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

Chen Zheng nodded upon hearing this and walked towards the other person.

He walked through the crowd, a smile plastered on his face.

"Mr. Summers! Mr. Summers!" he called out affectionately.

The middle-aged man in the dark gray robe was talking to a local businessman, holding an optical sight and repeatedly examining the coating under the light.

Hearing someone call his name, he looked up, his gaze passing over the merchant's shoulder, and looked in the direction from which the sound came.

Chen Zheng had already walked to within three steps of him.

Two bodyguards blocked his way.

Chen Zheng raised his hands, palms facing outwards, fingers spread wide, and smiled even more innocently.

"Don't be nervous, brother, don't be nervous. I just want to say a few words to the gentleman."

The bodyguard looked at Summers, who, upon seeing that he was Asian, raised an eyebrow and nodded.

The two bodyguards stepped aside.

Summers asked, "Who are you?"

Chen Zheng took out a business card from his pocket, presented it with both hands, and said, "This is my business card. Mr. Summers, I've heard so much about you."

"Bruce, the owner of Monster Factory."

The business card was made by a printing shop in Beirut. It was on white cardstock with a green fanged monster logo and the words "Monster Factory" printed on the front, and his phone number and email address on the back.

Summers took the business card and glanced at it.

Are you Korean?

"No, no, no, Chinese."

Summers' lips twitched, and his tone became noticeably warmer.

"So, who does your factory usually process for? Poly? Norinco? AVIC Group? Precision Machinery?"

Damn it, I process orders for these companies, why would I come here to find clients?

Which client doesn't contact me?

Chen Zheng said awkwardly, "Mr. Summers, I am a self-employed individual."

Summers' smile vanished instantly.

He returned the business card to Chen Zheng.

"Sorry, we do not cooperate with products that lack proper labeling or production date."

Chen Zheng paused for a moment, then tried to speak, "Mr. Summers..."

"Sorry, I have something to do."

Summers interrupted him and walked away without saying another word.

"Mr. Summers—"

The two bodyguards have already come up.

"Please wait, sir."

Chen Zheng stood there, clutching the returned business card in his hand, watching Summers' figure disappear into the crowd.

On the adjacent display stand, a blonde woman in a camouflage bikini was still dancing around a tank, the heavy bass of the music making one's heart pound.

"Hold."

Chen Zheng cursed, stuffed the business card back into his pocket, and turned to walk back to Assam's side.

Assam leaned against a pillar next to the booth, arms crossed, and watched the whole scene unfold.

"How is it?" he asked.

He said my weapon was a counterfeit product.

Chen Zheng, hands on his hips, laughed in exasperation. "Damn it, do I need EU certification? Do I need ISO 9001 quality management system certification? And environmental management system certification? I'm selling weapons, not baby formula!"

He took out a cigarette from his pocket, put one in his mouth, and tried to light it with the lighter, but his fingers trembled slightly.

I'm so angry!

Assam took out a lighter from his pocket, leaned over, and lit it for him. Chen Zheng then repeated the questions the other party had asked him.

"It's not a problem with the product." Assam put the lighter away. "They didn't even look at your product."

"Didn't you understand the questions he asked you?"

"Summers is the kind of person who doesn't do one-off deals. He does long-term, large-scale business that involves multiple parties. What he needs is a stable supply chain, reliable political backing, and someone to bail him out if something goes wrong."

Assam lowered his voice even further, "You're just a small business owner; you might be here today, but you could be blown up tomorrow. Would he dare sign a long-term contract with you?"

That's absolutely true.

Don't assume that China really doesn't sell weapons...

We don't know about those high-tech weapons, but China's individual soldier weapons occupy more than 75% of the African market. (I'm just guessing, I don't know, I'm not familiar with them.)

Chen Zheng put the cigarette back in his mouth without saying a word.

He leaned against a pillar, his gaze sweeping over the people coming and going in the exhibition hall.

People were dressed in suits, military uniforms, headscarves—all sorts of outfits were present.

Some people were shaking hands, some were exchanging business cards, some were talking in hushed tones, and their faces were full of wrinkles from smiling.

There were two people in the corner, their heads close together, speaking in hushed tones, as if they were talking about a secret that no third person could hear.

"Those guys," Assam gestured with his chin toward the depths of the exhibition hall, "are the real buyers."

Chen Zheng followed his gaze.

At the far end of the exhibition hall, there is a row of rooms with closed doors.

Bodyguards in suits stood at the door, wearing headsets, their hands behind their backs, standing ramrod straight, their eyes scanning the crowds coming and going warily. Each room door had a number on it, from VIP1 to VIP8. The doors were solid wood, heavy, soundproof, and closed tightly.

"The big business is being discussed inside," Assam said. "The stalls outside are just small-time operations."

Chen Zheng didn't reply. He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out in the nearby trash can, and threw it in.

"Let's go," he said.

"Where to?"

"Go outside and see how Ah Yang and the others are doing with distributing flyers."

Assam glanced at him. "Aren't you going to look around a bit more?"

"Looking for what? You can only blame yourself for not being famous enough~"

The two people walked along the passage towards the exit.

As Chen Zheng passed the Russian equipment booth, he slowed down and glanced at the AKs.

A brand new AKM, with a wooden stock and handguard, and the metal surface has been blued.

Next to it stood a cardboard sign with the parameters written in Arabic and English: caliber 7.62×39 mm, muzzle velocity 715 m/s, rate of fire 600 rounds/min, effective range 350 m.

Below is a line of smaller print: Original Russian import, brand new, comes with original factory warranty card.

Chen Zheng stared at the line "Original Russian Import" for two seconds, and his lips twitched slightly.

"What's wrong?" Assam asked.

Chen Zheng looked away. "I just feel that my AKM is no worse than this one."

"How much was your AKM?"

"600".

Assam glanced at the price tag of the Russian-made weapon—$1200.

His lips twitched. "Now you understand why Summers looks down on you? It's not that your product is bad, it's that your worth isn't good enough."

"Your offer is too low; what will these hyenas eat?"

If you don't take it, and I don't take it, is Commissioner Smith supposed to eat shit?!

Chen Zheng didn't reply, but turned and walked out of the exhibition hall.

The sunlight outside made him squint.

There were fewer people at the entrance than in the morning; most people had already gone inside.

Li Yang stood on the left side of the door, holding a stack of flyers in his arms. He was handing one to a middle-aged man in a khaki vest, saying something, with a sincere smile on his face.

The middle-aged man waved his hand and left without even looking at him.

"A-Yang!"

Li Yang turned around and saw Chen Zheng, so he quickly called out to him.

"How did it go?"

"Damn it, these foreigners have no sense at all."

Chen Zheng reassured him, "It's alright. In business, we don't expect to close a deal right away. Be patient."

By the time all 500 flyers were handed out, the sun was already directly overhead.

"Closing up!" Chen Zheng clapped his hands. "Let's go eat."

The group packed their things and walked east along the road in front of the convention center.

"Brother Chen, how about that one?" Li Yang pointed to a restaurant in front of him.

The storefront isn't large, but the signboard is quite eye-catching: a green lightbox with "Al-Sharq Restaurant" written in Arabic and English. There are two potted plants about the height of a person at the entrance, and the glass door is polished to a shine.

Through the glass, you could see that there were quite a few people sitting inside. Waiters in white shirts carried trays and moved between the tables and chairs, and the air was filled with the aroma of roasted meat and spices.

Chen Zheng stood at the door and glanced inside.

The lobby was packed.

The waiter came out carrying a stack of empty plates. Seeing Chen Zheng standing at the door, he called out "Welcome" in Arabic.

Chen Zheng glanced at the sweat on the waiter's forehead, then looked at the customers inside who were engrossed in their meals, and shook his head.

"Forget it, there are so many people, let's go to another place."

Aside from discussing business, Boss Chen doesn't have much patience.

The group followed Chen Zheng into a nearby alley.

The alley was narrow, with high walls on both sides, and vines climbing all over the walls, blocking out much of the sunlight.

Across the street is a small restaurant with a small storefront and a faded signboard. There are a few plastic tables and chairs outside, several of which are empty. An old man is sitting on a stool by the door.

"This is the place."

Chen Zheng walked over and sat down on a plastic chair. The chair legs were a bit wobbly, so he adjusted his posture and braced his knees against the chair legs to stabilize it.

The group sat down, and Li Yang pulled Gao Fei to order food.

He was about to speak to Assam when suddenly—

boom!!!

A loud bang.

The sound came from the direction they had come from.

Chen Zheng felt his heart skip a beat, and then he jumped up from his chair.

The chair sprang up, flipped over behind me, and the plastic back hit the ground with a crisp sound.

He turned around and looked in the direction from which the sound came.

Suddenly, a fireball shot into the sky from the restaurant where he hadn't gone in!

A group of people around screamed loudly, and the whole street instantly descended into chaos.

"Get down!" Gao Fei's voice came from behind.

Before Chen Zheng could react, a hand pressed down on the back of his head, and he was pushed forward, his face almost hitting the edge of the table.

His mind went blank.

One second he was complaining about the slow service, the next second the spot where he had just been standing was blown up.

in case.

If he hadn't been annoyed by the crowd, if he hadn't turned and walked down that alley, if he had decided to wait at that restaurant for a while—he dared not think further.

Grass! ! !

The Middle East is the Middle East!!!

Wang Lei called out, "Brother Chen! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Chen Zheng's muffled voice came from under the table. "I'm not hurt."

He was in a rather disheveled state, but being disheveled is better than being dead.

"Don't come out!"

Gao Fei: "Let me see the situation clearly."

The roar of car engines could be heard in the distance, approaching simultaneously from different directions.

Chen Zheng heard someone shouting in Arabic, loudly and in a commanding tone: "Block the roads! Block all roads! No one is allowed to enter or leave!"

More shouts followed: "Medical team! Medical team, go to the front line! Everyone else, retreat beyond the cordon!"

"Move the injured over there! Over there! In an open area! Quickly!"

"Does anyone have a car? Pickup truck? Van? Requisition them all! Get the seriously injured to the hospital!"

Gao Fei finally lifted his hand off the back of Chen Zheng's head.

"The local garrison in Zahle responded relatively quickly."

Nonsense, it gets bombed all the time, how could it not be fast?

The narrow alley has been blocked off.

Two military green pickup trucks were parked across the alley entrance, their cargo beds facing outwards, with heavy machine guns mounted on their roofs, the muzzles pointing outwards from the alley.

On the street outside the alley entrance, someone was lying on the ground.

Chen Zheng felt his legs were a little weak.

By the time they returned to the hotel, three or four hours had passed.

A few people sat scattered about, still shaken. (I can still feel it now, even after the bombing I was in.)

Seeing the tense atmosphere, Khalid joked, "I was running around with the boss the other day and didn't encounter any explosions. I thought this was paradise. Today it finally exploded."

That's a really awful joke.

Khalid: "Back in 2006 when Israel was fighting the bubble tea shop, I was in Beirut. I could hear explosions every day, sometimes dozens of times a day. It was so loud that you couldn't tell if it was day or night. Later, I got used to it. I couldn't sleep if I couldn't hear the explosions."

"It's even more effective than sleeping pills."

Are you sure he wasn't blown up?

Just as the group was chatting, Assam opened the door and came in, looking utterly shocked!

"Do you know who died today?"

Chen Zheng and the others shook their heads.

"Ismail Ashma!!"

Chen Zheng was taken aback; he had never heard of this name before.

But Khalid stood up abruptly, his knee hitting the coffee table. Ignoring that, he stared intently at Assam: "Ismail of Jihad? Ismail of Gaza?"

Although Chen Zheng had never heard of the name Ismail Ashma, the name Jihad was enough.

Its full name is the "Palestinian YSL Jihadist Organization," and it is Iran's most staunch proxy in the Gaza Strip, without exception.

The mere mention of "holy war" is enough to give anyone a headache.

The extreme nature of this group is a headache even for Fatah, bubble tea shops, and hot pot restaurants!

A group of extremists think they are too extreme!

Their strongholds in Gaza are frequent targets on the Israeli Air Force's targeted killing list.

"Are you sure it's him?"

Khalid asked again, "Ismail Ashma, the senior commander of Islamic Jihad in northern Gaza, what's he doing in Zahl?"

Assam frowned and said, "I would think they're here to attend a defense exhibition. Although Islamic Jihad has Iran backing it up, Iran only provides money and missiles; they still have to find their own sources for individual weapons. Ismail's visit to Zahle is probably to find new suppliers."

"As a result, they were bombed on their very first day in Zahle."

"Damn it, there's definitely a traitor among us!!!"

Khalid leaned back on the sofa and turned to look at Chen Zheng.

Chen Zheng sat on the sofa, leaning forward, his eyes half-closed, his gaze unfocused, as if he were looking at the spilled tea on the coffee table, or perhaps at something much farther away.

"Boss," Khalid called out.

Chen Zheng did not react.

"Boss!" Khalid called out again.

Chen Zheng's eyes twitched, his gaze shifting from the coffee table to Khalid. That look was so damn familiar.

Do you think Gerhard will retaliate?

"Definitely."

Assam said, "Our boss was blown up, so we have to fight back no matter what, otherwise how can we stay in the business?"

Chen Zheng's eyes lit up: "We'll provide them with 100 mosquitoes, and make this retaliatory operation bigger. Can we make GG even bigger?!"

"Will I become famous in the Middle East?!"

……