49: Chapter 46 Sharif's Tea Room

June 28, 1978, afternoon, North Tehran.

Leaving the Niavaran Palace, Hassan asked where to go.

"17 Daoud Street," Reza said.

Hassan didn't ask what kind of place it was; he started the car and drove toward the northern district. The northern district of Tehran was where the wealthy lived; the further toward the foothills one went, the larger the courtyards, the quieter the noise, and the fainter the smell of gasoline in the air. Daoud Street was a one-way street, lined with high walls and plane trees on both sides. The number 17 address plate was embedded in a brick wall painted with cream-colored paint, and the door was a black lacquered wooden door, old and heavy.

Reza got out of the car, walked up alone, and knocked on the door knocker three times.

The person who opened the door was an elderly manservant. He glanced at Reza without any expression, stepped aside to let him in, and then closed the door again.

The courtyard was not large, but it was meticulously maintained. Pomegranate trees, an old-fashioned pond, and two goldfish at the bottom of the pond were lazily floating in the water. Jafar Sharif-Emami sat in a rattan chair on the veranda, holding a cup of tea in his hand. Seeing Reza enter, he did not stand up, but only placed the teacup on the small table next to him.

"Your Royal Highness," he said, his tone the steady kind honed after seeing too many things, neither hot nor cold.

"Mr. Speaker." Reza sat down in the chair opposite. "Sorry to disturb you."

"Thanks to Karimi," Sharif-Emami said. "He said you had something you wanted to say in person, and I was curious, so I met you. But I must make it clear first—I am now the Speaker of the Senate, not anyone's private advisor. It is fine to come for tea, but if you want to talk about anything shady, forgive me for not accompanying you."

This opening was very sophisticated. It provided a reason for the meeting while also distancing himself in advance; if anyone asked in the future, he could say it was just a cup of tea and nothing was discussed.

Reza took the tea brought by the manservant and took a slow sip.

"Mr. Speaker, I am here today not to talk about politics," Reza said. "I have come to consult you on a historical question."

Sharif-Emami's eyebrows moved slightly: "A historical question."

"In the late Safavid dynasty," Reza said, "during the last years of Sultan Husayn's reign, the country was beset by internal and external troubles. The Afghans were attacking from the east, the Ottomans were pressing from the west, and the tribal leaders within the country were acting on their own. It is said that several ministers suggested moving the capital, and others suggested ceding eastern territories in exchange for a respite, but Husayn ultimately chose neither path; he chose to wait in Isfahan for the Afghans to come and attack—what is your opinion on this choice?"

Sharif-Emami was silent for about ten seconds.

He was re-evaluating the person in front of him.

A playboy prince who came to the palace asking for the contact information of an air conditioner agent, coming to him privately to discuss the history of the fall of the Safavid dynasty—the gap between these two images was enough to make any old politician alert.

"Are you asking about history, or are you talking about the present?" he finally asked.

"I am asking about history," Reza repeated calmly. "A specific historical judgment."

Sharif-Emami picked up the teacup, turned it twice, didn't drink, and put it down.

"Husayn's mistake," he said slowly, "was not choosing to wait in Isfahan, but doing nothing while waiting. He wasn't waiting for an opportunity; he was waiting for fate to make the decision for him—the two look very similar, but they are essentially completely different. A person with a plan waits for the opponent's flaws and for the accumulation of their own strength; while Husayn was waiting for a miracle, waiting for the opponent to retreat on their own. The miracle didn't come, and the dynasty was finished."

Reza nodded, didn't answer, just drank tea.

This pause was intentional. He was waiting for Sharif-Emami to finish speaking himself.

The old man couldn't help it and continued: "You entered the palace to see His Majesty today, and then you came to see me. This route shows that you want to keep both lines—one in the palace, and one outside the palace. This is the way of a smart person, but it is also the way of a dangerous person. Being smart and dangerous are sometimes the same thing."

"Then, Mr. Speaker," Reza put down the teacup and looked at him directly for the first time, "is danger itself something to be avoided, or something to be managed?"

Sharif-Emami looked at him, another silence of re-evaluation.

"Managed," he said, his voice a half-tone lower.

"Therefore," Reza said, "I came today just to let Mr. Speaker know that among the various changes that may happen in this country in the future, there is an option that many people have overlooked—it does not come from the instructions of the West, nor from the incitement of religious forces; it comes from the Persians themselves." He paused. "I am not here to pull you onto the boat; I know it is too early to talk about anything specific now. I just want you to remember this sentence: Persians have their own path."

After saying this, Reza stood up and nodded politely: "The tea is very good, thank you for your time, Mr. Speaker."

Sharif-Emami sat there, did not stand up, and did not call him back.

Reza walked to the courtyard gate, and the old man's voice came from behind, not loud, but every word was clear:

"King Husayn's biggest problem was that there was no one around him who dared to tell him the truth."

Reza didn't look back, but the corners of his mouth moved.

This sentence was a signal; although vague, it was enough.

That night, Reza stayed in a rented house in the northern district of Tehran, with Hassan and two guards taking turns on night watch.

Karimi brought back news from the outside, heard in the bazaar that afternoon, which was already circulating in small circles: Students at the University of Tehran planned to organize a large-scale demonstration in mid-July, pointing directly at the King's "White Revolution" policy and the political persecution of SAVAK.

After listening, Reza only asked one question: "Whose side are the organizers on?"

"Ayatollah Khomeini's student network," Karimi said, "but there are also secular leftist students involved. Both sides use the same slogan—anti-American, anti-corruption—but the goals are different."

"How many people?"

"The organizers say they are aiming for ten thousand people."

Reza wrote a date in his notebook: July 15.

In his memory, this demonstration had indeed occurred in the original history, and the scale was much larger than the organizers expected. SAVAK dispatched troops to suppress it, killing several people, which instead pushed more moderates to the side of the revolution. This was the first domino; after it fell, new dominoes would fall every month thereafter.

The problem is, Reza wants to change the endpoint of the dominoes in this life.