328: Chapter 328 Jia Sha draws her sword and sharpens her knife in the Red Sea

"Let them keep expressing concern." Sinwar cut him off, his gaze cold and stern. "Don't wait for anyone to issue you a certificate of liberation. We've lost so many people and thrown in so many resources; it wasn't so we could sit down now and wait for someone to sign a ceasefire guarantee."

He turned and walked toward the door. The moment he pushed open the airtight door, the roar of electric drills from the assembly line outside flooded into the room. The furnace was running at full speed.

"Now the whole world knows what Squid Nation did in Nablus. Allies are starting to scramble to distance themselves from them in front of the Lens. Even Washington can only issue a vaguely worded statement." Sinwar looked back at the commanders present. "Taking advantage of the opponent's organizational chaos to pull out a new legion at this time is our greatest bargaining chip."

"Go prepare. In five days, I will personally inspect the 2nd Brigade."

Naypyidaw, Presidential Palace.

Zhang Cheng closed the communication interface and picked up a cup of slightly cool green tea for a sip. Old K walked in from the side door and handed a summary report to him.

"Public opinion regarding the Nablus incident is still heating up. In Southeast Asia, protests in support of Palestine have appeared in several cities in Thailand and Malaysia. Some groups are demanding the government withdraw recognition of the Squid Nation embassy. Lan Zhi has instructed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to cooperate with a statement, but not to lead the charge."

"Let the Dragon Kingdom stand in the front row." Zhang Cheng put down his teacup. "We should just maintain our principled position of 'strongly condemning and demanding accountability.' Don't overshadow the host. After the new recruits arrive on Sinwar's side, how long is the expected integration period for the 2nd Brigade?"

"According to simulation data, the Death Soldiers unit can form initial combat capability within seven days and complete joint exercises with local forces within thirty. However, the 'Shadow Dancer-2 Improved Version' requires at least a two-week practical adaptation period—the high humidity in the tunnels affects batteries and seals, and the engineering team is already optimizing them."

"Let him use it during the training phase." Zhang Cheng stood up and walked to the window, looking at the shimmering Irrawaddy River in the distance. "Squid Nation won't sit and wait. Every day they have to catch their breath is a day they will rearm. What Sinwar needs to do is not wait for perfection before acting, but to give them another heavy blow before the enemy completely climbs out of the public opinion quagmire of Nablus."

He tilted his head and looked at Old K.

"Tell him that. Time waits for no one."

"Yes."

Old K turned and left. The study became quiet again, leaving only the low hum of the air conditioner.

Zhang Cheng withdrew his gaze, looking at the peaceful scenery outside the window. The city, the river, the pedestrians walking along the shore—now all of these were his. But thousands of miles away, Gaza's underground furnaces were spitting out a new steel legion, and on the other side of the Red Sea, on the plateaus of Yemen, another meeting was taking place simultaneously.

He picked up another briefing from the desk—the latest communication from Houssa. The title was concise: 'Persian representatives have arrived in Sana'a. Preliminary contact has begun.'

Zhang Cheng opened the meeting agenda appendix, his eyes scanning the list of members of the Persian Revolutionary Guard delegation. Three of the names were marked with asterisks, indicating they were linked to Iran's nuclear industry and ballistic missile programs.

He closed the folder, a faint curve appearing at the corner of his mouth.

Gaza is about to draw its sword, and the Red Sea is sharpening its blade. At this moment, it is time to open the box sent by Tehran.

Sana'a, Republic Palace.

This palace, left behind by former President Hadi, has now been renovated by Houssa. The bullet holes on the walls have been smoothed over with plaster, traditional carpets of the Yemen Tribal Alliance hang on both sides of the corridor, and the crystal chandelier in the center of the main hall has been relit, casting fragmented spots of light on the polished marble floor.

But Houssa himself didn't like these things.

"It's too bright," he grumbled to his adjutant the first time he stepped into the redecorated reception room. "It looks like a shop selling gold jewelry."

The adjutant didn't dare respond.

Today, this reception room would welcome a special guest.

At exactly four in the afternoon, three black bulletproof SUVs drove into the east gate of the Republic Palace. There were no diplomatic plates or national flags on the vehicles. When the doors opened, six plainclothes bodyguards stepped out first, followed by a middle-aged man in a dark gray suit and rimless glasses. He looked up at the flags of the Republic of Yemen and the Liberation Front hanging above the main entrance of the palace, his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly.

His name was Masoud Rezai. His public identity was the Deputy Director of the Gulf Department of the Persian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but his actual identity was the second-in-command of the Quds Force's External Liaison Office of the Revolutionary Guard.

He brought a series of questions from Tehran.

Houssa chose to meet Rezai in a side parlor instead of the formal banquet hall. The chairs and tables in the side parlor were lower, the atmosphere more relaxed, and he had specifically instructed someone to push a tactical table to the window, with a nautical chart of the Bab el-Mandeb Strait spread across it. A matte missile tail fin fragment—recovered from a sunken USA destroyer—was resting on the chart.

Rezai took his seat, flanked by bodyguards. He scanned the room's furnishings, his gaze lingering for a moment on the fragment on the tactical table, and then turned to Houssa.

"Mr. President, first allow me to represent the Persian people in congratulating your country on the great victory achieved in the struggle against external interference." His Arabic carried a heavy Persian accent, and his tone was polite and restrained. "Your name has spread throughout the entire Islamic world."

"Thank you." Houssa leaned back in his chair, his arms resting on the armrests, his posture as relaxed as if he were having tea with an old friend. "However, our meeting today shouldn't just be for listening to hymns."

Rezai adjusted his glasses and took an encrypted tablet from his briefcase, placing it on the table.

"I have been ordered to convey several concerns from Tehran to you." He paused. "First is regarding the recent situation in the Red Sea. Freedom of navigation in the Bab el-Mandeb Strait concerns global energy security and also our country's economic interests."

"There is no problem with freedom of navigation," Houssa interrupted him. "Not a single ship that reported in advance has been stopped."

"Yet British and French ships are diverting around the Cape of Good Hope," Rezai countered. "Does this not count as a de facto blockade?"

"That's because they're cowards themselves." Houssa's tone was steady. "We don't collect tolls. If they're afraid of getting hit and choose to go the long way, they can't blame us for the road at our doorstep being too narrow."

Rezai was silent for a moment before choosing to change the subject: "Tehran's other concern is that your country seems to—allow me to be direct—possess certain technical capabilities in terms of weapon sources that should not have originally appeared in Yemen. As a friendly neighbor, we wish to understand the source of these capabilities, their reliability, and possible future changes."

The adjutant behind Houssa remained expressionless, but he noticed the president's fingers lightly tapping the chair's armrest—a precursor to Houssa's impatience.

"Source?" Houssa asked back. "Does that mean if the weapons we use aren't bought from Tehran, you won't feel at ease?"

Rezai forced a smile. "Mr. President, we wish to clarify who is a friend and who is merely someone exploiting the situation."

Houssa suddenly leaned forward and picked up a remote control from the tactical table.