more dignified than I imagined," Chen Feng said, a polite phrase taught to him by Wang Wenwu.

The two men shook hands. Sa Leman's palm was as rough as sandpaper, yet his grip was gentle—a sign of respect.

"Then let us speak directly," Sa Leman pointed to the Gobi, "my people have grazed this desert for three hundred years. Now you intend to dig a… a massive water pool here?"

"Not a water pool, a dock," Chen Feng explained, "a place to build warships."

"Warships," Sa Leman repeated, his Arabic carrying an ancient Bedouin accent, "those iron ships as big as mountains?"

"Yes."

"Can they bring you home? Back to the homeland beyond the sea?"

The question was blunt. Chen Feng paused, then nodded: "Yes. Without them, we cannot return."

Sa Leman stared silently at the Gobi. The hot wind lifted sand, forming a thin veil between them. His people sat upon camels, waiting quietly. These desert dwellers have lived here for countless generations, understanding the language of the wind and the whisper of the sand, yet now they faced steel, steam engines, and a wholly different civilization.

"Mr. Chen," Sa Leman finally spoke, "my grandson, ten this year, studies at the school you run, learning mathematics and your language. Yesterday he asked me, 'Grandfather, why do we live in tents while the city folk live in stone houses?'"

Chen Feng waited for the continuation.

"I cannot answer him," Sa Leman said, "because my father lived in tents, my grandfather lived in tents; we have lived in tents for generations. But the times have changed—smoking factories have appeared in the desert, rail tracks, and lights at night brighter than the stars."

He turned, looking at Chen Feng:

"My people have debated at length. Some say we should stay away from you, preserve tradition. Some say we should demand more money from you, then move deeper into the desert. But I say—no."

"Then what do you propose?" Chen Feng asked.

Sa Leman inhaled deeply, the desert's hot air filling his cracked lungs:

"We wish to join you."

The words, spoken in Arabic, sounded ancient and weighty. Wang Bo's translation lagged a beat, as he needed to be sure he had heard correctly.

"Join… Lanfang?" Chen Feng repeated.

"Yes," Sa Leman nodded, "not moving into your houses, not abandoning our faith and traditions. Rather… becoming part of this new nation. Our children can study in your schools, our patients can be treated in your hospitals. And we can serve as guides, as guards, doing what is needed to survive in the desert."

He paused, then added:

"Of course, the land remains ours. But we are willing to share it with you—not rent, not sell, but share."

Chen Feng said nothing. He gazed at the desert elder, at the eyes that had seen decades of wind and sand. It was not a rash impulse, but a deliberated decision. An ancient nomadic people, when confronted with the onslaught of industrial civilization, chose to embrace rather than flee.

"Elder Sa Leman," Chen Feng said slowly, "Lanfang is a Chinese nation. Our laws, language, and culture are designed with the Chinese as the primary entity."

"We know," Sa Leman said, "we do not ask you to change these. We only ask—to be treated as one of your own. Not guests, not outsiders, but our own."

"That means you must obey our laws."

"As long as it does not contradict the teachings of the Almighty."

"Taxes must be paid."

"We can offset them with camels, wool, and guide services."

"We will serve in the military—if the nation requires it."

Sa Leman laughed, this time showing all his gold teeth: "Mr. Chen, my people are the finest warriors. We grew up in the desert; each of us knows how to wield a knife, a gun, track, and survive. If you need soldiers, we are more suitable than city folk."

The conversation paused there. The hot wind kept blowing, the camel bells tinkling. At a distant construction site, a pile‑driving machine had begun work, its dull thuds sounding like the earth's heartbeat.

"Wang Bo," Chen Feng said in We need to output lines: English, "what do you think?"

Wang Bo folded away his umbrella, letting the desert sun fall directly on his face. The elder squinted, answering Sa Leman directly in Arabic:

"Elder, I am in my sixties. In my hometown there is an old saying: 'Those who sweat together are brothers.' Are you willing to sweat together with us?"

Sa Leman looked at Wang Bo, the elder who always stood silently behind Chen Feng. He nodded:

"We are already sweating. My three sons work on your railway, ten hours a day; the wages feed our whole family. This is not charity, it is what we earn with our sweat."

"Very well," Wang Bo turned to Chen Feng, "Young Master, I think it is acceptable. But there must be rules."

Chen Feng looked back at Sa Leman: "Elder, if we accept, we will need to establish some regulations."

"Please speak."

"First, all tribal members joining Lanfang must register their identity. We will issue ID cards—however, to differentiate, Chinese IDs are red, Arab‑ethnic IDs are blue. This is not discrimination, but an administrative need. Red and blue are both national colors."

Sa Leman thought for a few seconds: "It can be done."

"Second, you must learn basic Mandarin. Not to mastery, but enough to understand simple commands and conduct daily communication."

"Our children are already learning."

"Third, you retain your religious freedom, but religious activities must stay within the bounds of the law."

"That is natural."

"Fourth," Chen Feng paused, "the most important— you are Lanfang citizens, enjoying all civic rights and bearing all civic duties. This means that when the nation faces danger, we defend it together; when it develops, we build it together."