Two hundred meters outside the Parliament Building, at an outdoor seat of the "Tigris Shore" restaurant, Song Heping sat alone.
The sunlight was scorching, as if pouring molten lead.
The restaurant's canvas awning barely blocked the direct rays but couldn't stop the omnipresent heat.
Song Heping chose a seat on the outermost side of the terrace, right next to a low stone railing, with the muddy waters of the Tigris River ten meters below.
This position offered an excellent view.
To the left, one could see the newly restored dome of the Parliament Building, to the right, overlooking the entire Karrada District, and directly ahead was the Republic Bridge spanning the riverbanks, where Illigo soldiers and American soldiers stood side by side at the checkpoint, each guarding their own side.
Four people in plain clothes with bulging waists were scattered around.
Two were pretending to smoke at the restaurant entrance, one was at the next table endlessly flipping through a newspaper, and another was chatting intermittently with the bartender.
They were all people from the "Musician" defense force, also Song Heping's bodyguards.
A cup of Turkish coffee, almost untouched, sat in front of him—the waiter insisted on calling it that, even though Song Heping knew that in Baghdad, it was more commonly referred to as "qahwa."
The rich aroma of cardamom and cloves mixed with the unique fishy smell of the river, forming a unique scent of this city.
Decay and rebirth, tradition and modernity, death and resilience, all mixed together.
The restaurant was built on a high platform by the river, reportedly a property of a minister's son during Sadam's era, which had changed hands several times since 2003, now owned by a Libenese businessman.
Resilient weeds grew through the cracks of the marble floor tiles on the terrace, the iron decorations on the railing were rusted, but the tablecloths were white, the cutlery shiny, with prices high enough to put off the average Illigos.
This is Baghdad today—everything is in disrepair, everything barely maintained.
Song Heping's gaze shifted from the river to the other side.
The buildings in Karrada District seemed like blocks haphazardly piled by a giant, densely packed together.
The gaps between buildings were narrow enough for only one person to pass through, with clothes hanging on balconies like flags of various nations, and satellite dishes sprouting like metallic weeds from every rooftop.
Further afield, the slums of Sadir City stretched to the horizon, home base to Mukhtar al-Sadr, and a source pool for Shiite militia like the "Peace Brigade."
At least a third of Samir's fighters came from there, their families still living in those dilapidated houses without running water and electricity for less than four hours a day.
In the afternoon sunlight, the Tigris River shimmered like oil slicks.
Several small wooden fishing boats drifted slowly downriver, with old men aboard mechanically casting and retrieving nets, which usually captured only a few finger-sized small fish.
Somewhere upstream, a destroyed chemical plant continued to leak unknown chemicals into the river, but no one managed it or cared.
After all, the war was still ongoing, and those alive were not in a position to be choosy.
The TV on the restaurant wall was on, with the volume turned very low.
The screen was broadcasting scenes from inside the Parliament Building, with Arabic news reports interspersed with simultaneous English translation.
"...The speech by Liberation Forces commander Samir Hussein Fadil sparked intense debate in parliament. The Kurd Group clearly opposed Ministry of Defense Proposal No. 44, stating that the proposal could undermine the constitutional rights of the autonomous region..."
The scene switched to the parliament hall.
Samir stood behind the podium, wearing a new desert camouflage uniform, the "Liberation Forces" badge on his right arm particularly conspicuous under the spotlight.
Song Heping watched him, like a chess player watching a piece he had carefully nurtured move onto the chessboard—there was a strange sense of detachment.
Samir's voice came through the TV speakers, somewhat distorted, but the tension was evident:
"We lost 2,782 brothers... but we held the land... we need support..."
Song Heping lifted the coffee cup to his lips but put it down again.
It was already cold.
The scene switched to the questioning session.
Kurd MP Sherko Bakir stood up, posing a question as sharp as a knife: "Commander, how do you guarantee your troops won't become a tool for Baghdad to interfere in Kurdistan?"
Then it was the Sunni Sect MPs' turn to question: "What is the Shiite proportion in your troops? Will the reorganization affect the sect balance in the military?"
The parliament hall descended into chaos.
The speaker pounded the gavel, but couldn't quell the mutual accusations among the faction MPs. The Shiites accused the Kurds of dividing the country, the Kurds accused the Shiites of sectarian dictatorship, while the Sunnis mocked from the sidelines.
Modeled after the American system, the Illigo Council's 328 seats were divided into at least a dozen party groups, with every vote turning into a small war.
Song Heping's left index finger bent back, gently rapping against the marble tabletop with his knuckles.
Thud, thud, thud, as steady as a heartbeat.
The situation was trickier than he anticipated.
No, more accurately, the Kurds' opposition was firmer and more unified than he had expected.
It wasn't just about the opposing votes, but about the near-instinctual strategic vigilance displayed by the Kurd Group.
They had seen through the geopolitical implications behind Samir's reorganization.
The Illigo of 2015 was a fragmented puzzle.
In the north, the Kurdistan Autonomous Region had been de facto independent for over twenty years, with its own government, military (Peshmerga), border control, and even oil export channels.
When the Islamic State rose in 2014, the Kurd Armed seized control of disputed oil-rich areas like Kirkuk, reaching a historic peak of power.
But now 1515 was in retreat, the authority of the Baghdad Central Government was starting to rise, and the Kurds felt the pressure.