Chapter 702: Night in Tehran

Wang Guojian walked up to him, and according to the etiquette he had learned beforehand, placed his right hand on his chest and gave a slight bow.

"Your Majesty the King, I am Wang Guojian, commander of the Third Division of the Western Front Corps of the Lanfang Republic, ordered to lead my troops to Tehran. Thank you, Your Majesty, for the warm reception."

Aiha Maide looked at him and was silent for three seconds.

Then he extended his hand and, in halting English, said, "Welcome, General Wang. Yilang welcomes Lanfang's friends."

His hand was slender and pale, without calluses—a hand that had never done labor. But his eyes—those eyes did not look nineteen. In those eyes was something Wang Guojian recognized—a gaze that only those who grew up in danger possess: vigilant, shrewd, always observing, always calculating.

Wang Guojian grasped that hand.

"Your Majesty, your Chinese is quite good."

Aiha Maide smiled. That kind of smile reminded Wang Guojian of Haishan—a smile of a clever person.

"I studied for three months. From the day I learned Lanfang would come."

Wang Guojian was momentarily stunned, then smiled as well.

"Your Majesty is very foresighted."

Aiha Maide turned sideways and made a beckoning gesture: "Please sit. Let us talk at leisure."

The two sat beside a low table. A servant brought tea and pastries—the tea was black tea with sugar cubes and mint; the pastries came in many varieties, sweet, salty, fried, baked, filling the table.

Aiha Maide lifted his teacup, took a sip, then set it down.

"General Wang, you fought well in Malaya. You also fought well in Myanmar," he said, looking at Wang Guojian, his eyes flashing, "The Yingguo fled, abandoning us."

Wang Guojian gave no reply. He was waiting.

Aiha Maide continued, "It has been a hundred years. The Yingguo have been here for a hundred years. They taught my father how to be a king, taught my grandfather how to be a king, taught my great‑grandfather how to be a king. They gave us loans, making us indebted to them; they sent advisors to 'manage' our country; they stationed troops to protect our 'security'."

He paused, his voice dropping lower.

"But when they themselves need protection, they run faster than anyone."

Wang Guojian finally spoke, "Your Majesty, Lanfang will not run."

Aiha Maide looked at him, for a long time.

"I know," he said, "If you were to run, you wouldn't have fought Singapore, wouldn't have fought Myanmar, wouldn't have chased to the edge of the Suez Canal."

He stood up and walked to a massive Persian carpet. The carpet was embroidered with the map of the Persian Empire—from the Indus River to the Mediterranean, from the Caucasus to the Persian Gulf. That was Persia over two thousand years ago, the first super‑power in human history.

"General Wang, do you know how vast Persia once was?"

Wang Guojian stood and walked to his side.

"I know. In the Darius era, Persia had seventy peoples and tens of millions of inhabitants."

Aiha Maide nodded.

"And now? Only Yilang remains. The Yingguo came and sliced away our lands piece by piece. The Russian came and did the same. In a hundred years, Persia became Yilang, the great empire became a small nation."

He turned and looked at Wang Guojian.

"General Wang, will Lanfang carve up our land?"

Wang Guojian was silent for three seconds.

"Your Majesty, you should ask our president about that. I am only a division commander; I cannot decide for the president."

Aiha Maide smiled. That smile eased Wang Guojian's mind—this nineteen‑year‑old knew what could be asked and what could not.

"Fine, then I will go to Dubai and ask the president later." He walked back to the table and sat again, "But now, I want to ask you first—General Wang, what do you think Lanfang needs?"

Wang Guojian thought for a moment.

"Oil fields," he said. "The Abadan oil fields. Also Yilang's tin, tungsten, copper. Lanfang needs resources; Your Majesty has resources. Fair trade, honest to all."

Aiha Maide nodded.

"Fair trade. I like that phrase." He lifted his teacup and took another sip, "The Yingguo also speak of fair trade, but the price they offer is half the market price. They say it is because of a 'management fee'."

Wang Guojian smiled.

"Your Majesty, rest assured, Lanfang does not play that game. Whatever the market price is, Lanfang will pay that amount. Money in one hand, goods in the other."

Aiha Maide set down his teacup and extended his hand.

"Deal."

Wang Guojian grasped his hand.

The two hands held each other for three seconds, then released.

That night, the palace held a grand banquet to welcome the arrival of Lanfang's troops.

The banquet hall glittered with lights, its long tables laden with all kinds of food—roasted lamb, stewed chicken, pilaf, naan, countless unnamed pastries and fruits. Iranian nobles in sumptuous robes moved among them, wine glasses in hand, conversing in Persian, occasionally casting curious glances at Lanfang officers.

Wang Guojian sat at the head table, next to King Aiha Maide. The young king had changed into a slightly simpler formal suit, yet it remained dazzlingly ornate. He raised a glass of red wine toward Wang Guojian.

"General Wang, taste this wine. Shiraz wine, it has existed for two thousand years."

Wang Guojian lifted his glass and took a sip. The wine was mellow, with a distinctive aroma, entirely different from Chinese baijiu.

"Fine wine," he said.

Aiha Maide laughed heartily. In that moment, he seemed like a nineteen‑year‑old child delighted by praise.

"Glad you like it. When you depart, I will send you several cases. Bring them back for President Chen to taste."

Wang Guojian nodded, saying nothing.

Midway through the banquet, an Iranian officer in uniform approached and whispered a few words into Aiha Maide's ear. Aiha Maide's expression flickered, then quickly returned to normal. He waved his hand, and the officer stepped back.

Wang Guojian watched, asking nothing.

Aiha Maide spoke up himself, "General Wang, just received news. The Yingguo ambassador to Tehran and all embassy staff left this afternoon. They departed in a hurry, leaving many things behind."

Wang Guojian was taken aback for a moment.

"Fled?"

"Fled," Aiha Maide nodded, "They took a train to India, saying they would wait there for a ship back home." (India and Pakistan were not divided then)

Wang Guojian was silent for a few seconds.

The Yingguo ambassador all fled. What does this indicate? It shows that the Yingguo have completely abandoned Yilang. They even gave up diplomatic representatives—do they still expect the army to return?

"Your Majesty," he said, "this is good for Yilang."

Aiha Maide looked at him, his eyes holding something indescribable.

"Good thing? Maybe. The Yingguo left, the Russians are in civil war, Osman Diguo is already crippled." He paused, his voice lowered, "Now Yilang has only you."

Wang Guojian caught the meaning in that sentence—now Yilang has only you, so you shouldn't follow the Yingguo.