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

The morning light of the Bekaa Valley filtered through the gaps in the olive grove to the east, bathing the entire clearing in a pale gold hue.

A mountain breeze swept down from the slope, carrying a cool, grassy scent mixed with the smell of dew and earth.

Chen Zheng climbed out of the truck bed, paused on the foot pedal, and felt a sharp pain in his back, as if he had been whipped with a steel pipe all night.

He spent the night here last night.

Anyone who's ever driven a long distance knows what it's like to sleep in a big truck...

It's simply awful; not only does my back ache, but I also can't sleep comfortably.

He stood by the weeds, yawning as he poured water.

My urine smelled a bit strong this morning!

Suddenly, the sound of an engine came from the hillside.

The Toyota Corolla was climbing up the gravel road, its body covered in mud and dust, and its exhaust pipe sputtering white smoke.

The car came to a stop in the open space, and Li Yang jumped out of the driver's seat, carrying several plastic bags and a thermos. He was wearing a clean gray T-shirt, and his hair was still wet, so he had just taken a shower.

"Brother Chen!"

He jogged over and handed me the plastic bag. "These are from the town down the mountain, bought for the brothers. Faraday sandwiches and hot tea."

Chen Zheng took it, opened the plastic bag, and inside were two sandwiches wrapped in tin foil. The round pita bread was bulging, stuffed with fried chickpea balls, lettuce, tomatoes and tahini, and still steaming hot.

The thermos was unscrewed, and the black tea inside was very dark in color, with a hint of cardamom and mint.

He took a bite of the sandwich; the chickpea balls were crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, and the aroma of sesame sauce exploded in his mouth, mixed with the crispness of lettuce and the sweet and sour taste of tomatoes.

If there were no war in the Middle East, it would be a great place for foodies to travel.

Of course, foodies can come too; eating bullets is still eating.

"This stuff tastes better than the stuff from Syria," he mumbled, his mouth full.

"The food in Lebanon is indeed better than in Syria."

Li Yang squatted down beside him, his hands resting on his knees. "In Syria, it's always the same few things: kebabs, hummus, and flatbread. It gets boring after a while."

Chen Zheng finished the second sandwich, tilted his head back and gulped down a mouthful of hot tea. The tea was just the right temperature, not too hot to drink, and slid down his throat, warming his entire stomach.

He screwed the lid on the thermos, stood up, and patted the crumbs off his hands.

"Let's go down the mountain."

Li Yang paused for a moment, then glanced in the direction of the truck: "Brother Chen, aren't we unloading?"

"Uninstalled."

Li Yang opened his mouth.

"Unloading...is it all done?" He turned to look at the sixteen-wheeled truck. The tarpaulin covering the cargo bed was still tightly bound, with not a single rope missing. From the outside, it was impossible to tell whether the contents inside were still there.

He refused to believe it, walked to the back of the car, untied a rope, and lifted a corner of the canvas.

The carriage was empty.

All the machine tools, knives, accessories, and cardboard boxes were gone. Only a few tattered canvases and ropes remained. The floor of the carriage was spotless, without even a single screw left.

Li Yang turned his head and looked at Chen Zheng, his expression as if he had seen a ghost.

"My brothers and I moved it last night. They're all resting in the cave now. Let's not disturb them; let them get some rest."

Li Yang nodded, though puzzled, he didn't ask any further questions.

He turned around, opened the driver's side door, and got in.

Chen Zheng got into the passenger seat, adjusted it back a little, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

The car drove down the hillside and turned onto the dirt road on the north bank of the Yamuq River.

The Yamuq River flows on the right, and the water is wider than when I last came, probably because it rained upstream.

The sound of the river water crashing against the rocks echoed through the valley, booming like distant thunder.

On the hills across the river, the UN buffer zone observation post stood alone on the ridge, its white towers standing out starkly in the morning light.

The car continued driving, and more and more olive trees appeared on both sides of the road. The leaves were grayish-green, covered with a thin layer of dust, and rustled in the morning breeze.

After driving for about fifteen minutes, the valley ahead opened up.

We've arrived at the tent area.

But today is different.

The last time I came here, this place was lifeless.

Today, the open space between the tents is filled with stalls.

Old clothes, secondhand shoes, pots and pans, canned food, dried-out vegetables, rusty tools, car parts salvaged from who-knows-where, and even a few tattered old books with yellowed and curled pages.

People were squatting behind the stalls, young and old, men and women. Some were shouting loudly, yelling something in Arabic, while others were haggling, their voices urgent and fast, gesturing numbers with their fingers. A few children were weaving in and out of the crowd, barefoot, their laughter shrill, like a flock of startled sparrows.

The air was filled with a complex aroma—spices, flatbread, mutton, sweat, dust, and camel dung, all mixed together, hot and alive.

"Wow! It's so lively today?" Chen Zheng exclaimed in surprise.

"They arrived very early this morning; they said it was Friday market day."

Chen Zheng understood immediately. Friday is Islamic Friday, the first day of the weekend. Market days are generally called Souk (苏克), in North Africa they are often called Thursday Market (Souq Al-Khamis), and in Turkey/Iran they are called Bazaar (巴宰).

One of the knife shop owners was a big, burly man.

He saw Chen Zheng and Li Yang get out of the car, looked up at them, his gaze lingered for a moment on Chen Zheng's Asian face, and then he lowered his head to continue sharpening his knife.

Chen Zheng slowed his pace as he walked past the knife stall.

He crouched down, picked up a Sibryan dagger, and seemed to like it.

"How much?" he asked in Arabic.

The stall owner looked up, glanced at him, then at the knife in his hand: "15000 pounds."

"Lebanese pounds?" Chen Zheng asked.

"No, no, no, Syrian pounds!"

In 2011, the exchange rates of the two pounds to the US dollar were different; the Lebanese pound was 1:1507.5.

The Syrian pound is 1:56.

The other party directly asked for $300?

Fuck you!

Do you think I'm a sucker?

Chen Zheng put down the knife, stood up, and turned to leave.

"Hehehe, friend, friend, how much do you want?" the shopkeeper called out to the other party.

"5000 pounds!"

The shop owner was annoyed. "Friend, this is the real deal... Okay, okay, don't go, don't go, I'm selling it!"

The other party hurriedly handed over the Sibria dagger, muttering as he took the money, appearing quite displeased.

If you're not happy, you don't have to sell it...

Chen Zheng glanced at the knife and nodded in satisfaction. Then he took out his phone and dialed Khalid's number.

I answered the phone after it rang twice.

"Boss!"

Where are you?

"Inside the Sheikh's tent."

"Okay, I'm coming right now."

Chen Zheng hung up the phone, put it in his pocket, waved to Li Yang, and the two walked through the noisy temporary market into the depths of the tribe.

Along the way...

He didn't see any decent armed personnel.

Chen Zheng knew why…

In order not to make the Israelis "feel they are a nuisance".

The Israelis themselves are a nation of soldiers, but that doesn't mean they want you to be a nation of soldiers.

Chen Zheng lifted the curtain and bent down to go inside.

The tent was cleaner than when I last came.

A tea set was placed on the low table, the copper teapot was polished to a shine, and water droplets condensed on the glass.

Upon seeing Chen Zheng lift the curtain and enter, Khalid and Sheikh immediately stood up, their faces beaming with smiles.

Chen Zheng walked over, clasped his hands together, and gave a slight bow: "Chief Sheikh, I apologize for disturbing you."

Sheikh Abdullah raised his hand, gesturing for him to sit, a smile etched on his wrinkled face. "Sit, sit, we welcome any friend."

Chen sat down on the carpet, crossed his legs, and took the teacup that Khalid handed him.

The tea was a deep amber color, with a fragrance of cardamom and mint, very similar to the tea Li Yang had bought that morning. He took a sip; the tea was at the perfect temperature, not too hot to drink, and had a sweet taste, probably from added sugar.

Li Yang also sat down next to him, imitating him by crossing his legs, taking the teacup, holding it with both hands, looking a little reserved.

Khalid glanced at his boss, who nodded slightly, put down his teacup, and leaned forward slightly: "Sheikh, we'd like to ask you for a favor."

"I knew you weren't just here to see this old man," Sheikh said helplessly. "But I'm not sure I can offer you any help."

This old man won't act until he sees a clear benefit!

Chen Zheng smiled, took an envelope out of his pocket, and then revealed a stack of Syrian pounds, about 2000 pounds, which he placed on the table. "I won't let you help me for nothing."

Sheikh's eyebrows twitched.

Oh shit…

Why does the other person judge people like that?

That's a very accurate prediction!

"We need generators and diesel fuel."

Sheikh leaned back on the cushion, looking at Khalid and then at Chen Zheng.

"Generates are tough to get," he finally spoke, his voice low. "Given the current situation, high-powered generators are controlled goods, and transporting them from Lebanon involves passing through several checkpoints."

"We know."

Chen Zheng picked up the conversation, "So I wanted to ask you for help. Don't you have a relative who does cross-border trade?"

"Doing business is all about introducing each other, right? You introduce me, I introduce you."

"Let me ask."

Sheikh picked up the phone; it was an old Blackberry, its casing worn smooth and shiny, the numbers on the keys worn so worn they were barely visible.

He pressed a few buttons and held the phone to his ear.

The tent fell silent.

The phone rang a few times before being answered.

"Feed?" Sheikh's voice became warmer and faster. "It's me. Are you up yet?"

I couldn't hear what was said on the other end of the phone.

"Come here," Sheikh said, glancing at Chen Zheng and the other man. "I have a big business opportunity for you. I'll be waiting for you in the tent."

A few more words were spoken on the other end.

"Hurry up." Sheikh said, then hung up the phone and placed it on the table.

"He'll be there in ten minutes." He looked at Chen Zheng. "Today happens to be market day, and he'll be there."

Chen Zheng nodded, not in a hurry.

Khalid leaned back against the cushion, downed the tea in his cup in one gulp, wiped his mouth, and began chatting with Sheikh.

Less than ten minutes later, the curtain was lifted from the outside.

A middle-aged man bent down and crawled in.

He was around 40 years old, not very tall, but quite stocky, with a chubby face and a round belly that made his gray robe bulge.

His beard was trimmed very short, and his hair was shaved very short, almost touching his scalp.

Her face was shiny with oil, which meant she ate and slept well.

He crawled in, straightened up, and was about to call out to Xie He when his gaze fell on Chen Zheng and Li Yang.

He froze for a moment.

Asian faces are rarer than white ravens in the refugee camps of the Bekaa Valley.

But that moment of surprise lasted less than a second before a smile spread across his face.

As we all know…

Asians are all very rich!!!

They almost never haggle over the price.

He walked over quickly, stretched out his hand; the back of his hand was thick, his fingers were short and stubby, and his fingernails were clean.

"Welcome, welcome!" he said in Arabic, his voice booming and full of energy. "I'm Sheikh's cousin; just call me Adnan."

Chen Zheng stood up and shook hands with him.

He announced his name in Arabic, "Bruce."

"Bruce? Good name, easy to remember."

Sheikh leaned back on the cushions, and after they finished exchanging pleasantries, he raised his hand and said, "Sit down and let's talk."

Adnan sat down on the carpet, crossed his legs, took the teacup from Sheikh, tilted his head back and took a big gulp, put down the cup, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and then looked at Sheikh.

Sheikh gestured towards Chen Zheng with his lip: "Bruce and the others need generators and diesel fuel."

Adnan turned around and looked at Chen Zheng.

"Generators?" he asked. "How many? What specifications?"

"Three units, at least 100 watts or more!"

Adnan's eyebrows twitched, but he didn't say anything.

Chen Zheng continued, "For diesel, I'll start with 5 tons. If the price is right, I'll need it every month thereafter, and the quantity will only increase, not decrease."

"Generators with a power output of 100 kilowatts or more."

He clicked his tongue. "This won't be easy, Bruce. In Lebanon right now, high-powered generators are controlled supplies; the military is keeping a close eye on them. Transporting them from Beirut involves going through several checkpoints, and you have to bribe people at each one."

He paused, lowering his voice slightly, "This isn't a small thing; a pickup truck can't carry it. Three 100-kilowatt generators, plus five tons of diesel, will require at least a small truck. Small trucks are riskier on mountain roads. If we get stopped on the road, not only will the goods be lost, but we'll also be imprisoned."

Chen Zheng interrupted the other party with a smile: "Just give us a price."

Adnan looked at Chen Zheng, and the smile on his face disappeared.

He lowered his head and thought for a moment, then gently tapped his stomach with his fingers.

Then he looked up and announced a number.

"Three used 100 kW diesel generator sets, Dongfeng Cummins 6BTA5.9-G, equipped with Stanford generators, 80% new."

He held up two fingers, "$15000, $45000 for all three."

He paused, then added, "Five tons of diesel, $1000 per ton, $5000 for five tons. Freight and grease charges are separate, $2000 each."

He did the math, then looked up: "A total of $52000."

Chen Zheng's face was expressionless.

He was calculating the costs and benefits in his mind.

A secondhand Cummins 100 kW diesel generator set would cost only tens of thousands of RMB in China, which would be equivalent to at most eight or nine thousand USD.

It might be cheaper in Jordan, because Jordan has a lot of used construction machinery that comes from Dubai and Saudi Arabia, and the prices are very low.

$15000 per unit.

It doubled.

Of course, prices fluctuate greatly in the Middle East.

It can't be said to be expensive...

It's more expensive in Iraq.

He currently has orders from Fatah and the Syrian Muslim Association. If he doesn't do a good job, losing face is a minor matter; they'll still find him orders in the future.

Back in China, we could work 24/7 to meet orders!

Of course, the boss has to pay overtime.

Anyone who's ever worked knows that bosses rushing to meet orders are...extremely generous!

They can even add 3 to 10 yuan to the price per hour!! (Fuck them!)

If you work a few more overtime hours, your income can easily exceed ten thousand. By the time you're done, your wife might have already run away.

When will the goods arrive?

Adnan's eyes lit up.

"If we can hurry," he thought for a moment, "this afternoon."

Chen Zheng's eyebrows twitched slightly: "This afternoon?"

"This afternoon."

Adnan chuckled twice, his chubby cheeks squeezing his eyes into slits. "Doing business is all about speed of delivery, isn't it? If the delivery is slow, the customers will leave, and what will I earn?"

"In the 21st century, it's all about delivery speed!"

"If you're willing to pay more, I can have a helicopter deliver it to you within two hours!"

Chen Zheng raised an eyebrow upon hearing this.

Oh wow…

This Adnan... his business is quite something!

There are also helicopters.

Chen Zheng suddenly remembered what the bald guy and the others wanted, and hurriedly took out the sheet of paper filled with writing and handed it over, "Can you get these things for me?"

The other party glanced at it, then looked at Chen Zheng in surprise, thought for a moment and nodded, "Okay! I'll have someone buy it in Israel, but it won't be ready until tomorrow at the earliest."

"Smuggling from Israel?" Khalid asked in astonishment.

Adnan looked at him, smiled, and said, "That's called cross-border e-commerce... one phone call, and it's all done!"

……