Chapter 166: Lanfang Returns

"I'm going to the old headquarters site," Wang Bo cut him off, "Go now."

Amir looked at the old man's steady gaze and knew he couldn't be persuaded.

"Fine," he turned to the guard sergeant and said, "Khalid, take a company and protect Wang Bo to the headquarters. Take the main road, avoid the combat zone. If anything happens, withdraw immediately."

"Yes!"

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

The road conditions were terrible. Though called a main road, it was merely a slightly wider dirt track, riddled with pits, flanked by dense tropical vegetation. The closer to the city, the more obvious the war's scars: abandoned roadblocks, burned vehicles, and occasional corpses—mostly Dutch garrison troops.

"After yesterday's naval battle ended, the Dutch began to retreat," Amir said while driving, "But their retreat was chaotic; some units received orders, others didn't. There's still scattered resistance in the city."

Wang Bo said nothing. He clutched the door handle tightly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

After a turn, Kun Dian's cityscape appeared.

Unlike the modern city of Dubai, Kun Dian resembled an enlarged fishing village: low wooden houses, narrow lanes, palm trees everywhere. At this moment, civilians were almost absent— the Dutch authorities had imposed curfew, and most residents stayed indoors.

Only Lanfang's soldiers were active. They moved in squads and platoons, searching street by street, clearing remaining enemies. When they saw the Division Commander's convoy, the troops stood at attention and saluted.

"Where is the headquarters?" Amir asked.

"Ahead, the city center," Wang Bo's voice was soft, "the biggest building… or rather, the one that used to be the biggest."

The convoy kept moving. After passing several streets, an open square came into view.

It was less a plaza than a weed‑overgrown clearing. In the center, the faint outline of a building's foundation could be seen—the scar left by a great fire. A few charred stone pillars still stood, pointing skyward like tombstones.

That was the old site of Lanfang's headquarters.

In 1876, Dutch artillery smashed the main gate; soldiers stormed in, shot the last guard, then set the whole building ablaze. The fire raged for three days and three nights, turning Lanfang Company's 110 years of accumulation—documents, ledgers, artifacts, furniture—into ash.

Wang Bo ordered the vehicle to stop.

He pushed the door open, and the moment his foot touched the ground his body swayed. Amir quickly steadied him, but the old man waved his hand and stood firm on his own.

Step by step, he walked toward the ruin.

The wind swept the clearing, the grass rustling. A few crows rose from the charred pillars, cawing as they circled. Distant, sporadic gunshots could be heard, but here only the wind and a heartbeat.

Wang Bo approached a pillar and reached out to touch it. Though weathered, the exquisite carved pattern—a dragon, Lanfang's emblem—was still visible.

"This pillar…" the old man's finger traced the motif, "was the stone my father selected himself. He said the headquarters hall should have four dragon pillars, symbolizing Lanfang's solid foundation, unshakable for ten thousand years."

His hand trembled:

"But it fell. It stood only eight years."

Amir stood behind him, unsure what to say. As an Arab, he couldn't fully grasp a pain that spanned forty‑four years. Yet he felt the weight—like a mountain pressing on the old man's shoulders.

"My father fell right there," Wang Bo pointed to the center of the hall ruins, "clutching a ledger, a Dutch rifle stock smashed his head—once, twice, three times… I hid in a cabinet behind the door, watching through a crack. Blood… so much blood…"

Tears finally fell, tracing the lines on his face.

"Then the fire started. It was set by the Dutch. My mother grabbed me and we fled through the back door into a sugar‑cane field. Looking back, the entire headquarters was ablaze, the flames reddening half the sky."

He turned and looked at Amir:

"Division Commander Amir, do you know why I returned? Not out of hatred—though I do hate the Dutch—but because of a promise. I told my father I'd come back someday. To tell him: Dad, your son hasn't forgotten."

Amir inhaled deeply, "Wang Bo, you can tell him now. We have returned, with a fleet, with a great army."

Wang Bo shook his head, wiping away tears, "It's not enough. What I must do… isn't limited to this."

He fished a cloth sack from his coat, opened it carefully. Inside was a pinch of gray‑white matter—ashes.

"This is…" Amir was stunned.

"My father's remains," Wang Bo whispered, "After that fire, the Dutch forbade us from retrieving bodies. The headquarters ruins were leveled, the corpses hastily buried. Three years ago I had someone sneak back, found the makeshift burial ground from that year. After three days of digging, I only uncovered this small handful… it's impossible to tell whose they are now. But I know he's among them."

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

"Dad, the son has returned," he said, his voice low but each word clear, "I'm not the only one back; we've brought Lanfang's new army back. Look—"

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

"Those warships, those cannons, those youths—they're ours. We've taken down the Dutch flag. Kun Dian is reclaimed. All of Borneo will be ours."

The wind suddenly rose, lifting the ashes like a swarm of white butterflies fluttering in the air.

Wang Bo lifted his head, letting the ashes fall onto his face:

"Go forward without worry. Lanfang has not perished; Lanfang has returned. Your grandson—no, your grandson's grandson—will build a new headquarters here, larger and stronger than before. They will remember you, remember all ancestors who died for Lanfang."

He bowed three times, then rose slowly.

When he turned, the sorrow on the old man's face had faded, replaced by a calm resolve.

"Division Commander Amir."

"Present."

"Do three things for me," Wang Bo said, "First, erect a monument on these ruins inscribed with the names of all who died in 1876. Second, find the surviving elders in the city and bring them here; I need to speak with them. Third… arrange a loudspeaker for me."

"Loudspeaker?"

"Yes." Wang Bo looked toward the distant street, "I want to tell the people of Kun Dian: Lanfang has returned, and this time, we won't leave again."

Amir looked at the sixty‑eight‑year‑old elder and suddenly understood what a 'backbone' truly is.

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