Dubai changed overnight. The world’s busiest international airport was brought to a standstill by missiles. On the afternoon of February 28, Iran began retaliatory strikes, and the airports in Dubai and Abu Dhabi were bombed one after another. The Middle Eastern hub, where 1,200 flights arrived and departed every day, was shrouded in silence in an instant.

About 300,000 Chinese people live in Dubai. Many of them came seeking tax-system stability and legal certainty. Web3 insiders, traders, real-estate developers, people in finance—Chinese from a variety of industries had put down roots in this desert city. Over the past 10 years, they had felt that “the chaos in the Middle East has nothing to do with us.” Until the missiles came.

Developer Wu had just finished dinner near the Burj Khalifa and was heading home when, right after he got in, he heard three thuds outside the window—don, don, don—one after another. Based on his experience with events in Lebanon and Iraq, he could tell immediately that it was a missile. After that, the roaring sound grew even denser, and government alarms blared, emitting a grating “pip pip pip pip.” He and his wife headed to the underground parking garage. The garage was already packed—some people were holding children, while others had stuffed mineral water and biscuits into their trunks. The next morning, Wu went to the supermarket. The shelves were full, and McDonald’s was delivered in 30 minutes. But the Chinese supermarkets were the opposite. The ordering system showed “Too busy,” meaning there were too many buyers and they couldn’t provide enough supply.

Mason lived in Dubai’s Silicon Valley. On the afternoon of February 28, he left the house to go see the hotel on Palm Island after it was bombed, but he gave up because of traffic congestion. He didn’t feel fear. “Probably it’s just too far from me,” he said. Still, he believed missiles were supposed to be precision-guided, so there would be no indiscriminate bombing. A friend in his real-estate business said that the clients they had planned for canceled their trip to Dubai.

Olivia lived in a densely populated area, 8 kilometers from the coastline. The glass in her home was quadruple-paned, yet the sound of bombings still broke through. At midnight, a phone she had set to Do Not Disturb Mode woke her whole family with government alerts. Four or five phones inside the house rang at the same time. One of her friends tried to flee to Oman, but the border was closed. Another friend fled to the U.S. in a private jet.

Dubai has no seasons. Just heat—and even more heat. But over these two days, 300,000 Chinese people felt a different kind of temperature—uncertainty.

Somebody decided to run all night, and somebody decided to stay. Some lay out by the pool soaking up the sun; others packed their passports and cash into emergency bags. There is no right or wrong in what each person chooses. It’s just a bet on probability.

Most Chinese who came to Dubai weren’t here for adventure. Rather, they came for certainty. Palm Island, Burj Al Arab, Burj Khalifa—these were all monuments to this order. People can beat the desert and build prosperity in the wilderness. But some things are beyond human control.

When two countries’ talks fall apart at the negotiating table, missiles fly. It doesn’t matter which side you’re on, whether you’re a good person, how much tax you’ve paid, how many people you’ve employed, or how many buildings you’ve built. It’s only that 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 confrontation, no one has ever asked the pieces what they think.

Wu thought that if the situation calmed down, he would probably remain. “Maybe in the future it will become more peaceful,” he said. This kind of calm is something only people who have lived through it can possess. The history of the Middle East is written like this—wars and ceasefires repeat, and life goes on.

Outside the window, another sound rang out again. Missiles or interception—whether it was far or near, he couldn’t tell. It was fine. The sound was still far away, and daily life could still continue. McDonald’s was still delivering, the supermarkets still had goods, and when the alarm sounded, they would go to the parking lot; if it didn’t, they would keep sleeping.

The 300,000 Chinese people were waiting like this—waiting for the wind to stop.