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

I saw a man crying so miserably.

If you didn't know better, you'd think QQ had been uninstalled!

Chen Zheng hurriedly reached out to comfort him, "Uncle Qiao, don't cry, don't cry, it's good that you're back, it's good that you're back."

Jorgen's wife took two tissues from the bedside table, pressed them against Jorgen's face, and gently dabbed at his tears, not daring to wipe them away for fear of touching his wounds.

Jorgen sniffed, and his tears finally stopped a little.

His chest heaved violently, and it took a while for his breathing to gradually calm down.

"Uncle Qiao, what exactly happened?" Chen Zheng pulled over a folding chair and sat down.

"Those people are bandits."

"They tied me up and took me to a cave, where I saw many familiar faces."

"They're all fucking skilled workers!"

Chen Zheng raised an eyebrow upon hearing this.

But I wasn't surprised...

after all…

Skilled workers can be considered "strategic resources." How many countries in the world do you think can fully train industrial workers?

Even the Great Yin Empire among the Five Constant Virtues might not have the capability now.

Skilled technicians, in particular, are in high demand!

The same applies in the country; you can tell by looking at the treatment of skilled workers at different skill levels.

"They even made me do their work."

Jorgen's voice was laced with a bitter, resentful glint in his eyes. "They said that people in the steel business in Della City must know about metals and materials. They want me to help them sort scrap steel, select suitable materials, and teach their people how to identify different types of steel. If things don't go smoothly, they'll beat me up!"

He pointed to the wound on his face, "This cut on my face was from being hit with a gun butt."

"Ah Zheng, you must be careful."

He stared into Chen Zheng's eyes: "Those four machines in your factory, DMG MORI and Haas, they're all top-of-the-line equipment, they definitely know that. You understand CNC, you can program, in their eyes you're a piece of easy prey."

Stockpile personnel for war preparedness.

This is preparation for war.

The Free Army is building up its technological capabilities for its long-term operations.

What does this tell us?

This shows that they are not fighting a small-scale conflict that will end in a few days; they are preparing for a protracted war.

A protracted war that could last for months, years, or even more than a decade is brewing.

"Uncle Qiao, I understand." Chen Zheng patted Qiao Gen's hand. "I'll be careful."

Jorgen nodded, the energy in his eyes slowly fading, replaced by a deep weariness.

He said in a low voice, almost as if talking to himself, "I'm going back to my country."

"We can't stay here any longer."

His right eye reddened again. "If I stay here any longer, I don't even know when I'll end up dead in the street. If I die abroad, no one will even be there to burn incense for my family."

He took a deep breath. "You should leave soon too. This place is going to turn into a giant fire pit sooner or later. Whoever jumps in will be burned to ashes."

Chen Zheng didn't pick up on the topic of returning to China, but instead changed the subject, "Why don't you sell me your big truck?"

Jorgen paused for a moment, blinking his swollen eyes.

I have no money right now.

Chen Zheng said in a serious tone, not like he was joking, "If you trust me, I can pay in installments. I'll send you some each month, and you can pay it off in six months. How about $6?"

Jorgen stared at him for several seconds.

Then he sat up abruptly, aggravating his injuries and wincing in pain, but he didn't care. His voice suddenly rose: "Zheng, are you crazy?!"

His voice echoed in the ward, and the patient and their family in the next bed turned to look.

Li Yang quickly stood up, waved his hand in that direction to indicate that everything was alright, and then sat back down.

"We can't stay here! It's going to kill us!"

"What are you still doing here? You want to buy a truck to expand your business? Are you out of your mind?"

Chen Zheng leaned back in his chair, took out a cigarette from his pocket, thought for a moment, and then put it back.

Moral people don't smoke in hospitals!

"Uncle Qiao, the bigger the storm, the more expensive the fish!"

Qiao Gen opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but when he looked into Chen Zheng's eyes, the words got stuck in his throat.

What he saw in those eyes was... ambition!

Jorgen had seen that look before.

In the early 1990s, when he first started his business, he met a man from Wenzhou in the waiting room of the train station, and that man had that kind of light in his eyes.

Later... I don't know what happened, maybe he died.

He sighed, and the sigh was very long:

"You can keep the car. I can't take it back with me. It's better than someone else stealing it."

"The money will definitely be paid."

Chen Zheng smiled and said, "Uncle Qiao, don't worry. I, Chen Zheng, never owe anyone anything in business. Once you're settled back in China, I'll send you money every month, not a penny less."

"You child," he shook his head, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, unsure whether to laugh or cry, "just like your father. Stubborn, inflexible, and you can't be swayed by eight oxen."

Chen Zheng chuckled but didn't reply.

The ward was quiet for a while.

Birds were chirping outside the window, but I couldn't tell what kind of birds they were.

Just then, Li Yang, who had been standing silently to the side, suddenly spoke up.

"Uncle," he called out.

Jorgen turned to look at him.

"I want to stay here too," he said.

"What are you doing here?" His voice rose a half-octave, his brow furrowing deeply. "Get out! Come home with me!"

Li Yang, head down, asked, "Why go home?"

"Uncle, what can I do if I go home?"

"I didn't even finish junior high school, I have no education, no skills. Go home? Go back to which home? My parents are gone, and half of our house in my hometown has collapsed. Where would I live? Sleep on the streets? Or become someone's son-in-law?"

Jorgen's lips moved.

Li Yang continued, "When I get back to China, can I find a job that pays 3000? But Uncle, with 3,000 yuan, how long will it take me to save up enough to get married? To buy an apartment? Is this how I'm going to live my whole life?"

"I'm not reconciled!!"

"So you think you can make money abroad?" Jorgen snapped.

"You can always make it abroad if you don't die. My life is the worst, but sometimes life can be the most valuable thing!" (PS: Don't overthink it, there are opportunities in China too.)

The ward fell silent.

Li Yang turned around and looked at Chen Zheng.

"Brother Chen," he called out, his voice trembling slightly, "If you don't mind, I'll follow you."

Chen Zheng leaned back in his chair and looked at him.

Two words flashed in the other person's eyes: pragmatism!

But Chen Zheng didn't care at all.

Isn't it utilitarianism and greed that drive human progress?

When Confucius spread his ideas with hundreds of disciples thousands of years ago, wasn't that just being utilitarian?

Could it be... a tour group?

Did Confucius not want to be an official? He wanted to be an official more than anything, but the King of Qi and the King of Chu did not welcome him. He lived a miserable and anxious life like a homeless dog.

And what about Master Meng... he has such a servile look on his face.

Aren't they driven by self-interest?

Being pragmatic is never wrong!

Failure is the only mistake.

The Chinese have always judged heroes by their success or failure!

Chen Zheng looked at him for three seconds.

"The situation is very dangerous lately. You could lose your life if things go wrong. I'm not kidding, people really can die."

"I know."

Li Yang took a deep breath, pointed at himself, and said, "Brother Chen, I'm just a worthless life. If I die, I die. But if it can make me rich, I'd be willing to die."

"I just want to tell those snobbish people in the village, to tell them that I, Li Yang, have no parents, but if you can survive, I can get rich too!"

"I will never be poor in my entire life!"

At this point, we should say: "If I cannot live to eat from five tripods, I shall be cooked in five tripods even in death!"

Chen Zheng turned and glanced at Qiao Gen.

Qiao Gen lay on the hospital bed, his eyes red-rimmed, looking at Li Yang. His lips moved, but he finally sighed.

"Then let A-Yang follow you from now on."

His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. "This kid... this kid has had a tough time. He lost his parents when he was young and has been eating with me for two years. I feel really bad about it. If you can use him, let him give it a try. He's quite hardworking; he can drive, move goods, run errands, he can do anything."

Chen Zheng nodded.

"Okay," he said, standing up and patting Li Yang on the shoulder.

"Since Uncle Qiao has spoken, you'll come with me."

Chen Zheng didn't say anything more. He took out an envelope from his pocket, a bulging brown paper envelope, and handed it over.

"Uncle Qiao, please take this."

Qiao Gen glanced at the envelope and frowned. "A-Zheng, what are you doing?"

Chen Zheng stuffed the envelope into Qiao Gen's hand, but the hand couldn't hold it properly, and the envelope slipped. Li Yang quickly came over to help hold it down. "This is for your journey. You'll need money to get back to China and for medical treatment. You can't be without some cash on you."

Jorgen held the envelope tightly, his fingers so swollen he could barely bend them, but he could feel the thickness inside.

"this--"

"This is the down payment for the car."

Jorgen looked at him, his lips trembling for a long time, but in the end he didn't push him away anymore.

"Alright," he said, his voice muffled. "Then Uncle Qiao will accept it. Ah Zheng, please be careful."

"I know."

Chen Zheng stood up, straightened his clothes, and turned to look at Li Yang.

"Ah Yang, talk to Uncle Qiao for a while longer, then come to the factory tonight. There's something going on at the factory, and I might have to go on a business trip, so get ready."

Li Yang nodded vigorously: "Okay, Brother Chen, I'll be there later."

Chen Zheng patted him on the shoulder, turned around and walked out of the ward.

The smell of disinfectant in the corridor was still strong, mixed with the smell of medicine and cheap perfume.

He walked down the corridor toward the stairwell, his leather shoes clicking on the terrazzo floor.

As he walked to the hospital entrance, the sunlight shone directly on his face, so bright and white that he squinted.

In Delaware, the sun was already high in the morning, its rays pouring down from above and illuminating the entire city in a white light.

The dust in the air has nowhere to hide under the sunlight; it floats around one by one, like countless tiny eyes.

He walked over to the pickup truck, opened the 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.

Just as I shifted into reverse, my phone rang.

He took it out and looked at it—a string of unfamiliar numbers, starting with +95.

The area code for Myanmar.

Chen Zheng answered the call.

"Ah Zheng!" Gao Fei's voice boomed from the receiver, "I've arrived! I'm in Myanmar!"

Chen Zheng took the phone away from his ear a little, rubbed his ears which were buzzing from the vibration, and then put it back.

"Good to be here," he said, shifting the gear back to neutral and leaning back in his seat. "Was the journey smooth?"

"We found a smuggler from Rui X who led us over the mountains. We walked all night, and our feet were blistered. But it was worth it; we made it through."

How many of you are there?

"Four."

Gao Fei lowered his voice a little, "I have three comrades. They are all trustworthy. One is Wang Lei, from Zhoukou. He was in the same class as me and has been working for six years. He is a good shot. Another is Zhao Meng, from Cangzhou. He is a descendant of the family's 'thrusting leg' technique. He is physically strong and can fight. The third is Liu Yang, from Northeast China. He has been working for eight years. He works in communications and knows a lot about radio and all that."

Chen Zheng silently memorized these names.

"Have you explained everything to them?" he asked. "Why are you here? How dangerous is it? Have you made that clear?"

"That's clear."

Gao Fei's tone became serious, "Before we came, I told them that this wasn't a vacation, it was a life-or-death adventure. There's a lot of money, but also a lot of risk. If you're sure, come; if not, we won't force you. None of the three hesitated."

"Ah Zheng, you don't know, we've been in the army for so many years, what can we do after we get out? Now that we have this opportunity, let alone danger, even if it's a mountain of knives or a sea of ​​fire, we have to go for it."

Chen Zheng took out a cigarette from his pocket, put one in his mouth, and lit it.

"Okay," he said, exhaling a puff of smoke. "You guys find a place to stay in Myanmar first, and I'll contact someone here to buy you plane tickets."

"Don't I need a passport?"

"Send me their names, dates of birth, nationalities, and general physical characteristics, and I'll have someone make a few passports."

"Make a passport?" Gao Fei's voice paused for a moment.

"There are many people in Myanmar who do this business; it's all about fake passports."

This is already an industry chain, very... mature.

"Oh, right," Chen Zheng suddenly remembered something, "among the four of you, does any of you speak English or Arabic?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

Liu Yang knows a little English.

Gao Fei said, "He said he had communicated with foreign troops a few times when he was in the army, and he had no problem with basic daily language. Nobody knows Arabic."

"Okay, that's enough," Chen Zheng said. "You should practice Liu Yang's English some more; it'll be useful here."

"it is good."

Chen Zheng put a cigarette in his mouth, thought for a moment, and then said, "After you get there, find a place to stay in Yangon or Mandalay. Don't stay in a fancy hotel; find a small, inconspicuous guesthouse run by locals. Then buy a few local SIM cards and use them interchangeably when you call me. Don't always use the same number."

"clear."

"I've arranged the plane tickets and will let you know within two or three days."

"it is good."

The phone hangs up.

Chen Zheng took the phone away from his ear, glanced at the screen, and then put it in his pocket.

He leaned back in the driver's seat, finished his cigarette, and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

Then he put it in reverse, pulled the pickup out of the parking space, turned around, and drove towards the factory.

In the rearview mirror, the gray-white hospital building grew smaller and smaller, farther and farther away, until it finally disappeared behind the street corner.

There weren't many cars on the road, and very few pedestrians.

A few children were kicking a deflated soccer ball by the roadside. The ball rolled slowly on the ground, and the children chased after it, their laughter echoing in the empty street.

An old man was pushing a cart loaded with bundles of vegetables, moving slowly along, the wheels of the cart creaking and groaning.

Everything seemed so peaceful.

But Chen Zheng knew that this was the prelude to a storm that was brewing.

Maybe…

Many people will die!