This sleep was so comfortable! Zhang Feng was still savoring the leisurely time spent lying in bed when he slowly opened his bleary eyes.
As a member of the post-90s generation and a military academy graduate who had joined the special operations forces, the daily training was grueling and occasional missions brought heavy psychological pressure. However, whenever he had free time, Zhang Feng still liked to play games all night and then sleep through the day.
A few days ago, he had just carried out a military operation on the Vietnamese border to rescue a few Chinese citizens who had gone to Vietnam to gamble, ended up in massive debt, and were detained by locals. Of course, the superiors called them Chinese citizens; as for who they actually were, Zhang Feng didn't know and didn't want to know. Would they really deploy a special forces team to rescue an ordinary citizen? Zhang Feng didn't bother thinking about it; a soldier's duty is to obey orders. The only thing that puzzled him was why someone would travel thousands of miles to Vietnam to gamble when they could just go to Macau.
After completing a mission, there were always a few days of relaxation. Zhang Feng used this time to revisit several classic games. He didn't like boring online games, only various war games. Last night, he played a classic Iraq War game: Desert Storm II: Back to Baghdad.
Still reminiscing about that dream, which was somewhat similar to the game, the scene before Zhang Feng's eyes gradually became clear.
Holy crap, why has everything around me changed?
Last night, he was clearly sleeping in the dormitory—a two-person room for the special forces. His roommate had gone to see his girlfriend, and a computer sat on the table in the middle. But now, both the bed and the computer had vanished. In front of him was a writing desk with a peculiar design, and a painting hung vaguely on the wall, though he couldn't see it clearly through his bleary eyes.
Was he dreaming?
Zhang Feng reached out to feel around; beneath him wasn't a hard wooden bedboard, but a soft, comfortable mattress!
He gave his thigh a hard pinch. It hurt—not a dream! At the same time, Zhang Feng woke up completely, left staring in slack-jawed amazement.
The person in the painting on the wall had a small mustache, wore a military uniform and a beret, and looked somewhat familiar.
Where was this? Utterly confused, Zhang Feng climbed out of bed and walked to the window.
It was clearly a villa. He was on the second floor, flanked by several large pillars. On the open ground below the building, there was actually a huge swimming pool! The sun was beating down fiercely on the ground, and the water in the pool shimmered incessantly.
Looking further into the distance, what shocked Zhang Feng even more was that many soldiers were guarding the outside of the villa, holding their guns and watching the surroundings vigilantly.
To hell with where this is; he'd go down and swim for a bit first. This villa was a luxury mansion; his salary, even with a posthumous pension added, wouldn't be enough to buy it.
Zhang Feng opened the door, preparing to head down.
Just as he opened the door, Zhang Feng froze again. A man stood outside, wrapped entirely in a white robe, even his head was covered. Who was this?
"Second Young Master, you're awake?" the man said in a strange language.
Although Zhang Feng didn't know what language it was, he understood it perfectly, and words immediately jumped out of his mouth: "Yes, I'm going down for a swim."
Second Young Master? He was an only child; he had faced immense resistance when he applied for the military academy. How had he become a 'Second Young Master' now?
Suddenly, Zhang Feng's face turned pale and his limbs went cold. He finally remembered—wasn't the person in the painting he just saw Saddam Hussein, who had been hanged a few years ago?
Why was his portrait in the room? How did he become a Second Young Master? Who was he?
He woke up feeling like everything had gone haywire.
"Who are you?" Zhang Feng asked.
The man's expression wavered. The person before him usually had a gloomy gaze and was always a man of few words; why was he proactively asking who he was today? He was Ghassar, who had always been by his side taking care of his daily life!
"Second Young Master, I am Ghassar!" the man said.
"Then who am I? What place is this?"
The man's eyes widened, but he still replied, "Second Young Master, you are Qusay Abdullah ibn Saddam Hussein Hussein. This is the President's private villa in the southern suburbs of Baghdad."
It's over, completely over. How did he end up here and even become Qusay!
Zhang Feng felt utter despair. Could there have been something wrong with the game he played? How did he suddenly arrive in Baghdad and become Saddam Hussein's second son, Qusay?
Zhang Feng felt a faint sense of sympathy for Iraq and the Saddam Hussein family. Their misfortune stemmed from the oil beneath their feet. Furthermore, Saddam Hussein was a powerful figure with dreams of unifying the Middle East; under the pressure of various great powers, he was destined to become nothing more than a face on a deck of playing cards.
In this world, there is no such thing as good and evil, only the strong and the weak. The victims are always the common people. In Zhang Feng's era, Iraqi civilians lived in dire straits; they had no future.
And Qusay eventually met his end, shot dead by the US military.
I don't want to be Qusay! Heavens, don't play with me like this, okay? Let me be Bill Gates, George H.W. Bush, or at the very least, a Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. What is this nonsense?
Zhang Feng's heart was filled with anxiety about the future. Death isn't scary; what's scary is knowing that you must die.
But why must I be the one to die? Why must I die at the hands of the US military? Zhang Feng then reconsidered: the real Qusay no longer existed, and he had taken Qusay's place. So, would history still follow its original trajectory?
Since he was here, he had to change history and not repeat the original process. Iraq's decline from prosperity began with the Iran-Iraq War, which brought Iraq's economy to a complete standstill. The eight-year war left Iraq riddled with the scars of conflict. Then Saddam Hussein—his father—went and seized Kuwait, which finally provoked the United States. From then on, Iraq's downfall was sealed.
To rewrite history, he had to find a way to stop the Iran-Iraq War and prevent the tragedy from repeating. Zhang Feng asked cautiously, "What time is it now?"
Seeing the peaceful and serene scene outside, Zhang Feng held onto a sliver of hope. Perhaps Saddam Hussein had only just come to power?
"It's three o'clock in the afternoon," Ghassar said.
"I'm asking what year it is, you idiot!" Zhang Feng blurted out. Unknowingly, his temper had become so violent; was this Qusay like this too?
"Yes, today is June 17, 1981," Ghassar said quickly. Had the Second Young Master forgotten everything after a nap? And his temper had become so bad; surely he wouldn't become like the Eldest Young Master? Thinking of the Eldest Young Master's penchant for torturing people at the drop of a hat, Ghassar grew afraid, his voice trembling slightly.
1981? Too late! The Iran-Iraq War had already broken out a year ago, Zhang Feng thought helplessly. However, even if it were a year earlier, with his current status, he definitely wouldn't have been able to influence his father Saddam Hussein's decisions; the man's ambitions were sky-high.
However, it was still the stage where Iraq was on the offensive and Iran was on the defensive. The situation was relatively optimistic for Iraq. As long as he could gain his father's approval within a few months and then have him end the war under favorable conditions, he should still be able to avoid the painful experience of an eight-year war.
Unconsciously, Zhang Feng had begun to adapt to this identity. As a member of the post-90s generation, Zhang Feng was a natural optimist. Since he had arrived here, he would take things as they came. At least during these few years, looking across all of Iraq, no one would dare to bully him.
Chasing Arab beauties and enjoying exotic customs would also be a good choice. With such a large villa to live in, if he didn't make the most of it, he would truly be doing a disservice to this transmigration!
Zhang Yang, without a word, stripped down to his underwear and rushed toward the swimming pool.
Ghassar watched Qusay in shock. Why was the Second Young Master so abnormal today? Suddenly, he remembered something and quickly caught up with Qusay.
"Second Young Master, you can't go in now. The pool temperature is too high!"
It was July, and three o'clock in the afternoon. Under the intense sunlight, the pool's water temperature was at least fifty or sixty degrees.
Zhang Feng abruptly pulled back his feet. That was close! If he had been scalded to death in the swimming pool on his very first day, he'd surely become a restless ghost in the underworld!
Lying on the balcony on the second floor of the villa, looking at the white clouds in the sky with Ghassar fanning him incessantly, Zhang Feng enjoyed the life of the Second Young Master.
Iraq, the second year after the outbreak of the Iran-Iraq War. Zhang Yang recalled everything about this era. As a transmigrator, knowledge was a massive fortune.
The territorial disputes between Iraq and Iran spanned over a century, especially regarding the Shatt al-Arab in the northwestern Persian Gulf, which was a vital oil export route for both countries and held significant value for both.
Although both countries followed Islam, ninety percent of Iran's residents were Shia Muslims, and sixty percent of Iraq's residents were also Shia Muslims, yet the ruling power in Iraq was held by the Sunnis.
Two years ago, the pro-American Pahlavi dynasty in Iran was overthrown, and Khomeini came to power. Relations with the United States were strained, and the Iran hostage crisis occurred. Khomeini and Saddam Hussein also had personal grievances. Under various factors, the war began.
In the early stages of the war, Iraq was unstoppable, advancing into Iran.
It was now 1981, an era when his father Saddam Hussein was full of vigor and brimming with confidence.
Surrounding countries like Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and Libya all supported Iraq because they were all Arabs, whereas Iran was Persian. Historically, there had been countless wars between Arabs and Persians.
There were also Palestine and Israel, which did not border Iraq. Zhang Feng felt deep pity for Palestine, especially for Arafat. They say power grows out of the barrel of a gun, but he didn't know what this PLO leader was thinking, actually believing the Americans and giving up armed struggle. In the end, he was tormented to death by the Israelis; one wonders if he regretted it before he died.
The State of Palestine became an eternal ache in his heart.
Since he was here, he might as well help Arafat; after all, they were fellow Arabs.
A spark flashed in Zhang Feng's mind. He suddenly remembered that Israel was also full of hostility toward Iraq. In particular, after seeing that Iraq's nuclear reactor was progressing smoothly, they defied international norms and launched a long-range air strike to destroy it.
This was a classic battle, a surgical air strike that demonstrated Israel's formidable air power. Even now, it was studied as a textbook case in many military academies.
Zhang Feng remembered clearly—it was June 17, 1981, at 5:30 PM. And now, it was June 17, 1981, at 3:30 PM!