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

The roads in Tanzania can hardly be called roads.

Those are just a few gullies casually drawn on the red soil plateau.

Su Ming was driving the heavy machine gun pickup truck he had taken from Buck. The chassis was rattling from the rocks, and it looked like it could fall apart at any moment.

In the passenger seat, Director Sam gripped the door handle tightly, his face even paler than it had been in the kitchen.

"Mr. Su... Mr. Su, this is 'Black Fang's' territory." Sam's voice trembled as he pointed to several checkpoints made of discarded tires and dry branches. "Those are local gangs. They're not as strong as General Buck, but... they're ruthless."

Su Dan held the steering wheel with one hand and rummaged in his canvas bag with the other.

"What are they lacking?" Su Ming asked.

"Lacking? Lacking money! Lacking women! Lacking guns!" Sam swallowed hard. "They'll take a bite out of anything that's alive."

The pickup truck slowly came to a stop in front of the checkpoint.

Seven or eight figures emerged from behind the roadblock, all lean and dark-skinned. The AKs in their hands were rusty, with the stocks wrapped in a thick layer of black duct tape, but their grips were steady. The one-eyed man in the lead even stuck the barrel of his gun directly into the car window; his cloudy eyes were devoid of emotion, only showing the cold indifference of someone scrutinizing prey.

The leader, a one-eyed black man, stuck the gun barrel into the car window, bared his yellow teeth, and yelled at Su Ming in a string of gibberish.

"What did he say?" Su Ming asked expressionlessly.

Sam, huddled in his seat, translated: "He said... leave the car, leave the clothes, leave the money, and you can leave, or he'll kill us."

Su Ming sighed.

"Tell him I'm here to discuss business."

Sam translated a sentence, his voice trembling.

The one-eyed black man paused for a moment, then the one-eyed man launched into a shrill laugh. Several of his henchmen joined in the commotion, fingers on triggers, some even banging their gun barrels against the car body.

This is a group of uneducated desperados who don't even know how to spell "death".

Su Ming neither drew his gun nor made a move.

He simply pulled something out of his pocket.

It was a transparent, orange, disposable lighter that he bought casually at the school supermarket.

Wholesale price is 1.5 yuan.

"Smack."

Su Ming pressed the switch.

A steady flame ignited inside the windproof cover.

The laughter around them stopped instantly.

The eyes of several Black men widened instantly, staring intently at the cluster of flames.

Starting a fire is an extremely difficult task in this rainforest edge where electricity is scarce and matches get damp. They still use primitive flint or extremely expensive imported matches.

This "miracle device" that lights up with a single press and can be adjusted in size is nothing short of a miracle in their eyes.

"Snap." Su Ming let go, and the fire went out.

"Snap." Press it again, and the fire is on again.

The one-eyed black man swallowed hard, the gun in his hand involuntarily lowering, his eyes revealing a greedy and lustful look.

Su Ming tossed the lighter around and handed it out through the car window.

"It's yours."

The one-eyed black man caught it hastily, as if holding a fragile gemstone. He tentatively pressed it, and "click," a flame shot up.

"Ohhhhh!" The surrounding henchmen exclaimed in surprise.

The one-eyed black man was overjoyed. He kissed the lighter like a precious treasure before solemnly tucking it into his crotch—the safest place on his body.

Then he waved his hand and yelled at his men.

The discarded tires were moved aside, and the dead tree branches were removed.

"And this too." Su Ming pointed to a bunch of bananas in the hand of a henchman next to him.

Without a word, the one-eyed black man kicked the henchman in the butt, snatched the banana, and respectfully handed it through the car window.

Su Ming took the banana and stepped on the gas.

The pickup truck swaggered through the "death checkpoint".

Sam was still in shock two kilometers after the car had driven off.

"This...this is it?" Sam stared in disbelief. "That's 'Black Fang'! Last time, a group of Western journalists were held here for three days, and the ransom was $50,000!"

"Information gap".

Su Ming broke off a banana, peeled it, and took a bite. "In this place, an AK might only be worth two bags of flour, but a windproof lighter can make him the coolest guy in the village."

"That's what you call cost-effectiveness."

Sam looked at Su Ming's profile and suddenly felt that this Asian man was even more terrifying than Buck with the gun.

I bought a life with something that cost me two dollars.

"How much further?" Su Ming asked.

"We still need to cross a swampy forest, which will take about... two hours, depending on your schedule."

Su Ming glanced at the fuel gauge.

"Hold on tight."

Su Ming suddenly turned the steering wheel, and the pickup truck plunged off the dirt road and crashed into the bushes beside it.

"Mr. Sue! That's a field! There are landmines!" Sam screamed.

"There were no landmines, only bison dung."

Su Ming stared calmly at the tracks of fallen grass ahead. "This is a path made by migrating bison. The soil is hard, making it easier to walk on than that broken road. And... the Vultures must have planted mines on the main road."

The voice just fell.

A muffled thud suddenly came from the main road a few kilometers behind.

A plume of black smoke rose up.

It seems some unlucky soul triggered the mechanism.

Sam shut his mouth, silently took out the Bible he kept close to his body from his pocket, and began to make the sign of the cross on his chest.

He made his decision.

If he manages to return alive this time, he will definitely go to the East, to that sacred country where these "lighter artifacts" are everywhere, on a pilgrimage.