I was a prince in the Middle East

Chapter 2: A Trillion-Dollar Fortune Starts from a Cold Start!
The silence in the restaurant lasted for less than three seconds.

Walid stuffed the last piece of roasted mutton into his mouth, slowly wiped his hands, and inwardly rolled his eyes.
"Damn it, I finally convinced my mom, and before I could even be happy, we have guests."
What's the difference between this and someone knocking on the door while you're watching a movie in your dorm?

He straightened his collar and suddenly remembered an interesting detail.

In fact, according to the traditional Chinese system of generational ranking, Turki and Muhammad should be his uncles.

However, in the Arab world's system of address, the distinction between "uncle" and "brother" is far more blurred than the Chinese imagine.

In the ancient teaching that 'all believers are brothers' and in the traditions of tribal society, the titles used by Arabs are more like a thermometer.

A thermometer of strength.

Just like Prince Khalid, who was a generation younger than Salman, was always addressed as "uncle" by Salman's sons because his father was powerful enough.

He could also call these two older brothers, including himself, the 'nephew'.

If this happened back in his hometown, anyone who dared to call their uncle "brother" would probably have their legs broken by the elders!

As Walid stood up, he caught a glimpse of a silk scarf that his sister Luna had dropped in her haste.

He picked it up instinctively, the silk slipping through his fingers, carrying the faint fragrance unique to young girls.

"Tsk, I have to say, if this girl of mine were in a Chinese school back in my life, she'd be the quintessential campus goddess—rich, beautiful, and successful!"

And now...

Walid suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

It's not that I'm a sister-complex.

Instead, he suddenly remembered a news story from his past life that even he, a pervert at the time, thought was too beastly.

The main character in the news is Luna.

In order to consolidate her clan's power during the change of the throne, Luna got engaged early on, to a decrepit old man who was too old to even be called grandfather.

At an age when they should be running in the sunshine in their school uniforms, they were locked in the deep palace before they even had a chance to see more of the world.

When it came to his own sister, he didn't know why, but suddenly he didn't want to tolerate it anymore.

During the seven years he lay unconscious, like a living dead, it was his sister Luna who gently wiped his face with a warm towel day after day.

For more than two thousand days and nights without interruption, this unwavering protection has long since left the deepest bond in his heart.

"The Salman family..."

He pondered to himself, his gaze becoming profound.

……

The reception room was at the other end of the palace, requiring passage through several archways and a long corridor covered with Persian carpets.

As Walid walked, he straightened his white robe, his fingers unconsciously stroking the gold thread embroidery on the cuffs.

Over the past three months, Turki and Muhammad have run into him at various private clubs no less than ten times, and have been showing their goodwill overtly and covertly.

As a 'miracle' awakened by Muhammad by a twist of fate, he knew better than anyone the significance of his cousin's future.

That's right, it's that future iron-fisted crown prince, the strongest post-85s generation on earth.

Walid wouldn't be wrong about that.

After all, his research focuses on the national economies of the Middle East.

Therefore, ever since he awoke in this body, he had been pondering whether or not to try to curry favor with Muhammad in advance.

For most people, they would simply pick him up without hesitation.

But as for the original being in this body, we have to keep talking about it.

From a utilitarian perspective, it's actually not very necessary.

To reiterate, even if he is extorted for hundreds of billions of dollars in assets later, he still has hundreds of billions of dollars in family wealth to inherit.

Moreover, in his view, although his family's Talal lineage had been suppressed and extorted by Muhammad in his previous life, what he gained in return was a hereditary status and the only right to make free investments within the royal family.

Although he now possessed the historical experience of Huang Mao, who was twelve years ahead of his time, history was a little girl who could be dressed up however one pleased…

Is the history he knows necessarily the true history?
How could an ordinary person like him know about the unpredictable events behind the scenes at the card table?
So, what makes him think he can master this grand scheme?
He didn't dare accept the courage that Fish Leong gave him.

If you put it on the table rashly...

Maybe when I make a move, in the end, my performance won't even be as good as that cheap old man and cheap uncle's!

So, after he transmigrated, he has been habitually lying flat.

Today, for some reason, his sister's act of wearing a veil to avoid adult men, in accordance with etiquette, suddenly made him feel very uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was the influence of the remaining consciousness of Walid himself?
"Screw it!"

He cursed inwardly, "Consider it paying off a debt to the original master."

As for the rest...

He narrowed his eyes, a self-deprecating smile curving his lips.

Don't think about those unnecessary things.

They don't have military power in their own hands.

The chances of success are even smaller than those of a rich second-generation entrepreneur.

Besides, why make things so tiring?

He was originally a wealthy and leisurely king.

He has a full understanding of his own abilities.

Not only are they incompetent, but in a team they're also just a fish that slacks off, a bucket that does nothing, a stick that stirs up trouble, and a black sheep!
Otherwise, I wouldn't have chosen to take the postgraduate entrance exam; I would have gone straight into employment.

In any case, history has proven that sticking close to Muhammad was definitely the right thing to do.

Since you're going to get fleeced anyway, you might as well hand the sickle to the most ruthless hand.

The door to the reception room was slowly pushed open by a guard, and the gilded doorknob reflected a dazzling light in the sunlight.

Once you take that step, there's no turning back...

But looking back at the slightly swaying curtain, he suddenly felt that the risk was worth taking.

At least……

Lao Tzu is putting into practice the Law on the Protection of Minors!
Walid straightened his collar, turned around, and a perfect royal smile was already on his face.

However, the next moment, he almost tripped over the hem of his robe.

"Your Highness, be careful!" The servant behind him quickly caught him.

"Cough cough. It's nothing."

Walid coughed awkwardly.

Damn it, I've been playing prince for three months and I still can't get used to this tattered robe!
I want to go to China as soon as possible and become my own denim warrior again.

Two figures were standing by the window when they heard the cough and turned around at the same time.

Leading the way was a young officer of about twenty-five years old, with a straight posture like a javelin, an air force pilot badge pinned to his uniform, and a gait with the crispness unique to fighter pilots.

Turki bin Salman, the seventh son of the Salman family.

Although he was three years younger than his elder brother, he enjoyed a higher status due to the Bedouin tribe's law of succession by the youngest son.

The slightly older young man, who was half a step behind, wore a relatively simple white robe, yet he exuded an aura of authority without being angry.

Mohammed bin Salman, the sixth son of the Salman family.

"Allahu Akbar!"

(God is the greatest!)

Turki opened his arms wide with a hearty laugh, the gold-embroidered eagle with outstretched wings on his chest gleaming in the sunlight.

"Look at our little lion, his eyes are getting brighter and brighter!"

He patted Walid hard on the shoulder. "By the Prophet, this doesn't look like someone who's been lying down for seven years!"

Muhammad stood half a step behind, a slight smile playing on his lips.
“You needed help at the racetrack three months ago… It seems that God not only gave you a second life, but also extra vitality.”

"Brother Turki, Brother Muhammad, welcome."

Walid performed a standard Arabic greeting.

It's not that he can't distinguish between the major and minor kings, mentioning Turki before Muhammad; it's just that their current strength and status are what they are.

MBS, who would later become famous throughout the world, was at this time just an ordinary prince who could only quietly assist his father in his work.

At this time, Muhammad had just experienced his third business failure three months earlier, leaving him heavily in debt and forced to return to his father's side as a secretary.

That's why...cold food is always the best!
Turki looked Walid up and down, then suddenly asked, "Hey? Where's Luna? I brought her some candy."

Walid paused for a moment, then explained helplessly, "Luna has entered puberty..."

In Saudi Arabia, little girls are friendly to everyone, but once they grow up, they immediately become separated into insiders and outsiders, and must avoid male relatives who are not their immediate family members.

The distinction between large and small is based on the first menstruation.

Turki looked at him incredulously, “Luna’s all grown up now? I remember her when she was little…”

Just as he was about to reminisce about how time flies, Muhammad suddenly coughed lightly and secretly tugged at his sleeve.

Turki immediately realized his mistake, his face filled with embarrassment: "I'm sorry, Walid, I didn't mean to..."

Walid was in a coma for seven years, completely missing his sister's growth, and he was essentially stabbing himself in the back.

Walid waved his hand to indicate that he didn't mind.

And they don't mind at all.

Because the Saudi royal family practices a certain degree of endogamy, although it is not the brother marrying the sister, cousins ​​often marry their brothers, and he would be more than happy if Turki could not see Luna.

"Turki, why are you wearing a military uniform today?" Walid changed the subject, gesturing for a servant to bring tea and dates. Turki waved his hand, telling the servant not to bother, and then asked smugly, "Am I handsome? Tell me, am I handsome?"

Walid really wanted to roll his eyes.

To be fair, when it comes to being handsome, sorry, the person in this body is truly so handsome it's unbelievable.

"He's... incredibly handsome!"

After saying something against his will, Walid quickly looked at MBS next to him.

A hint of helplessness flashed in Mohammed's eyes. "Prince Bandar is going to put on a crazy competition this afternoon in his private hangar—a Bugatti Veyron versus a Mirage 2000-9 fighter jet."

He raised his chin and pointed to Turki, who was standing beside him, pulling out a mirror, head held high, looking around.

"This Air Force elite insisted on attending in uniform, saying it was 'a manifestation of professionalism'."

As Muhammad said this, Turki subconsciously adjusted the gleaming flight badge on his collar, making him look like a peacock spreading its tail feathers.

"Holy crap! Luxury cars vs. fighter jets? That's so exciting!"

The blond-haired man's soul immediately became excited.

I knew Middle Eastern princes were up to something, but I never expected them to do it like this.

So, when it comes to having fun, it has to be the princes and nobles!

"You've been cooped up in the palace lately, why don't we go take a look together?"

Let this 'professional soldier' ​​explain the fighter jet's performance to you; he's bet $200 million on the Mirage to win.

"Two million US dollars?!"

Walid whistled, "Turki, that's quite a generous gesture."

The monthly allowance allocated by the royal family to princes who are not yet employed ranges from tens of thousands to millions of US dollars, depending on their relationship to the princes and their financial status.

Even though Turki's status is prestigious at the moment, he only earns a million or two a month at most.

Having a hard time?
He slowly stroked his chin. "Can a fighter jet outrun a Bugatti in a short distance?"
So, what is the race distance?
"Turki, I have a feeling you're definitely going to lose this money. Have you been set up?"

"A 3-kilometer straight running track."

Turki held up three fingers decisively, “Just enough for the Phantom to take off with afterburner, and enough for the Bugatti to reach its top speed!”
Prince Bandar specifically used satellite mapping; it's absolutely fair.

Walid chuckled, "I'm not well-educated, don't try to fool me!"

Compared to a sports car, that thing starts like an old camel.

The Bugatti Veyron is a beast that can pounce on the gas pedal.

"Ha! My little lion, you just don't understand!"

Turki seemed to have been waiting for this question; he instantly perked up, straightening his back even more, like an instructor preparing to give a lecture.
“幻影2000-9，装备的是斯奈克玛M53-P2涡扇发动机，拆弹空载推重比接近1.05！

Do you know what this means? "

He took a step forward, his fingers tracing swift lines in the air.
"This means that from the moment the brakes are released, under the powerful reverse thrust, combined with the high-performance braking system modified by the Air Force, it can accelerate from 0 to 100 km/h in 4.8 seconds!"

This has narrowed the gap with sports cars.

And when it accelerates to a takeoff speed of 230 km/h, it only takes 11 seconds, and the speed limit at sea level after takeoff is 600 km/h...

I'm just asking you, what does the Bugatti Veyron have to compare to?

Turki spoke with great enthusiasm, as if he were sitting in the cockpit right now, feeling the violent acceleration.

The amused smile on Muhammad's lips deepened.

After Turki finished his "Air Force lecture," he slowly began to speak.

“Turki, my dear brother, the ace pilot,”

He tapped his finger lightly on the table.

"You know a lot about fighter jets. But you don't understand physics. On a mere three-kilometer straight road, a fighter jet would probably be utterly crushed by a Bugatti!"

He leaned forward slightly, his tone full of "Brother, you're too naive."

"Physical bottleneck, do you understand? I've calculated it carefully. The Bugatti only needs 25 seconds to finish the race, while the fighter jet needs 27.8 seconds!"
Unless the runway is extended by another 330 meters, the fighter jets have no chance of winning!
So, your $200 million is going down the drain.

Walid, standing next to him, blinked rapidly.

"You...you're just talking theory on paper!"

Turki, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, almost jumped up and pointed at Muhammad's nose.
Theory is one thing, but practical experience is the only true measure of success!

Your data is calculated based on standard weight, but in reality, you can reduce weight to get a higher thrust-to-weight ratio!

Moreover, the Phantom's engine thrust is real!
Its acceleration curve and handling will far exceed your expectations!
I'm sure I'll win my $200 million!

"Oh? Just talking the talk?"

Muhammad leaned back, spread his hands, and his eyes held a confident "I can't even be bothered arguing with a slacker like you" expression.

"My dear brother, the laws of physics never look at military rank."

Turki's face turned green.

What the hell!
Getting good grades isn't something to be proud of!
Seeing that the two brothers were about to start arguing over their respective "contestants," Walid quickly intervened, putting on a peacemaker's smile.
"Who wins and who loses, let's just see who prevails on the field, right?"

I can't wait to see this battle of gods in person!

He rubbed his hands together, looking extremely eager. "By the way, when do we leave? Now?"

Turki took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, glanced at the equally expensive pilot's watch on his wrist, and said irritably.
"Let's go now! The competition starts at 4:30, so I'll take you there to introduce you to some people."

Walid paused, glancing down at his watch. "It's only 1 a.m.! Forty minutes is the most you can go from the palace to the hangar."

Why go so early?

Sunbathing in the desert?
Turki suddenly leaned closer and familiarly put his arm around his shoulder. "Silly boy! Of course you need to warm up before the main competition..."

"Fighter jets and sports cars need to warm up, so do we!" He winked mischievously.

"The Prince has invited the best 'opening act' from Eastern Europe—a group of supermodels with peach-shaped butts who just landed from Milan Fashion Week!"

Walidurgen turned bright red in an instant.

The blond-haired soul, who was single since birth, is screaming.

Holy crap! A supermodel! Alive!

but……

"I...I'll wait for the match."

However, the voice was so weak that even he felt embarrassed.

He took a half step back, but the hem of his white robe was stepped on by Turki's gleaming military boots.

"There are no outsiders here, why are you pretending to be a Puritan with me?"

His tone softened, carrying a hint of mentoring a younger generation, "Prince Bandar's gatherings are all... well, friends who will be good for you in the future."

Moreover, we think it's good for you to show your face more often now.

"Don't worry, the princess will agree."

This step...

Walid's eyes lit up instantly, and his Adam's apple bobbed uncontrollably twice.

Yellow Hair's inner monologue: Damn it, what am I afraid of! Just treat this as an academic investigation!

Social Core OS: What kind of assessment are you talking about! You're just lusting after her body!
Internal monologue: Charge! You two idiots!
Walid suppressed his excitement and put on a serious face: "Brother is right, having more friends makes life easier. However, I need to ask Mother for permission!"

After saying that, he turned and rushed into the inner room, his white robe creating a small whirlwind.

Turki and Muhammad had no objection to this, they simply exchanged a knowing glance.

In their eyes, there was even a hint of tolerant smile.

Although Walid was physically 23 years old, he had been "asleep" in his hospital bed for seven years and had only been truly awake and in contact with the world for three months.

Based on his mental maturity and experience, he is indeed still a boy under 16 years old. It is perfectly normal for him to inform his mother before going out.

Walid walked quickly toward the inner room with an excited expression.

However, as he turned the corner, he suddenly remembered something and almost stumbled.

and many more!

Phantom 2000?!
In the early 21st century, a French-made Mirage 2000 fighter jet appeared in Saudi Arabia.
Is this even reasonable?!

The family memories and information database belonging to "Walid bin Khalid" in Huang Mao's soul were instantly activated.

Prince Bandar...

This man is a tycoon in the arms trade, a member of the royal family, and one of the main competitors of his own Talal faction in the fields of arms smuggling and legitimate trade!

What are the main equipment of the Saudi Air Force?
Air superiority relies on the American-made F-15, there's not much to say about that.

It's a byproduct of oil; you can't avoid buying it.

The most frequently used multi-role fighter jet was the Tornado, jointly developed by Britain, Germany, and Italy in the late 60s.

At this moment, the Tornado fighter jets are being gradually replaced by the Typhoon and Rafale, which were introduced under the leadership of their father.

The French Phantom 2000?

In the entire Arab world, only the UAE and Qatar have made this purchase!

This thing doesn't even exist in the Saudi Air Force's inventory!
Where did Prince Bandar get his Mirage 2000-9?

It was even modified into a "toy" that can be used for such extreme competitions?
There's definitely more to this than meets the eye!
……

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(End of this chapter)