I manufacture weapons in the Middle East and am wanted globally?

When the pickup truck turned out of the garbage street, Chen Zheng's hands were still trembling slightly.

Because the adrenaline hasn't completely subsided.

He rolled down the car window, letting the hot air rush in, making the hairs on his face stand on end.

If it weren't for my bad image, I'd probably blow on my pubic hair.

The morning sun in Delaware was blindingly white, reflecting a halo of light off the windshield. He squinted and reached down to pull the sun visor down.

"God help me," he muttered.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do!

He laughed after he finished speaking.

He took out his phone and called Mahmoud Zaidan.

The phone rang several times before it was answered.

"Who?" A deep male voice asked in Arabic, with a local Dera accent.

"Mr. Mahmoud?" Chen Zheng lowered his voice and spoke at a moderate pace. "I was introduced by Mr. Abu Ali. He said you could help me solve some problems."

"In the south of the city, next to the old market, there's an alley called Al-Ansarli. At the end of the alley, there's a hookah lounge. Come here at three in the afternoon."

"it is good."

The phone hangs up.

Clean and efficient, without uttering a single unnecessary word.

He put his phone in his pocket, turned the steering wheel, and the car turned onto a slightly wider road.

The buildings on both sides of the road were still the same gray and drab buildings, but the houses in this area were obviously better than those in the south of the city. At least the windows were intact and not covered with cardboard. Some balconies even had flower pots planted with bougainvillea, whose purplish-red flowers were in full bloom and stood out against the gray and yellow landscape.

Chen Zheng slowed down the car and glanced to both sides.

After driving for about ten minutes, he saw a small grocery store by the roadside.

The shop wasn't big; several boxes of drinks and some daily necessities were piled up at the entrance, and a tabby cat was sleeping on a plastic stool.

A faded sign hung above the store, written in Arabic. Chen Zheng didn't look at it carefully, but he could understand the word "grocery store" as long as he could read it.

He parked the car on the side of the road, turned off the engine, and got out.

As I pushed the door open, the bell on the door rang once.

An old man wearing reading glasses sat behind the counter, reading a newspaper. Seeing Chen Zheng enter, he put down the newspaper, stood up, and asked in Arabic, "What do you need?"

"Do you have a black bag?" Chen Zheng gestured, "A small one."

The old man thought for a moment, then turned and went into the small warehouse at the back. After rummaging through it for a while, he pulled out a black fanny pack.

It's made of nylon, not new, but not broken either. The zipper still works, and the shoulder straps aren't broken.

Chen Zheng flipped through it and found three compartments inside, which were just the right size.

"How much?"

"500 pounds."

Five banknotes, about ten US dollars.

Chen Zheng took out 500 pounds from his pocket, handed it over, tucked the bag under his arm, and turned to leave.

Back in the car, he put his bag on the passenger seat, thought for a moment, gritted his teeth, took out the wad of US dollars from his pocket, counted out $1000, ten Franklin bills, brand new, gleaming green in the sunlight.

He folded the money in half and stuffed it into the innermost compartment of the black backpack.

Just as he was about to leave, a shop next door caught Chen Zheng's attention.

The shop wasn't large, but the window was spotless, and several watches were displayed inside, gleaming in the sunlight. Above the window hung a sign that read "Damascus Watch Shop" in Arabic and English.

Chen Zheng thought for a moment, parked the car at the entrance, and went inside.

The air conditioning in the store was blasting, and he got goosebumps all over his arms from the cold.

The glass display case was filled with various watches: Casio, Tissot, Longines, Omega, and a few Rolexes, all neatly arranged on a black velvet cloth, gleaming with a sophisticated luster under the spotlights.

Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man, around forty years old, wearing a white shirt with the cuffs neatly buttoned and his hair combed meticulously.

When he saw Chen Zheng enter, he gave a slight bow and said in Arabic, "Welcome, sir."

Chen Zheng walked to the counter, bent down and looked at the watches.

He picked up a Longines watch, turned it over to look at the bottom cover, and then held it to his ear to listen to the sound it made when it left.

To be honest, he doesn't know anything about watches.

When he was in China, he wore a Casio digital watch, from Huaqiangbei. How much do you think it cost?

But he knows brands. If you give him a Longines watch, he recognizes the logo, knows it's Swiss, and knows it's not cheap—that's enough.

"This," Chen Zheng pointed to the Longines watch and asked in Arabic, "is it genuine?"

The boss smiled, shrugged, and said, "Of course!"

Chen Zheng stared at the boss for two seconds, then smiled.

Of course he didn't believe it.

In a place like Syria, how many genuine watches are there?

Luxury brands' official channels in the Middle East are in Dubai, Doha, and Riyadh. Deira? There isn't even a decent shopping mall there, so where would they get their boutiques?

Stop bragging!

Given their industrial capabilities, they lack the technology to counterfeit.

Most of the goods here are sourced from Dubai's Nafi Road, where price wars, rapid refurbishment, and counterfeiting are highly similar to those in Huaqiangbei, making it a core hub for counterfeit digital goods from the Middle East.

He asked, "How much?"

The boss held up two fingers: "2000 US dollars."

Chen Zheng almost burst out laughing.

$2000? Are you kidding me?

"It's too expensive." He put the watch back on the counter. "You can keep it."

The shopkeeper glanced at him and said, "Sir, this is a genuine Swiss import, with an ETA movement, sapphire crystal, and alligator leather strap. $2000 is already a friendly price."

Chen Zheng turned and left.

"Wait, wait, wait—" The shopkeeper came out from behind the counter and grabbed his arm. "Sir, don't rush off. The price is negotiable, it's negotiable."

Chen Zheng stopped, turned around, and looked at the boss.

"200." He held up two fingers.

The shopkeeper's expression froze for a moment, then his smile became more like a grimace: "Sir, are you trying to haggle or cut off my head? $200? That's not even enough for shipping!"

"250".

"No, no, it's too low, too low."

Chen Zheng turned to leave again.

"Deal!" the boss shouted from behind.

Chen Zheng stopped.

Damn it, I drove too high again.

But he didn't show it on his face. Instead, he smiled, turned around, and patted the boss on the shoulder: "Great. Give me another Rolex, same price."

The boss's expression became somewhat subtle, and his lips moved as if he wanted to say something.

Chen Zheng looked at him: "What? It's not okay?"

"Okay, okay, okay." The shopkeeper turned around and pulled out a Rolex Submariner from under the counter, a classic green model, and placed it on the counter. "This one, same price, 250."

Green Ghost?

Green idiot, right?

Chen Zheng picked up the Rolex, turned it over to look at the case back, and then weighed it in his hand.

To be honest, he couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what was fake.

"Wrap it up," he said. "I want both."

The shopkeeper took out two red boxes from under the counter, with a gold logo printed on them. They looked quite legitimate.

He put the two watches into separate boxes, wrapped them in bubble wrap, and stuffed them into a paper bag.

Chen Zheng took out $500 and placed it on the counter.

The shopkeeper picked up the money, counted it one bill at a time, and then, with a smile, stuffed it into the drawer.

As Chen Zheng was about to leave, his gaze suddenly fell on a corner at the very back of the counter.

There was a string of pearl necklaces there.

The pearls were small, but had a beautiful luster, shimmering with a faint pink hue under the spotlight. The necklace was strung on a thin silver chain, with a small silver flower clasp, exquisitely crafted.

It's not the kind of cheap, low-quality stuff you find at street stalls.

Chen Zheng pointed to the necklace: "How much is this?"

The boss followed his finger and his expression changed.

It wasn't the calculating expression of a businessman, but rather an indescribable hesitation.

He walked over, took the necklace from the counter, and placed it on a black velvet cloth. The pearls looked even more lustrous against the black background, their sheen as delicate as a thin layer of cream.

"This..." The boss hesitated for a moment, his voice lower than before, "It's true."

The air suddenly became quiet.

"Are you serious? Is it really true?"

The shop owner nodded, his expression serious, not joking: "I got these from a Lebanese businessman. He said they were his grandmother's dowry, but his family fell on hard times and he had no choice but to sell them. I had them appraised; they are natural seawater pearls, of very good quality."

He paused for a moment, then said, "I originally intended to leave it for my daughter and give it to her when she gets married."

Chen Zheng looked at the necklace and a thought suddenly struck him.

"How much?" Chen Zheng asked.

The boss looked at him, his lips moved slightly, as if he were struggling with himself.

Finally, he sighed: "300 US dollars."

Chen Zheng did not haggle.

"Wrap it up," he said. "Make it look nice."

The shopkeeper glanced at him, nodded, took out a piece of dark blue velvet from under the counter, carefully wrapped the necklace, put it in a small red box, and tied it into a bow with a ribbon.

Chen Zheng took out $300 from his pocket and handed it over.

The shopkeeper took the money, didn't count it, and stuffed it directly into his pocket.

Chen Zheng, carrying a paper bag and a backpack, turned and walked out of the watch shop.

The sunlight hit his face, making him squint.

He opened the car door, got into the driver's seat, took the Longines watch out of the box, and put it on his wrist. The strap was a bit long, so he adjusted the buckle and fastened it to the innermost slot, which fit perfectly.

I stuffed the Rolex and pearl necklace into the black backpack, along with the $1000, zipped it up, and patted it.

The bribe... the expenses for social niceties are ready.

He checked the time, started the pickup truck, shifted gears, released the clutch, and the truck slowly drove out of the parking space.

There were more cars on the road than in the morning.

But it's still not enough.

In Delaware, the streets at 2 p.m. should be bustling with traffic, taxis, minibuses, pickup trucks, and motorcycles, with horns blaring everywhere.

Today is different.

As he passed an intersection, he saw two dark green military vehicles parked on the side of the road, with machine guns mounted on their roofs, the muzzles pointing towards the street. Several soldiers in camouflage uniforms stood beside the vehicles, holding AKMs, muzzles pointing downwards, but their fingers resting on the trigger guards.

One of the soldiers glanced at Chen Zheng, his gaze lingering on his pickup truck for two seconds before looking away.

Chen Zheng's palms began to sweat.

He licked his lips, turned his gaze back to the road ahead.

His fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, the rhythm erratic.

We've arrived at the old market in the south of the city.

Chen Zheng had been to this place a few times before, accompanying his father to buy hardware tools.

Back then, the old market was quite lively, selling all sorts of things—spices, fabrics, copperware, gold and silver jewelry, and handicrafts imported from Damascus.

What now?

The square in front of the market was deserted. Most of the shops were closed, and those that were open didn't have much business. The shop owners sat at their doorways dozing off, not even bothering to swat flies crawling on their faces.

Chen Zheng parked the car in an open space outside the market, locked the car door, and got out of the car carrying a black backpack.

He walked into the old market following the address Mahmoud had given him.

Passing through a narrow alley, with high earthen walls on both sides, the plaster peeling off to reveal the stones and mortar underneath.

The alley was very narrow, making it difficult for two people to walk side by side. There were tangled wires hanging overhead, and in some places, clothes were hanging out to dry, colorful and like little flags.

When you reach the end of the alley, the view suddenly opens up.

At the end of the square, there is a hookah lounge.

The storefront isn't large, but it's tastefully decorated.

Chen Zheng pushed the door open and went in.

It's much cooler inside the hookah lounge than outside, probably because the walls are very thick and have good insulation.

The decor is in the traditional Arabic style, with dark red carpets on the floor, several Arabic calligraphy scrolls hanging on the walls, and a bookshelf on one wall displaying books and hookahs.

There were several booths in the corner, separated by carved wooden screens. Each table had a small lamp, casting a dim, warm glow that made the whole space cozy.

A young waiter was leaning against the bar playing on his phone. When he saw Chen Zheng come in, he lazily stood up and asked in Arabic, "What would you like to drink?"

"Black tea," Chen Zheng said, "and another serving of hummus and pita bread."

"sit."

Chen Zheng chose a booth by the window, placed his black backpack on the chair next to him, and sat down.

He took off his Longines watch, wiped the fingerprints off the dial with his sleeve, and put it back on.

Less than ten minutes later, the waiter came over with a tray.

A cup of black tea, steaming hot, with water droplets condensing on the cup's sides.

A small dish of hummus, pale yellow, sprinkled with paprika and olive oil. A stack of pita bread, cut into triangles, still warm and fragrant.

Chen Zheng thanked him, picked up the black tea, took a sip, and almost dropped it.

Damn, it's so hot!

Time passed by, and it was about 3:05.

The door was pushed open.

A man walked in.

This person is very fat.

He was wearing a dark gray robe and a white turban.

He was probably in his early forties, with a round face, dark skin, and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were not large, but they were bright, and there was a shrewd glint in them when he looked at people.

He walked in, glanced around the shop, and his gaze lingered on Chen Zheng for a moment.

His expression changed slightly; he probably hadn't expected Abu to introduce an Asian person.

But he didn't say anything and just walked straight over.

Chen Zheng stood up and extended his hand.

"Mr. Mahmoud?"

The other person nodded and shook his hand.

The hands were thick and strong, with considerable grip strength, but the grip loosened after only a short while.

"Please sit down."

Mahmoud sat down, and a waiter came over and asked him what he wanted to drink. He said, "Coffee, no sugar." The waiter nodded and left.

Then he looked at Chen Zheng, his voice low and fast, with a businesslike indifference: "Did Abu introduce you? What's the matter? Speak quickly, I'm very busy right now."

Chen Zheng smiled but didn't speak immediately.

He picked up the black backpack from the side, unzipped it, took out the red box containing the Rolex, placed it on the table, and pushed it toward Mahmoud.

"These are some local specialties I brought from my hometown," he said casually, as if he were just saying the weather was nice today. "Please try them."

Mahmoud glanced down at the red box and frowned slightly.

He reached out, picked it up, and opened it.

The Rolex Submariner Green lay quietly on the black velvet, its dial gleaming with a faint green light under the dim lamp.

His fingers paused for a moment.

He didn't say anything, put the watch back in the box, and closed the lid.

Then he unzipped his backpack a little and peeked inside.

The stack of US dollars, ten Franklin bills, lay quietly in the innermost compartment of the backpack, its green edges peeking out from the backpack's shadow.

Mahmoud's hand paused for two seconds inside his backpack.

Then he zipped up his backpack, put it on the chair next to him, and looked up at Chen Zheng.

His expression changed.

"What do you want to do?" he asked, his voice still low, but his tone much softer.

Chen Zheng picked up his black tea, took a sip, and said unhurriedly, "I have a small factory in Delaware, but raw materials are hard to come by now. The military has requisitioned all the steel on the market."

He put down his cup and looked into Mahmoud's eyes.

"I'd like to get some materials from the warehouse."

Mahmoud leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his stomach, and stared at Chen Zheng for several seconds.

Then he smiled.

"Another speculator," he said, without sarcasm, simply stating a fact.

Chen Zheng wasn't angry. He smiled and said, "Whether you're a speculator or an industrialist, anyone who can help you solve your problems is a good person."

Mahmoud did not respond.

He picked up the coffee the waiter had just brought, blew on it, and took a sip. The coffee was very hot, and he drank it slowly, as if he were thinking about something.

"The situation is very tense lately." He finally spoke, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear him. "The matter of the warehouse is not something I can decide alone."

"Please go ahead," Chen Zheng gestured for them to proceed. "What difficulties are you facing? We'll figure something out together."

Mahmoud put down his coffee cup, leaned forward, and whispered as if telling a secret: "Another $2000. We need to bribe everyone involved. It's easy to keep my mouth shut, but not others'."

Chen Zheng looked into his eyes.

Mahmoud's eyes did not dodge; he looked directly at him.

He said, "You have one hour in the evening. How much you can take within that hour is entirely up to you. I'll arrange things at the warehouse; there's no one watching over it during that time."

Chen Zheng looked bewildered. "Take whatever you want?"

"Take as much as you can carry within an hour, as long as you can."

Chen Zheng's expression immediately turned strange.

He had originally thought that Mahmoud would grant him a quota, such as a certain number of tons of steel and a certain price to sell it to him.

I didn't expect it to be something I could just take anywhere.

If we bring the monster laborers along...

His eyes lit up for a moment, but he quickly suppressed them; he couldn't be too happy!

Actually, Mahmoud did nothing wrong. How much can you take in an hour?

Anyone who has done CNC machining or moving things knows that some large items require a crane. Without a crane, you can only move some inexpensive items. Even if the warehouse has a crane, it will take you ten or twenty minutes to set up the rope and move it onto the truck.

One hour…

What can I take?

"One hour..." Chen Zheng hesitated, "Time is a bit tight. I only have a few workers, I'm afraid we can't move much. Could you give me two hours?"

Mahmoud shook his head, his tone resolute: "One hour. No more than that, or people will become suspicious."

Chen Zheng sighed and nodded: "Alright, one hour it is."

He took the money out of his pocket and handed it over directly.

"This is the 2000 you mentioned," he said sincerely. "Thank you for your help."

Mahmoud picked up the bag of money, stuffed it into the inside pocket of his robe, and patted it to make sure it wouldn't fall out.

Then he stood up.

"Ten o'clock at night," he said. "When you come to this place, I'll greet the people at the door. When you arrive, just give them my name, and they'll let you in."

He took out a pen and a piece of paper from his pocket, wrote down an address, and handed it to Chen Zheng.

Chen Zheng took the note, glanced at it, memorized it, then tore it into pieces and threw it into the ashtray.

"Once you arrive, you only have one hour," Mahmoud emphasized again. "After one hour, regardless of whether you've finished moving or not, you must leave."

"Understood." Chen Zheng stood up, extended his hand, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Mahmoud."

Mahmoud shook hands with him, this time for a little longer and with a little more force.

"You're a decent person," he suddenly said, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"I love doing business with people like you."

Then he turned around and walked out of the hookah lounge.

"Wait until tonight... you also hope to say that you like doing business with me," Chen Zheng muttered.

Chen Zheng stood next to the booth, watching the door close tightly and listening to the footsteps outside gradually fade away.

He sat down, picked up the now-cold black tea, downed it in one gulp, dipped it in hummus, put it in his mouth, chewed it a couple of times, and swallowed.

He took his phone out of his pocket, scrolled through his contacts, and found a name—Uncle Qiao.

The phone rang three times before I answered it.

"Zheng?" Qiao Gen's voice came through the receiver, slightly breathless. "What's wrong?"

"Uncle Qiao," Chen Zheng said in a low voice, speaking quickly, "can I borrow your sixteen-wheeled truck for one night?"

……