Searching for someone in northern Myanmar, and you call that earning tuition fees?

The jeep sped across the red soil plateau, bouncing like a wild boar in heat.

A thin, dark-skinned middle-aged man named Sam was huddled in the passenger seat.

He was the guide Su Ming "picked up" along the way—to be precise, when Su Ming stopped in the roadside bushes to relieve himself, this guy was sticking his butt out, holding a wrench and trying to steal the left rear tire of the jeep. Su Ming pulled him out by his pants and used a Seven Wolves leather belt to give Sam a three-minute "physical persuasion," making Sam deeply appreciate the sturdiness and durability of Chinese leather belts.

"Boss, we can't go any further," Sam said, gripping the handrail, his features scrunched up like a dried-up walnut. "That's General Buck's territory. He doesn't like strangers, just like I don't like police."

Su Dan held the steering wheel with one hand and flipped through the map with the other, ignoring him.

"He really would skin people to make drums," Sam said, raising his voice in frustration as Su Ming remained unmoved. "My cousin's neighbor, just because he glanced at him in a crowd, now has grass growing as tall as a person on his grave! Let's take a detour, boss. I promise, the other road is longer, but safer!"

"Taking the detour will add a day and a half to our journey, and we're running out of fuel and water," Su Ming finally spoke. "Do you think we're more likely to die at Buck's hands or to die of thirst in the desert?"

Sam choked instantly, his eyes darting around.

Su Ming was having a headache. The language environment here was more complicated than he had anticipated. The official languages ​​were English and Swahili, but the area was plagued by warlord conflicts, and various tribal languages ​​were spoken in different regions. He had just tried to communicate with Sam about "if there was a shortcut," but his attempts, involving gestures and guesswork, almost led him into a minefield.

"Should we turn left or right?" Su Ming pointed to a fork in the road ahead.

Sam pointed shakily to the left: "Bark's main camp is on the left. The minefield is on the right."

Su Ming turned the steering wheel, and the car drove straight toward the "death zone" that Sam had mentioned.

Twenty minutes later, a camp made of abandoned shipping containers and sandbags came into view. Several pickup trucks equipped with heavy machine guns were parked like ferocious beasts at the entrance, and dozens of soldiers with fierce eyes pointed their dark gun barrels at the uninvited guests.

"squeak--"

Su Ming slammed on the brakes, and the car came to a steady stop five meters in front of the barricade.

"Get out of the vehicle! Put your hands where you can see them!" A one-eyed soldier shouted in the local dialect, pointing his gun in their direction.

Sam reacted with lightning speed, as if he had been trained countless times. He immediately raised his hands, slowly pushed open the car door, his body slightly hunched, and a humble yet fearful smile spread across his face. This was an instinct for survival in chaotic times, clearly telling everyone: I am harmless, I am just a nobody.

Su Ming unbuckled his seatbelt at a leisurely pace, picked up his canvas bag, and got out of the car. He didn't raise his hand; he simply stood there, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers.

"I need to see General Buck," Su Ming said in clear English. "I have business to discuss with him."

The one-eyed man pressed the gun barrel against Su Ming's chest and sneered, "Business? The general only does business killing. Are you here to buy a life, or to die?"

Su Ming ignored him and instead looked at Sam beside him, calmly saying in English, "Sam, translate for them. Tell them a professional 'risk advisor' has arrived. Judging from your tense demeanor, a major battle is imminent. If General Buck doesn't want his hard-earned fortune to be plundered by the 'Vultures' overnight, he'd better see me."

His words, though seemingly calm, hit the nail on the head.

Sam shuddered. He understood "Vulture Mercenaries," General Buck's mortal enemy. Without hesitation, he immediately relayed Su Ming's words in the most respectful local dialect, cleverly translating "risk advisor" into "prophet of good fortune," a term more easily understood by the locals.

The one-eyed man narrowed his single eye, staring at Su Ming. Everyone in the camp exuded an air of menace; he knew all too well that clashes with the "Vultures" had become increasingly frequent, and a major battle could erupt at any moment. This Easterner's appearance was strange, and his words were harsh, but what if it were true? Better safe than sorry. He dared not take the risk.

A few minutes later, a messenger ran out and whispered a few words to the one-eyed man. The one-eyed man's expression darkened further. He sized Su Ming up and down, then sneered, "Consider yourself lucky. The general is worried about the vultures. Take him in! If he tries anything funny, feed him to the hyenas!"

Sam's legs went weak, and he almost collapsed to the ground. He was eventually roughly supported by two soldiers, muttering desperately in his native tongue, "I'll never steal tires again, especially Chinese tires..."

After passing through the blood-smelling camp, Su Ming was led into a huge military tent.

In the center of the tent stood a huge sand table. A giant man, nearly two meters tall and with bulging muscles, stood before it, holding a still-dripping machete. On the ground lay a headless corpse, dressed like an intelligence broker.

"Hyena" Buck.

Buck turned around, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Su Ming: "You're saying you can handle Vulture?"

"I can't deal with the vultures, General," Su Ming said, placing his canvas bag on the ground. "But I can solve your defense problem. Your defense system, in my eyes, is like a tattered net."

Buck's eyes darkened, and the veins on his hand gripping the machete bulged. His frustration wasn't with Su Ming's arrogance, but rather with having just executed another sycophantic good-for-nothing. He considered himself a natural strategist, but his men only knew how to yell and charge forward. When they talked about "flank encirclement," they interpreted it as "rush in from the side and slash his rear." Now, this Easterner had actually seen through the core of his defensive strategy at a glance. This fueled Buck's murderous intent, but also gave him a strange sense of anticipation—"Finally, a cultured person has arrived!"

"Three groups of people have tried to cooperate with me, and they're all dead. Give me a reason not to kill you." Buck slammed the knife into the wooden frame at the edge of the sand table, the blade sinking deep into the wood.

"The reason is simple: I'm not here to seek cooperation, I'm here to make a deal." Su Ming walked to the sand table, his gaze sweeping over the pieces representing military forces, but he didn't act immediately. After a moment, he extended a finger and gently pushed over three inconspicuous small flags. "General, your defenses are strong, but they're strong in muscles, not bones. Everyone's focused on your fists, but no one notices your vulnerable ankles. If I were 'The Vulture,' I wouldn't engage your main force head-on. I would send out three small teams, like vipers, from here, here, and here..."

Buck stared at the spots Su Ming was pointing at, his face grim. These were precisely the points where he was most vulnerable and what he was most worried about.

"You understand sand table simulation?" Buck's voice carried a hint of surprise.

"I don't understand strategic planning, I only know how to do accounting," Su Ming shook his head, but his tone was resolute. "War is business, General. Your business has too much investment and too little return. In my opinion, it's about to go bankrupt."

He looked up, meeting Buck's eyes directly. "Want to take a gamble, General? We'll play it out on this sand table. I'll play the vulture, and you'll defend. If I win, I'll get a pass to the border mines. If you win, my life, and everything I own, is yours."

Buck stared at the thin, yet unbelievably composed young man from the East, remaining silent for a full ten seconds before bursting into a gruff laugh: "Good! I like madmen who gamble with their lives!" He kicked aside the corpse on the ground. "How do you gamble? What's the stake?"

Su Ming bent down, took out three bright red packaging bags from his canvas bag, and patted them lightly on the edge of the sand table, making a crisp sound.

He smiled and said, "This will do."