I was a prince in the Middle East

Chapter 12 The Storm Begins with a High Five

Muhammad was struck dumb, staring fixedly at Walid.

In fact, his act of calling on Walid was more of an instinct and a matter of "political correctness."

But at this moment, Walid brought it up with such importance that it carried far more weight than he had imagined…

An indescribable tremor, a mixture of shock, a sense of recognition, and a long-lost feeling...

The warmth, as if truly "seen," suddenly breached the last dam in his heart called "weighing the pros and cons."

All the coldness and resentment accumulated from the family of origin seemed to melt away at this moment by the unexpected bond of "affection".

His Adam's apple bobbed violently, but he ultimately said nothing.

He simply looked into Walid's eyes, which were filled with trust, and then nodded emphatically.

However, just as his fingertips reached to press the emergency call button, Walid's voice rang out again:
"and many more."

Huang Mao sighed inwardly, thinking that Sa was the only one who was somewhat easy to fool at this moment...

In two years, after being tempered by iron and blood, Mr. Sa's college student experience will probably not be as effective.

Of course, he also had to admit that he benefited to some extent from the original owner's fame.

For an ordinary college student to try this in front of Muhammad is simply courting death.

Essentially, Muhammad didn't believe in the words of the blond-haired man, but rather in the aura of 'divine intervention' behind Walid, which could disrupt the kingdom's energy lifeline, buy up the finances of small countries with black cards, and make even Bandar wary!
Muhammad froze, looking at Walid with a puzzled expression.

He noticed that Walid was looking at him with an almost disdainful gaze, which made him a little uneasy.

"Huh? Just say what you have to say."

"elder brother……"

Walid looked at him with a speechless expression that seemed to say, "Are you kidding me?"
"Brother! You called His Highness the Crown Prince and all you did was report problems?"
'Father, Uncle Bandar has betrayed the country!'

and then?
What's the solution?
What are the countermeasures?
How should we handle the subsequent impact?

What do you expect His Highness to do?
Should we send troops directly to arrest them?

What if we alert the enemy by disturbing their plans?
Is the chain of evidence complete?

Will other factions take this opportunity to attack the Sudri faction?

Have you thought about these things?
Your reports only present problems without offering solutions; are you waiting to be scolded or marginalized?!

Mohammed was a little stunned by the barrage of questions and stood frozen in place, holding his phone.

Walid's questioning struck him like a whip across the face.

He was used to execution and to solving problems within a framework.
This situation, which required an immediate, comprehensive, and politically-driven solution, was beyond the scope of his usual work.

A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face, as if his weakness had been exposed. He awkwardly put down his phone, his brow furrowed, and he was truly in a predicament.

He paced irritably in the VIP room, rubbed his temples, and after a long while, looked at Walid with a hint of helplessness and confusion.
“Besides immediately informing my father to stop it, I… I really can’t think of a better way right now.”

He was also internally complaining.

Damn it! Do you think I don't understand the道理 (principle/reason)?
But this question... it's way beyond the syllabus!

Moreover! Anyone can flip a table and arrest someone!
But how exactly can we lift the torch so that Lao Tzu can both gain merit and avoid taking the blame?
Muhammad said he understood the reasoning, but asking him to provide a solution to this problem was putting him in a difficult position.
Walid understood what was going on when he saw him like this.

This is Muhammad's biggest predicament right now.

Ambitious, capable, and eager to make a difference, yet hesitant to take initiative due to his status as a "non-inheritor" and long-term neglect by his family.

To put it bluntly, it's a lack of love!

Consequently, they lack a sense of ownership and always see themselves as executors rather than decision-makers.

Under these circumstances, Walid had no choice but to abandon his idea of ​​forcing Muhammad to utter something like "My teacher taught me."

The main issue is that time waits for no one.

The cunning of the time traveler "Yellow Hair" and the wildness belonging to "Prince Walid" made him keenly aware that this was the best time for him to step onto the Saudi political stage.

Moreover, there has never been a better time to push the Talal faction into the heart of the power game.

He has no choice but to take the initiative.

Anyway, considering the historical scandals of MBS imprisoning his mother and killing journalists, he realized that Muhammad was actually a victim!

Those crazy actions are actually rebounds after being compressed by a high-pressure spring.

Walid took a deep breath, a playful smile curving his lips.

"Method?"

Having laid the groundwork, we've finally arrived at the most crucial step.

Analyzing the pros and cons, offering a pledge of allegiance, and also seeking the greatest political capital for themselves and the Talal faction.

"Brother, things aren't that simple, but they're not a dead end either."

The key is how we use this to turn it into an opportunity, not a problem…

Walid's gaze sharpened as he began to sketch out the plan that was taking shape in his mind...

He leaned closer to Muhammad and lowered his voice.
"Brother, I'm asking you, why did you try to stop it?"

Uncle Bandar set up such a wonderful stage, put in so much effort, and invited so many spectators… How can we let him down?

Muhammad's heart skipped a beat as he looked into Walid's eyes and saw that familiar yet unfamiliar light. A bad feeling crept over him...

Or rather, a sense of excitement, ignited, quietly rises within.

"All we need is..."

Walid's voice was even lower, almost a whisper, as he spoke rapidly in Muhammad's ear.

His words, like the whispers of the devil, outlined a bold, adventurous, almost insane plan, but one whose rewards, if successful, would be immeasurable.

As Muhammad listened, his eyes widened, and the shock on his face was gradually replaced by an unbelievable ecstasy.

This plan is so underhanded!
That was incredibly dangerous!

But... it's just too damn brilliant!
It was practically a ladder to heaven tailor-made for Muhammad!

"Walid! You..."

Looking at his cousin, who was several years younger than him but seemed to have been immersed in the vortex of power for decades, Muhammad couldn't find the right words to describe him.

Finally, he slammed a heavy punch into Walid's shoulder, a radiant smile spreading across his face—a smile brimming with the excitement of finding a kindred spirit and the ecstasy of discovering a way out of the predicament.
"Your brain... is so wicked! But... I like it so much!"

Walid's lips twitched slightly at his overly direct expression of "like," and he was about to remind him that important matters were at hand when he saw that Muhammad had already taken out his encrypted satellite phone.

However, Mohammed's next move once again showed Walid what "the greedy nature of the royal elite" truly meant.

Instead of dialing his father, Crown Prince Salman, Mohammed quickly dialed another number, which was the private line for his trusted steward.

"it's me."

Muhammad's voice regained its usual calmness, "Listen, now! Go to the betting table in the outer hall and place a bet of ten million US dollars using my private account."

He paused, glanced at Walid beside him who was giving him a "Are you kidding me?" look, a knowing smile spreading across his face, and clearly said into the microphone: "Bet—on a draw!"

Walid: "..."

He was utterly speechless, rolled his eyes dramatically, and almost wanted to facepalm.

"I'm telling you... bro, your abacus beads are practically hitting my face!"
He wanted to capture traitors to achieve a great feat, and also make a quick buck of ten million US dollars.

"You're trying to have your cake and eat it too! Aren't you afraid of alerting the enemy?"

Muhammad chuckled, completely unconcerned, even waving his phone with a hint of smugness, speaking with self-righteousness.

"A fool wouldn't take the money! This kind of opportunity to make money is too rare!"

Besides, my action was to support you! They're not that brainless!

He thought to himself: 1 to 50! Ten million down the line is five hundred million US dollars! Although it's nothing compared to a great achievement, why not take it? Enough to arm a small elite guard!

Walid looked at his "shady businessman" face and felt both annoyed and amused.

But on second thought, isn't Muhammad's inherent pragmatism and instinct to seize every opportunity one of the reasons he chose to invest in this future "iron-fisted crown prince" rather than Turki?
Mohammed hung up the phone with satisfaction, his smile fading as he took a deep breath.

Finally, with an unprecedented solemnity and a hint of barely suppressed excitement, he pressed the encrypted communication shortcut key that led directly to the pinnacle of power in the kingdom and represented his father, Crown Prince Salman.

The phone was answered quickly after only one ring, clearly indicating that the other end was also waiting or paying attention to something.

"Father……"

Muhammad's voice was calm and respectful, but if you listened carefully, you could detect a hint of barely suppressed urgency.

"I'm sorry to bother you. But I just obtained some extremely urgent, top-secret intelligence at Uncle Bandar's competition, which concerns the safety of the kingdom and the dignity of the royal family."

The situation is extremely critical, involving treason, espionage, homeland security, and... a plot to murder members of the royal family.

I request an immediate and urgent report to you, and... I am attaching my preliminary response plan.

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment.

Then came Crown Prince Salman's deep, steady voice, which conveyed little emotion: "Speak."

Muhammad glanced at Walid, who was nodding slightly to him beside him, straightened his back, and began to reveal the shocking conspiracy on the tablet and his "mad plan" in the most concise and clear language.

……

Outside the window, the scorching sun beat down on the earth, while the Bugatti Veyron and Phantom 2000-9 on the runway remained silent, like a powder keg about to explode.

Meanwhile, inside the VIP room, a storm that would determine the fate of countless people was quietly sweeping towards the kingdom's highest power center via encrypted radio waves.

Walid leaned against the window, his gaze fixed on the Bugatti that was about to become a "human bomb" at the starting line of the racetrack in the distance, and on the young prince Faisal who knew nothing about it.

He stroked the edge of the black card, which represented the endless wealth of the Talal Group, that the second butler, Little Angari, had secretly handed him.

"Wealth and honor are sought through danger?"

He murmured silently, the last trace of the playful spirit that once belonged to "Yellow Hair" completely settling in his eyes, replaced by a deep, unfathomable depth and a cold, sharp edge that commanded the game.
"No, this time, I'm going to win everything."

……

In the VIP room, the busy tone of the encrypted satellite phone, like the last heartbeat, faded into deathly silence.

Muhammad slowly put down the phone he had been holding to his ear.

He had his back to Walid, facing the two silent steel figures awaiting their fate under the blazing sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

His face was reflected in the windowpane.

Tense and cold, like the concrete foundations cast on the construction site of Riyadh's new city.

All emotions were deeply suppressed, leaving only a kind of solidity, almost like that of a rock.

A few seconds, or longer.

Finally, he turned around.

Those deep eyes, which once held wildfire and resentment, now held a calm after the storm, staring straight at Walid.

"Our father has approved our plan."

Walid's lips twitched upwards as usual, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Brother, it was your plan."

The credit is yours, but please also shoulder the risks and responsibilities.

The Talal faction only serves as the unsung heroes who deliver the knives, not as cannon fodder charging into battle.

Muhammad did not immediately refute.

He stared intently at Walid, his expression complex and indescribable.

The bond of gratitude for "awakening," the sharpness that precisely pierced his deepest, most hidden wounds, the earth-shattering intelligence that could overturn the kingdom's格局 (geju, meaning structure or overall situation), and the casual way he handed over such a tremendous achievement at this moment...

All of these things intertwine to create an indescribable impact.

Thirty years of coldness and neglect accumulated by the family of origin seem to have cracked open under this impact, letting in the light of being "chosen" and "trusted".

His Adam's apple bobbed, but he said nothing more. He placed his right hand on his chest and bowed slightly to Walid.

A standard etiquette for princes to express the highest respect and commitment.

“Walid bin Khalid,”

"If that day ever comes..."

"I will certainly not let you down today!"

Walid's smile deepened, and a knowing glint flashed in his amber eyes.

He reached out, not to help, but to place his hand on his chest and nod slightly in return.

"elder brother,"

His clear voice broke the overly somber atmosphere, carrying a hint of urging.

"It's time for you to take the stage."

To Walid's surprise, Muhammad shook his head with unusual firmness.

No, it is our stage.

It's not yours, nor mine, but ours together.

Walid paused for a moment, then a genuine smile bloomed on his face.

It wasn't pretense, nor was it scheming; it was simply a carefree joy tinged with youthful exuberance.

He held out his palm.

Muhammad raised his hand without hesitation.

Snapped!
Two palms clapped heavily in the air, the crisp sound echoing in the silent VIP room, like a command before the sounding of war drums.

A smile exchanged between them was a silent confirmation of an alliance, a spark ignited by the collision of ambition and strategy.

Muhammad took a deep breath and straightened his back.

He subconsciously pulled open the front of his white robe with his left hand and tucked it into his chest, then turned and strode toward the tightly closed soundproof door.

Walid, who was following closely behind, almost burst out laughing.

Okay, that gesture is very Muhammad!

This can be considered a landmark action preceding all of Muhammad's subsequent actions.

Just as Muhammad forcefully pulled open the heavy door, Walid's footsteps... were almost imperceptible.

He paused for a moment, then naturally fell back by half a body length.

This subtle, almost imperceptible movement is clear evidence that Huang Mao's years of studying Chinese history have not been in vain.

Could Lao Tzu truly believe you are the humble and modest Li Shimin, or the ambitious and talented Zhu Di, based solely on a few publicly available reports from later generations?
What if, deep down, he was the same cold-hearted and ungrateful Emperor Yongzheng who couldn't even tolerate his own brothers and trusted advisors?!
Muhammad's sincerity at this moment may indeed be genuine.

But power is like a glass of wine; if you drink too much of it, it will turn sour!
Rather than becoming like Wu Sidao, who strategized but ultimately met a tragic end, it would be better to learn from the Thirteenth Prince, Yinxiang.

Lowering his eyelashes, concealing all the frivolity and scheming in his eyes that belonged to "Yellow Hair," Walid put on the mask of a carefree prince, which carried a hint of youthful naiveté and a touch of wealthy leisure.

The storm has arrived.

And the protagonist in the center of the stage is already in place.

The ever-shining sun of Saudi Arabia has quietly risen, silently overlooking the ravages of the storm.

……

(End of this chapter)