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

Upon hearing this, Khalid's smile froze in embarrassment. His lips twitched, and he gave a dry laugh, scratching the back of his head before uttering, "Then... then your father must be very famous."

The air inside the carriage seemed to freeze instantly.

Chen Zheng, sitting in the passenger seat, could clearly feel Assam's fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

Assam's expression froze for a moment, his lips moved slightly, but he ultimately said nothing. He simply took a deep breath and looked out the windshield.

This is equivalent to telling an American, "I've heard of America, and the Twin Towers are beautiful."

? ? ? ?

Wang Defa!

Chen Zheng quickly coughed and changed the subject: "By the way, Assam, is there anything we should be aware of regarding Mr. Hassan? Like the way he speaks, or what topics we shouldn't mention?"

Assam's expression softened. He thought for a moment, then spoke, his voice returning to normal: "Abu Hassan doesn't like listening to nonsense. He hates two kinds of people the most: flatterers and those who beat around the bush. When you're doing business with him, get straight to the goods, the price, and the delivery time. Don't ramble on about anything else."

He paused, then added, "Also, don't mention Gaza in front of him."

"Why?" Khalid looked up.

"His brother died in Gaza last month, from Israeli bombing, and they haven't even recovered his body."

Chen Zheng nodded and kept those words in mind.

That's the advantage of having people around.

Without an insider, no one would know what taboos you mentioned.

The car passed through an iron gate and drove into a courtyard.

The yard wasn't big, the ground was compacted dirt, and there were a few vehicles parked there—two white Toyota pickup trucks, an older black Mercedes, and a truck covered with a tarpaulin, the contents of which were unknown.

The courtyard was surrounded by high walls with barbed wire on top. Several young men in plain clothes, but with bulging waists, stood by the wall, their eyes following Assam's car.

Assam turned off the engine, opened the car door, and jumped out.

The people in the courtyard saw Assam and clearly recognized him. One of them nodded and gestured towards the small building.

Assam smiled knowingly, took a pack of Marlboro cigarettes out of his pocket, and tossed it to the other man.

The building's door was a heavy iron door with a peephole.

The door opened from the inside, and a young man wearing a dark robe and a checkered turban opened it. He glanced at Assam, then at Chen Zheng and Khalid, his gaze lingering for a moment on the white turban on Chen Zheng's head, before stepping aside.

The first floor is a living room.

It wasn't big, but it was very clean.

The floor was covered with a dark red Persian carpet, and several Arabic calligraphy scrolls hung on the wall, along with a black and white photograph of a middle-aged man in military uniform with a serious expression.

In the corner was a wooden desk with an old-fashioned telephone and a lamp on it.

A man is sitting behind a desk.

He was probably in his early forties, with a large frame and broad shoulders. He sat there like a stone sculpture, wearing a dark gray robe and a black and white checkered turban, typical of Palestinian style.

He saw Assam walk in, a smile appearing on his face. He stood up, walked around from behind the desk, and opened his arms.

"Assam! My brother! Long time no see!"

Assam went to meet them, and the two embraced, touching cheeks three times—once on the left, once on the right, and then once more on the left—this is the Arab custom of greeting close friends and family.

"Brother Hassan." Assam released him, turned around, and pointed to Chen Zheng and Khalid behind him. "Brother, these two are the ones I mentioned to you—"

Abu Hassan raised his hand and interrupted him.

Assam's words caught in his throat, and the smile on his face froze for a moment.

Abu Hassan turned around to face Chen Zheng.

His gaze swept over Chen Zheng from top to bottom.

"I'm doing this because of Assam."

"Otherwise, a small factory like yours wouldn't even be on our purchasing list."

Assam stood to the side, his expression somewhat stiff, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something.

Khalid stood behind Chen Zheng and glanced at his boss.

This client is a bit difficult to talk to.

"Mr. Hassan," Chen Zheng said with a smile, his eyes narrowing, looking harmless, "we can still be friends even if you don't buy our products. Take a look at the goods, it's fine if you don't sell."

Without waiting for his response, Chen Zheng turned around, took the canvas bag from Khalid, unzipped it, and pulled out an AKM.

The gun gleamed coldly under the dim yellow light of the living room.

He unfolded the stock of the gun, and the click of the latch engaging was crisp and clean.

Then he held the AKM with both hands, muzzle down, and handed it to Abu Hassan.

"Give it a try."

Abu Hassan glanced down at the gun, gripped the AKM's grip, weighed it in his hand, then pulled back the bolt and inspected the chamber. The metallic scraping sound was smooth and crisp, without the slightest hesitation.

Experienced gun enthusiasts can distinguish the differences in the sound of a gun barrel.

He pulled the trigger.

Click.

The firing is crisp and the retraction is even.

Hassan's expression softened noticeably.

Chen Zheng explained with a smile, "We use top-notch processing equipment, unlike those small workshops, and even the original factory can't match our quality!"

"Even Ukrainians don't have its purest bloodline!"

Chen Zheng looked at the other person and said, "Of course, you can feel all of that. But the biggest difference between us is actually the price!!!"

He looked Abu Hassan into the eyes and gave a number.

"600 US dollars."

"We sell them for $600 each!!"

Assam's eyes widened instantly.

He instinctively took a step forward, his mouth opened, but before he could say anything, he saw Khalid had already exploded.

"600?!"

Khalid's voice rose an octave, his face contorted as if he'd been stabbed. He lunged forward, grabbing Chen Zheng's arm. "Bruce! Are you crazy? $600? In the Bekaa Valley, an AKM costs at least $750! A good one can sell for $1000! You're offering $600? We don't even cover our costs! What about shipping? Labor? Materials? Have you even considered that?!"

"We can't sell like this, we'll lose money!!!!"

Well done!!

Chen Zheng wanted to laugh…

Khalid is such a sensible guy...

Chen Zheng patted Khalid's arm and faced Abu Hassan again.

"Our acquaintance with Mr. Hassan is the best arrangement from God."

"What Mr. Hassan did was a just thing. Although we are just business people, we also want to do our part for justice. This price of $600 is not a business transaction, but a token of our goodwill."

He paused, clasped his hands together, and bowed slightly.

"Consider it our small contribution to the cause of the Palestinian people."

"If everything is maintained by money, what about our justice?"

"If I could, I would only fight for justice!"

Well... at least for now.

Tomorrow we'll fight for money.

Khalid stood to the side, his mouth opening and closing, his expression shifting from anxious to bewildered, then from bewildered to a complex, indescribable feeling.

Even Hollywood actors can't act as well as him.

Abu Hassan looked at Khalid.

Khalid stood to the side, his face still red.

Abu Hassan looked at Khalid and finally his lips twitched slightly.

"1000 pieces."

"How long would it take to get 1000 AKMs?"

Chen Zheng's eyes lit up, and he immediately began to make a plan!

Then he looked up.

"Mid-next month."

His voice was steady, without hesitation or stuttering, as if he were stating a number he had calculated countless times: "One thousand AKMs will be delivered by the fifteenth of next month."

Abu Hassan's eyebrows twitched.

"Mid-next month?" His voice held a hint of doubt. "Are you sure?"

"Sure."

Chen Zheng nodded. "If I can't deliver, the deposit will be fully refunded, plus a 20% penalty. Mr. Hassan, you can write that in the contract."

"If I break the agreement, may Allah take my soul!"

Abu Hassan stared at him for several seconds.

Then he nodded.

"I believe in Assam."

Abu Hassan turned and walked towards the door. When he reached the door, he suddenly stopped, put one hand on the door frame, turned around, and looked at Chen Zheng.

"Would Euros be acceptable?"

Chen Zheng smiled.

“Mr. Hassan,” he spread his hands, “we don’t discriminate based on currency. US dollars, euros, pounds, Swiss francs—we accept banknotes.”

He paused, then added, "However, for currencies with significant exchange rate differences, such as the Syrian pound or the Lebanese pound, we might need to make up a small difference. After all, as you know, doing business isn't easy for us."

Abu Hassan looked at him, his lips twitched slightly, then he nodded, turned and walked out of the living room.

The footsteps faded into the distance in the corridor, grew fainter and fainter as they went up the stairs, and finally disappeared completely.

Only three people remained in the living room.

Assam leaned against the wall, let out a long breath, and relaxed his shoulders.

"you……"

Khalid lowered his voice and nudged Chen Zheng with his elbow, "600 US dollars, isn't that a bit too low?"

"What we want is fame. AKMs are worthless. Once the goods from Central Europe arrive in a while, we won't be able to sell many of them."

Khalid nodded in agreement.

Central Europe... those bandits!

About five or six minutes later, footsteps sounded on the stairs again.

Abu Hassan is back.

He was carrying a black nylon travel bag. He walked to the desk, put the bag on it, unzipped it, and turned the opening towards Chen Zheng.

Inside were stacks of euros, tied together with rubber bands, neatly stacked. The five-hundred-euro banknotes were purple, their surface matte under the light.

"30% deposit."

Abu Hassan said, pushing the bag forward, "At $600 each, a thousand bags would be $60 in total. 30% is $18, which includes euros and dollars. You can count them."

Chen Zheng glanced down at the banknotes.

Mmm...it smells so good!

He zipped up the bag.

"Mr. Hassan, I trust you."

His tone was very sincere: "A person like you wouldn't tamper with such a thing."

"We'll be working together for a long time, it's not worth ruining our relationship over a little money."

"Assam," Hassan said, looking at Assam leaning against the wall, "you have a good friend."

Assam straightened up, smiled, and said, "I told you, he's a reliable person."

Abu Hassan glanced at Chen Zheng again, his gaze lingering for a moment on the white turban on Chen Zheng's head.

"That headscarf of yours," he suddenly said, his tone softer than when they were discussing business, "who taught you to wrap it like that?"

Chen Zheng paused for a moment, then smiled.

"I learned it myself," he said, reaching up to touch the white cloth on his head. "It's not wrapped very well, please excuse me."

"The left side is too low."

Abu Hassan walked over, reached out, and helped him pull up the left side of his headscarf, then smoothed out the wrinkles on his forehead. His movements were gentle, his fingers steady, like an elder adjusting a younger person's collar.

"I see." He took a step back, looked around, and nodded. "Much better."

Chen Zheng bowed slightly: "Thank you, Mr. Hassan."

Abu Hassan waved his hand, turned around, walked back behind his desk, and sat down. He took out a notepad and a pen from the drawer, wrote a line, tore it off, and handed it to Assam.

"This is the address of my warehouse in the Ain Hille refugee camp," he said, his voice regaining its businesslike composure. "Once the goods arrive, deliver them to this place, and someone will meet you there."

Assam took the note, glanced at it, folded it, and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Let's go." Abu Hassan leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach. "I have other things to do."

Chen Zheng pulled out two AKMs from the canvas bag.

"Mr. Hassan," he said, his voice low but each word sincere, "these two are for you, a gift."

"It's a token of my friendship," Chen Zheng added.

"God bless Palestine!"

"Liberate Palestine!!"

"Thank you," Abu Hassan said, his voice carrying a barely perceptible warmth.

Chen Zheng smiled, let go of Assam's hand, turned around and followed him out of the living room.

Khalid stood in the corridor holding the travel bag, and when he saw Chen Zheng come out, he was about to speak—

Suddenly, a piercing alarm sounded.

The sound came from the direction of the rooftop, sharp and urgent, like a knife slicing through the air, one sound after another, each more urgent than the last, echoing throughout the courtyard.

Assam whirled around, his smile vanishing instantly, replaced by a tense alertness. He glanced instinctively towards the window, then turned back, lowering his voice but speaking rapidly.

"Quick! Hide!"

His voice was low, but each word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth: "The Israeli attack is coming!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than the roar of an airplane came from overhead.

Hurried footsteps and shouts echoed in the courtyard. Someone was shouting something in Arabic, which was hard to make out, but the panicked tone didn't need a translator.

Chen Zheng's pupils contracted.

Oh shit…

I just started making money...

Will I get blown up?

……