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

Four-Eyes and Frog whispered to each other, holding a pen in their hands and starting to write and draw.

Unlike the monster laborers, they have five fingers, making them more like humans.

After finishing writing, he handed it to Chen Zheng.

The other person took the paper, looked down at it, and saw that the handwriting was so neat it looked like printed text, with each stroke showing a kind of obsessive-compulsive precision.

He scanned a few lines—

【Cutting Tools】

直径6mm、8mm、10mm、12mm整体硬质合金立铣刀（4刃，35度螺旋角，TiAlN涂层）——各40支

直径16mm R0.8、R1.0、R1.2牛鼻铣刀（整体硬质合金）——各40支

90-degree face milling cutter head (63mm diameter, with APMT1135 inserts) – 12 sets

内孔车刀杆（S20R-SVUCR-11，配CCMT09T304刀片）——50支

……

[Fixed Fixtures and Measuring Tools]

Three-jaw self-centering chuck (200mm diameter, with positive and negative jaws) – 2 sets

Four-jaw single-action chuck (250mm diameter) - 1 set

Precision vises (6-inch, 0.01mm parallelism) – 7 units

Combination pressure plates (M10/M12, 58-piece set) - 2 sets

Dial indicators (0-10mm, accuracy 0.01mm) – 10 pieces

……

[Auxiliary Materials]

Cutting fluid (semi-synthetic, suitable for machining carbon/alloy steel) – 250 liters

Spindle lubricant (ISO VG 32) - 20 liters

Guide rail oil (ISO VG 68) - 20 liters

Rust-preventive oil (volatile) - 150 liters

Cotton yarn (industrial wiping cloth) - 100 kg

……

After reading it, Chen Zheng folded the paper twice, stuffed it into his pocket, and nodded.

"Okay, I got it. I'll figure out how to get these things."

Actually, there are many things here that I can do myself, but they are too troublesome, and the number of machine tools is limited, so how can I waste them here?

That really can cost several hundred dollars per minute!

Four-Eyes and Frog looked at each other, their long ears twitching simultaneously.

Chen Zheng stood up, dusted off his pants, walked to the middle of the workshop, clapped his hands, and raised his voice: "Stop, everyone!"

The six laborers turned around at the same time, their big eyes blinking as they looked at him.

The bald man was holding a gun barrel in his hand, and Chiang Kai-shek's apron was covered in iron filings. Niu Yi, Niu Er, Niu San, and Niu Si were all covered in oil stains in their work clothes, but they were all full of energy and staring.

Damn, the more I look at it, the more it resembles a triad society.

Chen Zheng pointed at Four-Eyes and Frog, "From today onwards, I'm your line leader."

He paused, glancing at the expressions of the six laborers—they weren't very expressive, just blinking.

"Do whatever they say. Arrange the work process and assign tasks as they see fit. Understand?"

"Goo!" The six laborers responded in unison, their voices as uniform as if they had just finished military training.

Chen Zheng turned to look at Four-Eyes and Frog, the two skilled craftsmen who were standing there with their hands on their hips and their chins slightly raised.

Oh shit…

The dog's line is so long, damn it! (doge!)

"You decide how to rearrange the lines," Chen Zheng said. "I need to maximize production capacity, the faster the better."

Four-Eyes pushed up his glasses, stretched out four slender fingers, and gestured in the air: "Give me six hours."

Tianji added, "After the redesign, the APS production line can be reduced to one shot every forty minutes. The AKM production line is still being calculated, but the initial estimate is that it can be reduced to under ninety minutes."

When Chen Zheng heard those two numbers, a slight smile appeared on his lips, but he quickly suppressed it.

"Alright, you can begin. Baldy, Chiang Kai-shek, give it your all."

"Gurgle!"

Chen Zheng turned and walked upstairs. The stairs were welded iron, and each step made a loud clanging sound.

He walked to his desk, took the list out of his pocket, spread it on the table, and stared at it for a while.

These things are neither a lot nor a little.

Cutting tools, fixtures, measuring tools, and auxiliary materials are mostly consumables for CNC machining, and can be easily purchased at any hardware market in a peaceful country.

If you go downstairs to the hardware market and they can't get you everything you need in ten minutes, you should tell them to go eat shit.

A hardware store that sells yarn.

But this is not a peaceful country.

This is Syria.

A carbide end mill costs only a few dozen yuan in China, but in Syria, you're lucky to find one, and the price is five or ten times higher if you're being honest.

He thought for a moment and decided to buy it when he went to pick up Gao Fei.

Chen Zheng threw his phone on the table, stood up, and walked to the window.

It was almost dawn.

On the eastern horizon, a pale dawn was slowly spreading, casting a faint golden hue over the gray buildings and crooked utility poles.

In the distance, the minaret of Qingxun Temple appeared as a slender silhouette in the morning light, like an upright finger.

There was a chill in the air, mixed with the smell of dust and diesel.

Downstairs in the workshop, the machines started running again.

The sound was neither too loud nor too soft, neither too fast nor too slow, like an industrial lullaby that played on an endless loop.

Chen Zheng stood by the window, finished his cigarette, stubbed it out on the windowsill, and turned to go downstairs.

The phone rang.

He took it out and looked at it—his mother.

He answered the phone, his voice very soft: "Mom."

"Ah Zheng!" His mother's voice was urgent and panicked. "Why did you have Khalid send me money again?!"

Chen Zheng took the phone away from his ear slightly, rubbed his ears which were ringing from the vibration, and then put it back: "What's wrong? Not enough money?"

His mother's voice rose another half octave, and you could hear her breathing heavily. "Last time you had that young man send you $2000, and it's only been a few days? Yesterday, that Khalid sent you another $5! $5! Ah Zheng, what kind of business are you doing out there? Where did you get so much money?"

"You mustn't go astray."

Nonsense!

I, Boss Chen, have always followed the right path.

It's just that people don't recognize it... How pitiful!

Once we've sold all the weapons to Middle Eastern governments, we can have them write a constitution and add the words "Except for Bruce" to the end!

Chen Zheng leaned against the wall, took out a cigarette from his pocket, put one in his mouth, lit it with one hand, took a drag, and exhaled the smoke.

"Mom, I've already told you, there's a big project in Syria."

"What project?"

"The government is going to launch rockets into the sky."

There was a full three seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Send your damn rocket!"

They directly contacted the manufacturer.

Chen Zheng almost choked on the smoke, coughed twice, and quickly took the cigarette out of his mouth.

"Mom, please calm down—"

"I'm not excited?!" His mother's voice rose again.

"Do you think I'm a three-year-old?! Syria is such a crappy place that even the electricity is unreliable, let alone launching rockets?!"

"My son is in a war-torn country, and suddenly someone sends him $5, saying it's a rocket order. How can I not be excited?! Zheng, tell me honestly, are you doing something illegal?"

"No, no, absolutely not."

Chen Zheng quickly waved his hand, even though his mother couldn't see him, "I'm doing legitimate business. Don't you know what kind of personality your son has? This is me."

"Don't worry, your son won't do anything foolish. This money is from legitimate orders."

It's just that the client is unreliable.

"What kind of order can earn so much? $5 in just a few days?"

"Ah Zheng."

His mother finally spoke, her voice suddenly lowering, "Tell me the truth, were you adding things you shouldn't have over there?"

Chen Zheng tightened his grip on his phone.

"Mom, what are you thinking about?" he said, his tone as casual as if they were having a casual chat. "Who are the people selling arms here in Syria? They're all tribal chiefs, warlords, and people from foreign intelligence agencies. Me, a CNC machine operator, selling arms? Who would I sell to?"

"Nobody wants them. Don't be fooled by the current turmoil in the Middle East; there are some businesses we can't do."

"It's just a regular machining order," Chen Zheng continued. "You know the situation here. Many factories have closed down, so there are fewer jobs available, and prices are naturally higher. It's the same reason why prices rose during the SARS outbreak in China."

"real?"

"real."

Chen Zheng said, "Mom, I've had someone buy plane tickets for you and Dad. You two go to Dubai first; the medical facilities there are better. Let Dad get a full check-up first."

"How much is the plane ticket?"

"It's not expensive, don't worry about it."

"That won't do—"

"Mom," Chen Zheng interrupted her, his tone becoming serious, "My dad's life is more important than anything else. Don't worry about the money, I'll figure something out."

He heard his mother sniffling on the other end of the phone; it was very soft, but Chen Zheng heard it.

"Okay." "Then be careful. If anything happens, run! It doesn't matter if you lose your things, as long as you're safe."

"Okay, Mom."

"Also, don't worry too much about your dad's situation. The doctor said his heart problem isn't serious and can be treated."

"it is good."

"Then you go ahead and do your work, but don't overwork yourself."

"Um."

The phone hangs up.

He put his phone in his pocket, put the cigarette back in his mouth, took a drag, and exhaled the smoke from his nose, which slowly dissipated in the morning light.

Just as he was about to put out his cigarette, his phone rang again.

A name popped up on the screen—Li Yang.

Chen Zheng answered the phone, but before he could even speak, the other end exploded.

"Brother Chen! Uncle Qiao is back!"

Chen Zheng hurriedly asked, "How did you get back?"

Li Yang's voice was filled with the excitement of surviving a disaster, and he spoke rapidly like a machine gun, "This morning before dawn, someone honked their horn at the factory gate. When I went out to check, Uncle Qiao was sitting on the ground at the gate, covered in injuries. The car had abandoned him and sped away. I didn't even have time to see what kind of car it was. It was pitch black, and I could only see two taillights before it turned a corner and disappeared."

"How badly are you hurt?"

"Not good."

Li Yang's voice turned serious. "His face is covered in injuries, his eyes are so swollen he can't open them, and his hands are injured too. Brother Chen, you should come and take a look. He's at the Dela City Hospital, on the second floor, in the surgical department."

"I'll be right there."

Chen Zheng hung up the phone, stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill, and ran downstairs.

The stairs were welded iron, and every step made a loud clanging sound, shaking the entire stairwell.

He rushed into the workshop. The bald man was adjusting the program in front of Demag. Hearing the noise, he turned around and blinked his big eyes.

"Baldy, keep an eye on the factory. I'm going out for a bit. Don't open the door for anyone, understand?"

"Gulp!" The bald man put his feet together and gave a military salute.

Chen Zheng opened the car door, got in, and started the engine. The diesel engine made a few whirring noises, and a plume of black smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe.

He put the pickup truck in reverse, pulled it out of the yard, turned it around, and drove towards the hospital.

Daraa is different in the morning than during the day.

There were few people on the street, and the air was cool, mixed with the smell of dust and burnt garbage.

As Chen Zheng passed an intersection, he saw two military vehicles parked on the side of the road. They were dark green and had machine guns mounted on their roofs.

Several soldiers squatted beside the vehicle smoking, their cigarette butts glowing and dimming in the morning light.

One of them looked up at Chen Zheng, his gaze lingering on his pickup truck for a moment before he looked down and continued smoking.

Chen Zheng pressed the accelerator a little harder.

We've arrived at the hospital.

He parked his car in the parking lot in front of the hospital, locked the doors, and quickly walked into the hospital.

The smell of disinfectant in the lobby was still strong, mixed with the smell of cheap perfume, making people feel a little dizzy.

The floor was still terrazzo, with cracks in some places, and the cracks were filled with black dust.

Several people, young and old, were sitting on plastic chairs by the wall; some were dozing off, while others were lost in thought.

Chen Zheng went up to the second floor and walked towards the surgery department.

Nurses were already pushing trolleys in the corridor, the wheels creaking on the ground like mice squeaking.

There was a medicinal smell in the air, a mixture of iodine and alcohol, which made my nose sting.

The surgery department was at the end of the corridor, the door ajar.

Chen Zheng pushed the door open and went in.

This is a four-person hospital room. Three beds are occupied, but the one by the window is empty.

Jorgen lay on the bed closest to the door, covered with a thin white blanket, with an IV needle in his wrist connected to a thin tubing.

His face was covered in injuries—his left eye socket was bruised and swollen so much that he could barely open it, and there was a cut on his right cheek that had been stitched up, with black threads still sticking out, like a centipede crawling on his face.

My lips were cracked in several places, dry and peeling, and bleeding in some areas.

His hands were outside the blanket, his fingers swollen like carrots, his fingernails...

Chen Zheng glanced at it, and his heart skipped a beat.

All ten fingernails are gone.

The exposed nail bed was dark red, coated with yellow iodine, and in some places, tissue fluid was still seeping out.

Chen Zheng had seen those hands before; they belonged to someone who had spent most of his life in the steel business. The hands were rough, the knuckles were large, and the nails were thick and yellowish. Now, those hands were swollen beyond recognition, looking like two crushed eggplants.

Li Yang sat on the folding chair by the bed, his eyes red.

Seeing Chen Zheng come in, he stood up, opened his mouth as if to say something, but didn't, only pointing to Qiao Gen on the bed.

Jorgon's eyes were half-open; his left eye was swollen shut, and his right eye was slightly better, but still bruised. He saw Chen Zheng, his lips moved, and he made a muffled sound.

Chen Zheng walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Uncle Qiao," he called out.

Jorgen's right eye darted around, looking at him, and his lips moved again.

"Ah... Ah Zheng..."

"Uncle Qiao, don't talk." Chen Zheng reached out and grasped his hand, but dared not use force. His hands were so swollen that even a slight touch felt like they would break the skin. "You should rest first; healing your injuries is the most important thing."

Jorgen's right eye was red.

Tears welled up from the eye that could barely be opened, streaming down the bruised eye socket, over the stitched wound on her cheek, over her chapped lips, and onto the white pillow.

"Ah Zheng, let's go home. I'm getting ready to go home. These locals are unreasonable, damn it!!!"

……