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

When Chen Zheng returned to the factory, the sun was blazing, and the bright sunlight shone on the tin roof of the factory building, reflecting a blinding light.

The temperature is also fine; Syria is quite pleasant at this time of year, with daytime temperatures around 18°C.

Inside the workshop, the six monstrous laborers were still working.

Baldy stood in front of Demag, tapping his finger on the control panel. Kaisen was over with Haas, blowing on a newly milled receiver with an air gun. Iron filings flew up from the workbench and landed on the ground with a rustling sound.

Four-Eyes and Frog stood next to the newly arrived X6132 milling machine, their heads close together, their four long ears almost touching, making soft, muffled noises of discussion.

"Four-eyes," Chen Zheng called out.

Four-Eyes looked up, adjusted his glasses, and stared at him with his amber eyes: "Boss!"

"Shut down all the machines."

Chen Zheng said, "We're loading everything we can take onto the truck; we're moving our factory."

The four-eyed man's long ears perked up, then he nodded, walked to the center of the workshop, and clapped his hands.

The monster laborer turned around.

"All machines, shut down, disconnect the wires, and prepare for loading."

Four-Eyes said in a high-pitched voice, "Do it in order. First, disassemble the T2108 and DMG MORI, then the Haas and CAK5085, and finally the SK40P and X6132. Pack the cables and accessories separately and don't mix them up."

"Goo!" The six laborers responded in unison and immediately got to work.

The bald man walked up to Demag and pressed the emergency stop button, and the spindle slowly came to a stop.

He opened the cabinet door and began to disconnect the power and signal cables. His three short, thick fingers were surprisingly dexterous when he tightened the screws, removing them one by one, with labels attached to each cable end.

When Kaishen was disassembling the T2108 deep hole drilling machine, he first pulled the drill bit out of the spindle, wiped it clean with cotton yarn, and put it into a special tool holder. Then he started to disassemble the coolant pipe. The cutting fluid in the pipe was gushing out, and he quickly caught it with an empty oil drum.

We can't waste it!

The other workers cooperated seamlessly, some removing screws, some unplugging cables, and others moving accessories, working busily but without chaos.

Chen Zheng watched for a while, then turned and went upstairs.

There weren't many things in the office: a few ledgers, a file folder, and some miscellaneous documents.

He stuffed the useful things into a cardboard box and threw the useless ones into the trash can.

When he reached the very back of the drawer, he touched a picture frame.

It's made of wood, and the black paint has peeled off a bit, revealing the natural color of the wood underneath.

The photo frame contains a picture of his father, Chen Jianguo, standing at the factory gate, wearing a faded work uniform, with a smile on his face, and behind him is the DMG MORI 60.

The photo wasn't good; the lighting was too dim, and half of his father's face was in shadow. But the smile was genuine—his mouth was wide open, and his eyes were narrowed to slits, like he had just closed a big deal.

Chen Zheng stared at the photo for two seconds, then stuffed it into the cardboard box.

He rummaged through the things again and found some useless items—a few old wrenches, a box of rusty screws, a half-empty bucket of engine oil, and a hammer with a broken handle.

He threw all those things away.

Then his gaze fell on the iron cabinet in the corner.

It's black, a little over a meter tall and a little over half a meter wide; it's a secondhand item his dad bought from the market.

Chen Zheng squatted down, turned the combination lock three times, and with a click, opened the iron gate.

The inside was empty except for a small, rusty iron box on the bottom shelf, about the size of a palm.

He took it out and opened it.

Inside is a medal.

"Advanced Worker", 1998, a certain machinery factory.

Chen Zheng had no idea his father possessed such a thing.

He turned the medal over, and on the back was engraved a line of small characters: "Comrade Chen Jianguo, dedicated to his work and with outstanding achievements, hereby commended."

He put the medal back in the tin box and stuffed it into the cardboard box.

Then he stood up, walked to the top of the stairs, and called down, "One person up!"

Footsteps clattered as Niu Si ran up the stairs, his round head and big, blinking eyes staring at him.

"Carry this cabinet down and load it onto the truck."

Niu Si walked to the iron cabinet, bent down, and used his three short, thick fingers to grip the bottom of the cabinet and test its weight.

Then it took a deep breath, made a "gurgling" sound, and lifted the cabinet up.

The metal cabinet weighed at least 300 pounds on its shoulder, but it carried it steadily down the stairs as if it were a sack of cotton.

Chen Zheng followed behind, carrying the cardboard box, and went downstairs.

The workshop has been almost completely dismantled.

Four-Eyes stood in the carriage directing, his long ears perked up, his voice high-pitched: "A little to the left, yes, further to the left, good, lower it, tie the rope tight, don't let it sway."

Tianji was checking the accessories and tools in the workshop: knives, measuring tools, clamps, cutting fluid, lubricating oil, etc. He packed them into cardboard boxes one by one, writing a word on each box after he finished packing it.

Monster Seiko's intelligence... is really high!!

In terms of industrial expertise, Chen Zheng only needs to be responsible for procurement and scheduling.

Chen Zheng put the cardboard box into the truck bed of the pickup truck, stood in the yard, and lit a cigarette.

He checked his phone; it was 5:30 PM.

Chen Zheng threw the cigarette butt on the ground and stomped it out, then turned and walked back to the workshop.

The items are almost packed.

All six machine tools were disassembled, loaded onto the truck, and secured with ropes and canvas.

The accessories and tools were packed into more than thirty cardboard boxes, neatly stacked in the gaps of the carriage. The T2108 deep hole drilling machine was placed at the very back, and the bald man even covered it with a canvas to prevent it from being damaged by the bumps on the road.

The workshop was left with only some worthless junk—a few old shelves, a pile of scrap iron, a few buckets of leftover cutting fluid, and the slogans and calendars on the walls.

Chen Zheng stood in the center of the workshop and took one last look at the place.

The cement floor was dusty and gray, the walls were peeling, and a fluorescent light tube on the ceiling flickered on and off. In the corner, some miscellaneous items that hadn't been taken away were piled up, covered in dust.

The air still smelled of engine oil and metal shavings mixed together, but it had faded a lot. The machines had all been moved, and the smell was almost gone.

He remembered the first time his father brought him to this factory.

The factory isn't big...

But it supported a family.

All I can say is that, under the overwhelming tide of change, it is truly tragic for an individual.

Chen Zheng took a deep breath, turned around, and walked out of the workshop.

In the courtyard, we saw Li Yang arrive.

"Brother Chen, I brought four gas tanks, enough for us to drive four or five hundred kilometers."

Chen Zheng nodded, took out the pack of Liqun cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out, and handed it over.

Li Yang took it, put it in his mouth, and Chen Zheng lit it for him.

"Since you're here, you're one of us. I won't hide anything from you anymore; I'm making guns!"

He glanced at Li Yang across from him, who paused for a moment, then his expression brightened with excitement. "Making guns is great! We'll make whatever the market demands! It's in line with a market economy!"

This person is also... bold.

In fact, Chinese people have a wild spirit in their bones. Just like many people clamor for war, you may think they are bragging, but why does the government often try to restrain itself?

Because they also know that if war breaks out, the "barbarity" of the people in their country will be unleashed, and then their neighbor in Asia will be purged.

If you really don't believe it, just look at the late 90s; there were still many clans merging.

By the way, China banned guns in the 90s!

"From now on, you'll be in charge of driving the trucks and transporting goods with me. It's a bit dangerous, but you won't be shortchanged. Your basic salary will be $5500, plus a $1000 war zone allowance every month. There will also be extra allowances if there's any danger. It won't be much, but you'll make at least $8000 a month."

Li Yang's eyes widened upon hearing this.

He was calculating very quickly in his mind.

8000 US dollars is approximately 50000 RMB!

An annual income exceeding 60?!

"Thank you, Brother Chen! Thank you, Brother Chen!" Li Yang said excitedly.

Chen Zheng patted him on the shoulder and said with a smile, "Work hard, we're all brothers, we'll have everything we need in the future!"

Li Yang's face flushed, and he nodded vigorously.

The sound of a car engine could be heard in the distance.

Khalid parked the car in the yard and jumped out.

His hair was a mess, his face was covered in sweat, and his gray jacket was stained with oil and dust, as if he had just crawled out of a garbage dump.

"Boss," he called out, glancing at Li Yang.

Chen Zheng introduced them to each other, and the two shook hands and greeted each other.

Khalid opened the trunk, which was stuffed full of several cardboard boxes, two metal boxes, a canvas tool bag, several cans of engine oil, and a jack.

Khalid pried open the largest metal box, inside which were rows of gleaming yellow bullets, neatly stacked, gleaming bronze in the sunlight.

"7.62 x 39, 600 rounds, that should last a while."

Chen Zheng squatted down, picked up a bullet, and examined it.

The cartridge case is bronze-colored, the primer is intact, and the bullet has a copper-plated steel core with no rust.

"Can we make our own bullets?" Li Yang asked curiously from the side.

Chen Zheng glanced at it and said, "What's the use of making something that doesn't make money? You can buy 20 rounds of this for one dollar now. Even if there's a war in the future, it'll only cost three dollars a round at most. You'll still need to make gunpowder and so on. It's better to sell a couple more APS."

Li Yang nodded upon hearing this.

Khalid closed the box and tied it with a rope. "I've taken everything valuable from the shop: hardware tools, parts, and some inventory. As for the rest of the junk, whoever wants it can take it."

Chen Zheng nodded, turned around and shouted into the factory, "Come out and move things!"

Six laborers filed out of the workshop, with the bald man leading the way, his big eyes blinking rapidly.

Chen Zheng pointed to Khalid's car: "Move all those things onto the truck, be careful not to bump or scratch them."

The bald man nodded, waved his hand, and six laborers surrounded him and began to move things.

The truck bed was packed full.

The canvas was covered in several layers, and the ropes were tied in more than a dozen places, making it very secure.

Chen Zheng didn't take his pickup truck with him. The truck bed was filled with some cheap junk, the key was in the ignition, and the door was unlocked.

Whoever wants to drive it can drive it.

Chen Zheng tossed the pickup truck keys onto the driver's seat and closed the door.

He stood in the courtyard and took one last look at the factory.

The factory was dusty and gray, with a rusty tin roof. The words "Monster Factory" on the wall were not yet dry, and the paint had run down in several places, like tears.

"Let's go," he said.

Khalidra opened the driver's seat of the Corolla, got in, and started the engine.

Chen Zheng opened the passenger door, got in, and fastened his seatbelt.

Li Yang climbed into the driver's seat of the truck, and the engine roared to life, spewing out a plume of black smoke from the exhaust pipe.

Chen Zheng leaned out of the car window and glanced back.

The truck's headlights flashed twice.

Chen Zheng withdrew his gaze and looked at the dusty road ahead.

"Let's go," he said.

Khalid stepped on the gas, and the Corolla drove out of the yard and onto the main road.

In the rearview mirror, the factory grew smaller and smaller, farther and farther away, until it finally disappeared behind the street corner.

Chen Zheng stared at the rearview mirror for several seconds before shifting his gaze back to the front.

……

The sun had already sunk below the horizon, leaving only a dark red glow on the horizon, like a line of fire about to go out.

The streetlights weren't on yet, and most of the shops on both sides of the street were closed, with their roller shutters pulled all the way down, covered with all sorts of garbled slogans.

Chen Zheng rolled down the car window a little to let in some fresh air.

"Once you get to the Beka Valley, find a broker."

"A middleman?" Khalid glanced at him. "What does he do?"

Chen Zheng took out a cigarette from his pocket, put one in his mouth, and said, "I have a few people in Myanmar who want to come over. I need to make a few fake passports to enter Lebanon from Dubai."

Khalid thought for a moment and nodded: "We can ask Sheikh Abdullah. That old man has lived a long time and knows a lot of people. Don't be fooled by his submissive demeanor in front of those Israelis. He must be quite capable to have survived for so many years on the north bank of the Yarmouk River."

Chen Zheng nodded, lit his cigarette, and took a puff.

"That old man is no ordinary person."

Khalid continued, "I've known him for almost ten years. Every time I go to see him, he complains about being poor, but he has at least two or three hundred sheep. Each sheep can sell for two hundred US dollars in Lebanon. Do the math, how much money does he have? Also, he has relatives in the Bekaa Valley who are involved in cross-border trade. I don't know exactly what they do, but it's definitely not legitimate business."

"In the Middle East, it's all legitimate business," Chen Zheng said, exhaling a puff of smoke.

Khalid chuckled. "True."

The car continued driving, and the main road in Delaware became narrower and narrower. The houses on both sides became shorter and shorter, changing from three or four-story buildings to bungalows and tin sheds.

This is the outskirts of the city.

A few kilometers further on, you'll reach the highway leading to Lebanon.

Chen Zheng leaned back in his chair, finished his cigarette, and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

Just as he was about to put the lid on the ashtray, a beam of light suddenly appeared in front of him.

High beam headlights.

The blinding white light shone directly at him, making him squint.

"Damn it—" Khalid cursed.

Chen Zheng squinted as he looked ahead.

The beam of light came from about 100 meters ahead. Two pickup trucks were parked side by side in the middle of the road with their headlights on, illuminating the entire road.

Several figures were standing next to the pickup truck; their faces were obscured, but it was clear they were holding guns.

Someone shouted in Arabic, loudly and in a commanding tone: "Stop! Get off!"

Khalid placed his hands on the steering wheel and turned to look at Chen Zheng. "Boss, what do we do?"

Chen Zheng's eyes narrowed into slits.

He pulled an AKM from under the seat.

He then pulled a magazine, 7.62 x 39, fully loaded, from the door panel and stuffed it into his trouser pocket.

Then he lowered his voice and said, word by word, "If something's not right, shoot. It's better for them to die than for us!"

Khalid removed his hands from the steering wheel and nodded.

The dark figures ahead started walking this way.

There were five in total, and two others were standing next to the pickup truck without moving.

The one walking at the front was wearing a dark robe and had a headscarf wrapped around his head, so his face was not visible, but you could see his long beard, which appeared grayish-white in the headlights.

He walked about ten meters in front of the Carola, stopped, and raised the gun in his hand—an AK, muzzle down, but with his finger on the trigger guard.

He shouted again in Arabic: "Get out of the car! Inspection!"

Khalid swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

He turned to look at Chen Zheng and said in a low voice in Chinese, "Kurdish."

Chen Zheng's pupils contracted slightly.

Kurds.

Hold!!

This race has a terrible reputation!

It's too complicated. From being accomplices in the Armenian Genocide in World War I to repeatedly taking sides later on, they were like... locusts, grabbing whatever they could get their hands on!

Encountering them in the wild is like you're wearing a bikini among a bunch of Indians—what? You're a guy? Guys will still get their hands on you!

Chen Zheng did not hesitate.

He shoved the car door open, his feet planted on the ground, and as he stood up, the AKM was already pressed against his side.

The safety was released, and the index finger rested on the trigger.

The four Kurds were less than fifteen meters away from him.

Thump thump thump thump—

Scan directly!

Damn it, what are you aiming at?

Who has time to aim on the battlefield?

They could scare the other person to death.

"Ram him! Ram him!" Chen Zheng shouted, waving at Li Yang.

……