Dubai Shook. At the end of last month, an unexpected reality descended upon this Middle Eastern commercial hub.

That afternoon, Wu, a developer in Dubai, heard a series of consecutive sounds outside his window while on his way home. The same sound he had experienced before in Lebanon and Iraq—missiles. He understood immediately. The roar grew denser and continued until midnight. In the direction of Marina, intercept missiles exploded in the air, flashes of light streaking across the sky. “Scenes I had only seen in movies were spreading out right before my eyes,” he said later.

Palm Island, Burj Al Arab, and Khalifa Tower—these Dubai landmarks would no longer appear in ordinary tourism ads, but in war news. Earlier that day, the United States and Israel carried out a joint attack on Iran, and Iran retaliated within a few hours. A total of 167 missiles and more than 500 drones were launched toward the Gulf region, including Dubai.

Dubai Airport’s T3 terminal was hit by a drone attack, and one of the world’s busiest international airports shut down indefinitely overnight. This super-hub, which had handled 1,200 flights a day, suddenly lost its function.

But Dubai’s everyday life didn’t completely come to a halt. When Wu went to the supermarket the next morning, the shelves were fully stocked. If he ordered McDonald’s, it would arrive within 30 minutes, and the delivery person was even joking. Meanwhile, the supermarket for Chinese customers was different. With a surge of shoppers, the system displayed “Too busy,” and the goods never arrived.

There are currently about 300,000 Chinese residents living in Dubai. Many of them came seeking zero income tax and political stability. Chinese people rooted in Web3, trade, real estate, and finance considered this desert city their second home.

But before the missiles came, everyone felt that “the turmoil in the Middle East has nothing to do with me.” One Chinese person wrote in a group chat: “The first time I came to Dubai was to avoid taxes, but now I’m in an air-raid shelter to avoid bombs.”

Retreat options split into three paths: head to Oman, flee to Al Ain in the desert’s heart, or move to Sharjah, which has no military facilities. Wu decided to wait a little longer. “Iran probably doesn’t have unlimited missiles, so the situation will eventually become controllable,” he thought.

Mason lived in Dubai’s Silicon Valley. He wanted to go see the bombed Burj Al Arab, but he gave up because of traffic. “Probably I just wanted to confirm that I really experienced this,” he said later.

Olivia lived in a densely populated area 8 kilometers from the coastline—its coast faced Iran, with Burj Al Arab and Palm Island on that side. Her home had been upgraded with quadruple glazing, but the sound of the bombing still broke through. Late at night, even after she turned on Do Not Disturb mode, government alarms cut through that setting. Four or five of her phones rang at the same time.

Information sources among people in Dubai were faster than official announcements. In WeChat group chats, they learned which buildings had been bombed, which intersections were sealed off, and which supermarkets still had goods—everything was transmitted through the Chinese network.

The choices made by Chinese people varied. Some fled through the night, while others decided to stay. Some lay in the sun by the pool, while others packed passports and cash into emergency bags. There was no such thing as a right choice or a wrong choice—only betting on probabilities.

Most Chinese who came to Dubai didn’t come for adventure; they came for certainty. Taxes were certain, laws were certain, and business was certain. Over 30 years, this city built order in the desert. But some things are beyond human control. When major powers’ talks break down at the negotiating table, missiles fly. Whether you’re on this side or that, whether you’re a good person, or how much tax you paid—none of it matters. The only thing is: you’re here.

This is the world of 2026. Flights can be halted, borders can be sealed, and meticulously planned lives can be thrown into chaos in a single afternoon. On the chessboard of great-power conflict, no one had ever asked the pieces what they thought.

Wu thought that if things settled down, he would probably stay. “Maybe it’ll be even more peaceful in the future.” This is the calm that only those who have experienced it can possess. The history of the Middle East is written like this: wars and ceasefires repeat, and life goes on.

Another boom echoed outside the window. Whether it was a missile or an intercept—or whether it was far away or close—was unclear. But the sound was still far off, and daily life could still continue. McDonald’s was still delivering, the supermarkets still had goods, and when alarms sounded people went to the parking lot; when they didn’t, they just kept sleeping.

The 300,000 Chinese people were waiting like this—waiting for the wind to die down, waiting for America to stop, waiting for Iran to finish its attack, waiting for Dubai to breathe again.