In the first half of the twentieth century, Cairo, Egypt, was filled with swirling dust and sand.
Camels trod upon the dry earth, raising dust and the sound of camel bells. Pedestrians wrapped in turbans and wearing white or blue sandals strolled leisurely through the marketplaces.
A woman hidden under a black hood sat cautiously in front of a stall. An old cloth was spread out into an irregular square, displaying many hand-woven trinkets.
The air smelled of animal hair and manure. Some pedestrians frowned and walked quickly, while others were relaxed and at ease; white, black, and yellow people were all mixed together in the dusty yellow haze.
If one looked closely, they could tell who were the long-term residents and who were the 'outsiders' who had just arrived.
For instance, those neatly dressed Americans, with their arms around their women or men, circled the market. They would occasionally stop at a stall, gesture wildly, ask the price curiously, and then generously buy a few items to please their companions.
Or those noble ladies who frowned and fanned their hands, trying to disperse the pervasive sand, covering their mouths and noses—young misses who were uncomfortable yet insisted on looking around.
These were all foreigners who had just arrived.
Those who had lived here for a long time had long since become indifferent to it, letting the yellow sand blow as they walked past with expressionless faces.
Nashim, in his forties, was operating his family business as usual—a small newspaper stand. Having lived in this terrible city for decades, he had witnessed both the decay and prosperity of Cairo.
He propped up the small awning overhead and set the wooden slats. Nashim spread stacks of thick newspapers, still smelling of ink, onto the wooden boards, then plopped into his chair, leaning against a soft cushion to rest his eyes contentedly.
The sound of passing footsteps mingled with the rustle of gravel. Copper bells hung from the camels' jaws, bringing with them a pungent and dry stench as they moved.
Damned foreigners, damned war.
Scuff, scuff, scuff.
The sound of boot soles rubbing reached his ears.
"Hello?"
Nashim rubbed his eyes with his thick, stubby fingers. In his impatient vision, a crisp black outfit came into view.
Emerald-green fingernails were long, sharp, and bright, forming a perfect curve at the tips. It seemed the owner of these hands was very young and took great care of her attractive features.
A smooth fingernail tapped on the newspaper, sliding over the layers. The pale finger searched and finally stopped on a certain headline.
Looking up, the girl wore a boater hat. Her black hair cascaded down, brushing against her small, fuzzy, pink ears in the wind.
In her slightly drooping eyes, there was nothing but tenderness and murmurs. A small beauty mark was perched at the corner of her eye; a face that should have been soft yet slightly cold was instantly ignited by this seductive chestnut-colored dot.
The sand blew, spreading like the wind across the girl's face.
Exquisite.
Nashim couldn't help but think of his wife when she was young—perhaps not as good as this girl, but that kind of deep, water-like attachment and gentleness was just like when he first saw her.
Was this a princess from some country traveling here?
Nashim, who had been selling newspapers here for many years, had only recently seen more and more foreigners. And the one today was the most beautiful and youngest one yet.
The girl held the brim of her hat with her left hand, her voice still gentle in her nonchalant words.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Miss." Nashim sat up, his belly protruding. He hesitated for two seconds before finally standing up from that comfortable lounge chair, dusting off the sand that had fallen on him, and trying his best to look polite.
Normally, he would never do this.
"I want this one."
The girl's downcast eyes were occasionally obscured by her curled eyelashes. Her clean, bright pupils and slightly flushed cheeks made Nashim see at a glance that this girl was definitely no more than eighteen.
However, does a girl who hasn't even reached eighteen develop this well?
Nashim's gaze shifted downward. Since the stall blocked his view, he could only see from the waist up.
Oh... she was already more developed than that woman in the tavern on 17th Street who relied on her'size' to stun the whole place.
Sun God above! What kind of excellent bloodline could create such an elegant and beautiful person, yet one not lacking in seductive charm?
If this girl had been born a thousand years ago, she would only have needed the immense arrogance of her figure to make Ramesses willingly offer up everything he had.
While Nashim was swimming in his fantasies, the girl blinked and looked at him strangely.
"Sir?"
"Oh... oh!" Nashim nodded, the fat on his face trembling. He stated a price, and after the girl handed it to him, he respectfully took it with both hands.
As for why he respectfully took it with both hands, Nashim himself didn't know. This girl gave him a particularly strange pressure—
Just like the feeling of those dark-clad police staring at him when he was arrested for a fight six months ago.
A sudden, natural pressure.
The difference was that the latter's pressure came from violence, from those batons and firearms that caused pain.
The former, however, came from those clear eyes that were like lakes and oceans.
"Please take it."
Nashim moved the rotten wood block, pulled out the newspaper from the top of the stack, and handed it to the girl.
The other party didn't leave. She unfolded the newspaper and, using the small shed he had built, read the newspaper silently by the sunlight filtering through.
Nashim had good eyesight and could see the page the girl was reading.
"The Pounce of the Far East Tiger!"
"The Army from the East has Landed on the Main Island!"
"The Rising Sun Flag has been Broken!"
"The Cherry Blossom Relocation Project, the Fall of the Home Island?"
"Oh, Welcome the Great Far Easterners!"
As she read, the girl suddenly curled her lips upward, making Nashim, who was watching all this, unable to help but smile as well. It was hard to imagine what a seductive and noble picture this lady would be if she grew to be twenty.
Nashim made small talk: "This is the latest one."
Being in this business, he came into contact with the latest news every day. When talking about war and national affairs, Nashim seemed to know what he was talking about.
"In my opinion, that country was already very polite," Nashim said with a face full of disdain. "It was arrogance and paranoia that ruined them."
The golden sunlight floated gently on the girl's black hair. She listened to Nashim talk eloquently, occasionally giving a soft hum in response.
"The Far East... truly a mysterious land," Nashim sighed. "In just half a year, they are already about to enter the final operation to land on the island."
"That's what they deserve." The girl suddenly spoke up, her bright eyes making Nashim freeze for a moment.
"Yes, yes..." Nashim continued haltingly in his daze. "However, the civilians living on that island nation are very pitiful..."
The girl's nonchalant gaze suddenly turned cold. She casually rolled the newspaper into a tube. Nashim didn't understand the emotion in her tone.
"What does it matter?"
"Isn't it perfectly reasonable?"
Speaking words Nashmu couldn't understand, the girl adjusted her straw hat, nodded to him, and left the stall with the newspaper.
The yellow sand swirled around the hem of her skirt.
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