I was a prince in the Middle East

Chapter 11 The Influence of One's Family of Origin: A Lifetime of Depth
Muhammad shoved the cloak into the stunned Mansur's arms, then turned and grabbed Walid's arm tightly.

"Enough! Walid, you're fully recovered, don't get agitated! Come with me!"

Having said that, he pushed through the crowd and, with an unyielding and forceful manner, half-dragged and half-pulled Walid, who exuded an icy aura, upstairs.

He cannot allow the conflict to escalate.

The heavy soundproof door of the VIP room slammed shut, instantly shutting out the noise from the outer hall and Prince Mansur's venomous gaze that seemed to spit fire.

Muhammad leaned against the cold door and let out a long sigh, but the solemnity between his brows remained unchanged.

He looked up at Walid.

His cousin, who had just woken up from a vegetative state three months ago and dared to bet a hundred million US dollars on a "draw" despite being shrouded in the aura of "divine miracles," was somewhat unfamiliar to him.

Just now in the outer hall, when Walid faced Mansur's provocation and the collective mockery of numerous princes, nobles, and dignitaries, he not only did not back down in the slightest, but also twice defiantly humiliated them:
First, they casually raised the Muklin family's crude oil transportation fees and port usage fees by 26%, revealing the Talal group's absolute control over the energy lifeline;
During Mansour's robe-throwing duel, he remained as calm as if he were watching a farce, until Turki revealed the 250-kilogram Kruger lion Simba, instantly turning a life-or-death duel into a one-sided massacre rehearsal.

All of this completely overturned Muhammad's understanding.

In his memory...

No, it should be said that in the minds of all members of the royal family, Walid was just a child who had just awakened!

Although he is 23 years old, he has been asleep for seven years and his mind is still that of a naive 16-year-old boy. He is a novice who has never even experienced the "demystification ritual"!
But this person in front of me, in every word and action, showed no trace of ignorance.
He was like a sharp blade suddenly drawn from its sheath, precise in his calculations and ruthless in his methods...

"How could things have suddenly turned out like this..."

The phrase "a formidable figure" stuck in Muhammad's throat, turning into a barely audible inhale.

Walid stood before the large floor-to-ceiling window, his back to him, his tall figure silhouetted sharply by the blinding sunlight streaming through the window.

But the silhouette exudes a sense of composure, even... a sense of oppression.

Muhammad quickly organized his thoughts.

He dragged Walid into the VIP room, ostensibly to avoid that ridiculous duel—if Mansour really faced Simba, the Sudri faction would be humiliated.

But the deeper calculation is to resolve that deadly sanction.

There was no other way; Mansour came from the Muqrin family, one of the Seven Sudri chiefs.

The reason why the Seven Soudelor were able to stand out from the many factions was that all seven of them came from the same mother, and their interests were intertwined.

Since everyone is interconnected, this debt will likely ultimately be settled against the entire Sudri faction.

Especially now, with Old Wang seriously ill and his father, Old Salman, miraculously recovering from a stroke, the situation is becoming increasingly delicate.

Balancing the interests within the Sudri faction was his father's most important task at this time.

If he, Muhammad, could mediate and persuade Walid to retract his decision...

This would not only boost his standing within the Sudri faction, but also demonstrate to his father his ability to coordinate among the younger generation of the royal family.

This is very important to him.

“Walid,”

Muhammad tried to keep his voice steady, using the admonishing tone befitting an elder brother.
“Mansur is a brute, but Sudri…”

He carefully considered his words, thinking about how to subtly convey the pressure of "being of the same blood" to his cousin who didn't seem to care much about rules.

However, his words were abruptly cut off.

Walid whirled around, his deep eyes burning with undisguised rage, like two cold flames piercing straight at Muhammad.

The gentle languor that belonged to a wealthy and leisurely king vanished instantly, replaced by a sharpness that made even Muhammad's heart tremble.

"Mohammed bin Salman!"

Walid's voice wasn't loud, but every word struck a chord in Muhammad's heart.
"Right now, are you thinking about how to get me to let that idiot Mansour go so you can save face in the Sudri faction?"

Huh? Answer me!

Muhammad was stunned for a moment.

How did he know?
He can read minds!
Muhammad felt a little uneasy.

At this moment, Walid's eyes were fixed on Muhammad, but beneath that sharp, blade-like exterior, the yellow-haired man's soul was racing.

Tsk tsk tsk!
MBS's hesitant, furrowed brow...

In an instant, he felt like he had switched from "Saudi political intrigue channel" back to "Memoirs of Eastern Campus Life"!
And it's the middle school version!
Not even good enough for university.

In Walid's mind, Muhammad's thoughts were not hard to guess.

Because, in his view, Muhammad was facing a classic 'squad leader dilemma' at that moment.

In the class, a troublemaker named Mansour, or a sports student who loves to fight, gets into a fight with another classmate named Walid, who has some connections but doesn't usually show off, or a rich second-generation student who just transferred to the school.

The commotion was quite loud, but no real bloodshed has occurred yet.

At this moment, what would be Muhammad's first reaction as the class monitor?
A. Immediately report to the homeroom teacher (Old Salman)?
That would make me look so incompetent, unable to even handle a minor conflict with my classmates.
The homeroom teacher will only think of you as a useless tattletale, how will you establish authority in the future?

B. Should both sides be held equally accountable, and a forced mediation be implemented?
You'll please neither side; the troublemakers will think you're biased, and the rich kids will think you're taking sides. In the end, you'll be disliked by everyone.

Therefore, Muhammad must choose C.

Privately, he sought out the seemingly easy-going party, who was none other than the newly awakened 'naive and innocent' one.

Appeal to their emotions, for example, that the Sudri faction is closely connected and it will be difficult for them to maintain their position; appeal to their reason, for example, that the consequences of sanctions are serious and it would be best to get them to take a step back and show magnanimity by withdrawing the sanctions.

In this way, squad leader Muhammad not only appeased the hot-tempered Mansur, giving him a way out, but also persuaded the well-connected and wealthy Walid, demonstrating his coordination skills to the whole squad, and finally the matter was resolved perfectly.

When the homeroom teacher found out later, he would only pat him on the shoulder and praise him, saying, "Muhammad, you handled things well, you made things much easier for me!"

Wouldn't that give you face, substance, and a good performance rating?

Depend on!
This guy with blond hair is a pro at this!

Or rather, in China, which middle school class monitor hasn't pulled off a few tricks like this?
Every middle school student has seen this.

It can only be said that in the great nation of China, political literacy is cultivated from kindergarten onwards, something that those foreigners could never understand.

The only difference between what foreigners play and the politics in Chinese middle schools is that the stakes are pocket money, game skins, or even crude oil pipeline shares and princely dignity!

Muhammad was taken aback by the sudden question and the sharp look in her eyes, and the words he had prepared got stuck in his throat.

He frowned instinctively. "Walid, watch your words!"
I admit, I wanted to mediate between you.

Mansour's provocation was wrong, but sanctions...

"Wording?!"

Walid stepped forward, his imposing presence even accompanied by a mocking smile.

"What time is it, and you're still thinking about these trivial details?"
Do you know what that 'crazy game' outside is?!

He pointed out the window, his finger almost piercing the thick bulletproof glass.

Outside the window, the sharply styled Mirage 2000-9 fighter jet and the equally flamboyant Bugatti Veyron lay quietly on the scorching runway, like two steel behemoths poised to pounce, radiating an ominous metallic sheen.

"Now look at this clearly! That's not some boring pastime, that's treason!"

Walid's voice suddenly rose, filled with barely suppressed anger and disbelief.

"Mohammed bin Salman!"
As the son of the Crown Prince and Minister of Defense, you assist in handling the kingdom's affairs and are the one who will hold the reins of power in the future!
Such an blatant conspiracy, and you're telling me you can't see it?!

After anticipating the psychology, he immediately shifted the conflict and set a pre-set agenda, believing that Muhammad would not follow his lead today!
"Treason?!"

These two words struck Muhammad like a thunderclap.

His composure crumbled instantly, his pupils contracting sharply. "Walid! What nonsense are you spouting! What conspiracy? What treason?!"

He was completely confused.

Although Prince Bandar's money-burning competition was absurd, how did it become a matter of treason?

He instinctively felt that Walid might not be fully awake yet, and was talking nonsense because he was angered by Mansur.

Or it could be paranoia.

After all, Prince Bandar was the subject of serious suspicion by everyone in the Walid car accident seven years ago.

He licked his lips, preparing to comfort Walid, but Walid stared at him intently with a serious expression, making him swallow the words he wanted to say.

For a few seconds, the air seemed to freeze.

Muhammad could even clearly hear his own heartbeat suddenly accelerating.

"It seems you really don't know."

Walid's anger did not subside, but his disbelief seemed to transform into a deeper scrutiny.

He didn't ask any more questions and took out his tablet computer.

He quickly swiped his finger across the screen to unlock it, and then, with a hint of suppressed resentment, abruptly turned the screen towards Muhammad.

"Look for yourself! Look at your good uncle, Prince Bandar, and his dear allies, the Emirati, playing such dirty tricks on our Saudi soil, risking the lives of our princes!"

Muhammad snatched the tablet and eagerly scanned the screen.

The screen displays a document marked "Confidential/For Your Highness's Reference Only".

His gaze swept rapidly across the lines of text, his face turning ashen at a visible speed, finally settling into a horrifying deathly pale.

He understood; Walid was right—this was blatant treason!

A three-way conspiracy to commit a death hoax, using state secrets, homeland security, and even the lives of members of the royal family as bargaining chips! "This...this is impossible!"

Muhammad roared in a low voice, his hand holding the tablet trembling slightly, his fingertips icy cold.

He was instantly overwhelmed by immense shock and anger.

He was aware of Prince Bandar's ambitions and knew that he was secretly close to the Giruwi-Shamar alliance.

But to my utter surprise, he dared to play such a big and ruthless game!

And it's right under my nose!

Right here in this seemingly respectable "entertainment" setting!
"impossible?"

Walid sneered, "The evidence is right in front of you!"
My dear brother Muhammad, you assist your father, the Crown Prince, in handling the affairs of the kingdom. Are you really completely unaware of such a large-scale military mobilization, the misappropriation of top-secret fuel, and the mortgage of priceless islands right under your nose?
Or did you know, but chose to remain silent?

He posed another pointed question, his eyes fixed on Muhammad, his face filled with scrutiny and suspicion.

Muhammad looked up abruptly, meeting Walid's gaze, which held not only anger but also the pain of being betrayed by a loved one and an urgent desire to prove his innocence.

"I swear in the name of Allah! Walid!"

His voice was hoarse with excitement, but unusually firm: "If I, Muhammad ibn Salman, had known even a fraction of this beforehand, may I immediately lose my status as a prince, be scorned by my family, and never be able to rise again!"

I assisted my father with things like the infrastructure for the new city of Riyadh, the expansion of the Jeddah port, and the budgets for education and healthcare!
Military affairs, especially those involving advanced weapons, overseas military procurement, and border reconnaissance, have always been directly under the Ministry of National Defense and personally controlled by my father.

Or... let Turki handle the contact!
I can't get involved at all! And I can't see any related briefings!

He practically roared it out, the veins on his forehead bulging slightly, his posture of swearing an oath appearing unusually serious.

The air stagnated again.

A few seconds later, Walid shrugged, looking speechless.

"Okay, I believe you."

The deliberately crafted "angry questioner" demeanor also toned down somewhat.

Muhammad didn't know why, but when he heard Walid say he believed him, his tense nerves suddenly relaxed, and he let out a long sigh of relief.

He almost reflexively reached for his encrypted satellite phone in his pocket.

His fingers flew across the screen as he eagerly searched his contacts for that familiar name—Turki.

“I must inform Turki immediately! Let him…”

His voice carried the urgency of someone who had survived a disaster and an instinctive desire to share the burden that he himself was unaware of.

Muhammad's finger hovered over the number "Turki bin Salman," about to press it, but the movement was abruptly cut off!

Walid's hand gripped Muhammad's wrist like an iron clamp, preventing him from pressing the call button.

The force wasn't great, but it carried an undeniable determination.

"What you should be doing right now isn't calling your brother Turki over to discuss this..."

Instead, immediately, right now, inform your father—Crown Prince Salman!

Muhammad was startled!
Inform Father?

This is undoubtedly the most correct choice at present.

Bandar's plot involves national security and the core interests of the royal family, and must be dealt with swiftly by the highest levels of government.

But then, a thought flashed through his mind like lightning: Such a great achievement! The fact that he was the first to report it to his father... that's quite significant.

This is enough to cause a qualitative leap in his status in his father's heart and in his future position in the power structure!
This is an incredible achievement that fell from the sky!

His eyes instantly blazed with barely suppressed excitement and longing.

However, Muhammad suddenly calmed down.

He stared blankly at Walid, his eyes swirling with complex emotions.

half an hour...

"Why, Walid?"

Muhammad took a step forward, his eyes like hooks.

"This credit, this evidence..."

Your father, Prince Khalid, could have handed it to my father himself!
This is more advantageous for the Talal faction! It also makes it easier to gain the friendship or even concessions from the Salman family!
Why go through all this trouble and make me report?

"You want me... to earn this credit?"

He stared intently at Walid, trying to glean the true scheming from those unfathomable amber eyes.

This is so abnormal!
Prince Khalid could have received so much more!

Instead of doing what we are doing now, forcing all the credit and the political capital that comes with it into the hands of this prince who is still overshadowed by Turki within the Sudri faction!

Walid felt a little disappointed.

At this point, he should have a feather fan in his hand.

He stepped forward, his voice low, yet each word sharp as a knife, precisely dissecting Muhammad's deepest, most hidden resentment:
"Brother, are you willing to accept this?"

Muhammad's eyes darted away. "What's this about being willing or not being willing..."

Walid smiled. "You...are you content to forever only deal with things like road widening in Riyadh and garbage incineration plants in Jeddah?"

"I'm content to be a 'high-level employee' forever, watching those who are truly involved in the core of the kingdom..."

"Will the power over the military, energy, and national security forever remain firmly in your father's hands?"

"Or rather, are you willing to let your father hand everything over to you, Turki, so naturally?"

"You're willing to be inferior to him in every way, just because he's the youngest son and everything belongs to him?"

Huang Mao knows all too well the pain of one's family of origin.

The influence of one's family of origin is not a temporary downpour, but a lifelong dampness...

Therefore, with each question he asked, Muhammad's expression darkened further.

The wildfire that had been forcibly suppressed deep in his eyes was reignited, burning so intensely that his breathing became heavy.

Walid's words were like red-hot steel needles, precisely piercing the deepest, most painful, and most unspeakable scars in his heart.

The mother's blatant favoritism towards Turki, and the father's damned, suffocating ambiguity regarding the succession!

No matter how much or how well he did, Muhammad always seemed to be inferior to others in the face of Turkinah's status as the "youngest son" and the support of his mother's tribe!
"Now,"

Walid's voice was like the devil's whisper, full of allure and power.

An opportunity is right in front of you!
An opportunity that will allow you to completely surpass Turki in your father's eyes!

An opportunity to transform yourself from a secretary who handles documents into a prince who wields thunder and decides the fate of the kingdom!
Brother, don't you... want to catch it?!

Muhammad's body shuddered violently!
A tremendous temptation and a long-suppressed ambition collided violently in his chest!
He could almost hear the roar of blood rushing through his eardrums.

Grasp!
Why aren't they arresting them?!

This is practically a ladder to heaven bestowed by God!

but……

He abruptly raised his head, the last trace of doubt in his eyes transforming into a sharp glint that fixed intently on Walid.

"Why me?! Why not Turki?! Weren't you guys having a great time?"

"Because the one who will truly lead the Sudri faction and guide Saudi Arabia to prosperity in the future will only be you, Mohammed bin Salman!"

Walid interrupted him decisively, his voice filled with unwavering certainty.

"Brother Turki? He may be an excellent pilot, but he will never be a true helmsman! This is crucial to whether our Talal Group can safely reach shore in the storms of the future!"

He paused slightly, the sharp, insightful glint in his eyes suddenly softening, and a clean, almost boyish smile slowly curved his lips. The stark contrast made his sincerity all the more impactful.
"But the most important reason is..."

Walid looked directly into Muhammad's suddenly contracting pupils and said clearly, word by word:
“Apart from my parents, everyone thought I would never open my eyes again in this world…”

"You were the first person to see my fingers trembling."

"The first person to call my name and pull me back from the endless darkness..."

“It’s you, Brother Muhammad.”

"It's not Turki, it's no one else, it's you."

"I remember this kindness."

Walid admitted that the emotional appeal was excessive and the methods were despicable.

But if it allows you to avoid that bloody path of "imprisoning your mother and killing your uncle," and truly ascend the throne as the "chosen one"...

Then let me be the sun that illuminates your path!
Emmm...

It is "Saudi Arabia's sun that never sets!"

……

(End of this chapter)