A week later, Persia, Tehran XX New International Airport.
The airport lobby was bustling with people, the air filled with a mixture of languages, the scent of spices, sweat, and disinfectant.
Travelers, businessn, diplomats from around the world, and various locals moved ceaselessly, while outside the massive glass windows, the sun slightly distorted the asphalt on the tarmac with its heat.
Jiang Feng carried a massive, weathered tactical backpack, wore a semi-new, non-branded outdoor jacket, tactical pants, and dust-covered high-top combat boots, and walked out of the international arrivals channel.
He wore sunglasses that covered half of his face, a few days' worth of stubble on his chin, a solid build, and a steady gait. He seed to casually observe the surroundings, but his eyes behind the sunglasses swept over every corner of the lobby, every cara position, and every possible surveillance point like a radar.
Years on the battlefield had ingrained in him a near-instinctive vigilance.
He didn't stop, following the instructions, he went directly to the dostic flight transfer channel.
An hour later, he boarded a small dostic flight to the northwestern Persian city of Mahabad.
The plane was old, and the cabin was filled with the strong sll of engine oil and mutton.
Most of the passengers were locals, curiously eyeing this obviously foreign brawny man. Jiang Feng leaned against the porthole, watching the barren, rugged highland landscape below, calculating silently in his heart.
Hours later, the plane landed at a more modest airport in Mashhad.
Here, he didn't stay at all and walked straight out of the airport lobby.
A seemingly ordinary, even sowhat shabby white Iranian-made Samand car with local license plates silently glided to a stop in front of him.
The car window rolled down, the person in the driver's seat wearing sunglasses nodded slightly at him.
Without hesitation, Jiang Feng opened the car door, tossed the enormous backpack into the back seat, and sat in the passenger seat himself.
As soon as the car door closed, the vehicle swiftly rged into the airport's traffic flow.
"Was the journey smooth?"
The driver spoke, his voice deep and familiar.
Only then did Jiang Feng completely relax. He took off his sunglasses, grinning, and punched the driver's shoulder: "Damn! Old Sergeant, you're actually driving yourself? Didn't Avanti assign you a driver?! That's unreasonable!"
It was Song Heping who was driving.
He laughed, "The situation here is special. I wouldn't trust soone else."
"Well, you're quite the host."
Jiang Feng leaned comfortably against the seatback, observing the streetscape of Mashhad outside the car window. The exotic architecture, won dressed in traditional black robes, walls plastered with revolutionary slogans and portraits of deceased spiritual leaders, mingled with modern billboards, ford a bizarre scene.
The street traffic was congested, honking incessantly.
"This car's not bad, Iranian native product? The steel is sturdy enough, but the engine sounds like a tractor."
Jiang Feng joked, skillfully pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
Song Heping glanced at Jiang Feng's cigarette and said, "The ban on smoking in public places here is strict."
Jiang Feng shrugged, lit his cigarette, took a deep puff, and rolled down the window halfway, exhaling the smoke into the dry air outside: "Old Sergeant, how do you feel about this place, Persia... It seed quite calm on the way over."
Song Heping expertly maneuvered the car, avoiding a minibus forcefully changing lanes, and answered in a steady voice: "Only on the surface. Persia is an extrely complex contradiction. You see ancient civilizations, the enthusiasm of ordinary people, and religious devoutness. But beneath the surface, currents are turbulent. Their internal factions are vying for power."
The car drove out of the city, heading northeast along a pothole-ridden, deteriorating highway towards the border mountains.
The scenery on both sides gradually turned desolate, with yellow dirt slopes, bare rocks, and sparse drought-resistant shrubs replacing the city's clamor.
"The commotion you caused this ti..." Jiang Feng's smile faded, and he lowered his voice, "I heard it hit the CIA hard in Illinois's northwest?"
Song Heping nodded lightly while looking ahead: "Henry assessed that their network in Northwest Illinois is basically paralyzed. This is our window of opportunity."
"Damn impressive!" Jiang Feng slapped his thigh excitedly, "Those suits are going to have a real headache now. So can we go all out next? Hurry up and train these rookies, return to Illinois, and rally the banner..."
"No rush." Song Heping interrupted him, "First, you have to help turn these people into real soldiers, not just militia with guns. Secondly, the situation here is more complex than you imagine."
He paused, glancing at Jiang Feng, his gaze serious: "There are a few points you must constantly rember. First, it is not absolutely safe here. The Persians have provided us shelter and so support, but it is out of their strategic interests and does not an we are family. Their intelligence agencies are pervasive, and there are nurous factions. To us, they are both collaborators and surveillants."
Jiang Feng nodded thoughtfully, his playful deanor much subdued.
Song Heping continued, lowering his voice further: "Secondly, and most dangerously: internal spies. The internal situation here is extrely complex, with various forces intertwining and infiltrating. Besides the various big families within Persia having their own agendas, the CIA, Mossad (Israel), MI6, and even Turkey might have inserted moles and insiders through various ans. The success of our previous action was largely because we were in the dark while using the lever of 1515. But now, as our strength grows, we are bound to attract more attention. Any negligence could lead to total disaster."
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