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

Chapter 75 Are your terracotta warriors authentic?

Negotiating with God?

What the hell are you bragging about?

But never underestimate the connections of onlookers.

Nabil Taha's ability to work as a middleman in a place like Zahle for two or three thousand years without being killed is definitely not due to luck.

This kind of person has a living map in their mind. They know who has a grudge against whom, who is related to whom by marriage, which power is behind whom, and who has influence at which checkpoint.

It's like the weapons and cannons in a county town; in other places, they might be sitting on the edge, but in this place, such people are the leaders.

Otherwise, why would there be such a thing as a "local bully"?

To be honest, he's much better than Abdullah, who was like a retail investor.

That guy Abdullah, leading his mercenary group in fierce battles on the front lines, still has to rely on actual combat results to prove his product when trying to attract customers. Isn't that exhausting?

Nabil is different. He can sit in a café, have a cup of coffee, make a few phone calls, and distribute his goods throughout the entire Bekaa Valley!

Therefore, Chen Zheng would never refuse to do business without connections.

He desperately wanted to build his own sales team; he dreamed about it constantly.

However, TMD had no advantage in terms of funding or connections. Back then, the so-called "ground promotion iron army" in China made a lot of noise, but they also got beaten a lot, didn't they?

in the country, at most they'd fight each other, but here—

In a single day, all of Mr. Chen's sales staff were beaten to death.

Then we have no choice but to settle for cooperating with the locals.

This is nothing to be ashamed of. Lockheed has hundreds of distributors around the world. In the end, business comes down to who can get the goods to the customer.

He wants to be the source!

But we are still quite cautious.

Chen Zheng picked up his teacup, took a sip, and looked into Nabil's eyes.

"Sure, but you have to give me the pricing power; you can't change it."

"I can give you a 7% commission."

Nabil frowned, his lips moved slightly, and he was about to speak.

Chen Zheng continued, "To be honest, I already have a partner in Syria who also receives the same commission. Mr. Taha, I'm not targeting you, this is my rule, it's the same for everyone."

Nabil's brows did not relax; instead, they furrowed even more.

Grass!

Has someone beaten them to it?

He immediately felt a pang of regret—

I'm late!!!

This feeling is just like when I first learned that Bitcoin could appreciate in value. But the most upset person must be that guy in the US who spent over 10,000 Bitcoins on a pizza.

"Mr. Bruce, shouldn't my distribution capabilities be stronger?"

Chen Zheng, of course, would not show any weakness.

"Mr. Tahar, the lieutenant general's death is the best I can do. Right now, there shouldn't be anything else in this area that I can fight, right?"

"I don't care about big factories, and small factories don't affect me."

His gaze swept across Nabil's face. "If you have connections in the Jordan River or Gaza, perhaps I'll make some concessions."

West Bank of the Jordan River.

The Gaza Corridor.

That's a different battlefield, different clients, a different scale.

The armed groups over there have been fighting the Israelis for decades, and their thirst for weapons is unmatched by those in Syria.

Those guys need big weapons!

"Gaza————"

"The waters over there are too deep, Mr. Bruce. Business in Gaza isn't something just anyone can do."

Chen Zheng smiled and didn't press the matter.

"Okay, let's not talk about Gaza for now."

He steered the conversation back on track, "Mr. Tahar, are the seven points you just mentioned acceptable?"

Nabil, still unwilling to give up, pressed on: "Then can I represent other places in the future?"

'

"sure."

Chen Zheng said with a smile, "But let me make this clear: if your sales are poor, I might revoke your distribution rights. But if you do well, maybe I'll merge the Syrian and Lebanese markets into one?"

Drawing a pie in the sky!

Nabil knew it was a pie in the sky, but—he really wanted to eat it.

The drone strike that killed Assef Shokat has already cemented the KT board aircraft's legendary status!

Many people may not understand this concept. In the 1991 Gulf War, the BGM-109 "Tomahawk" cruise missile precisely struck the Iraqi command center. 52 missiles were launched on the first day of the war, with 51 hitting the target and destroying multiple air defense and command centers in Baghdad.

Purchased by more than 30 countries worldwide, it has become the preferred long-range precision strike weapon for countries outside the United States.

Tsk tsk tsk—

"Okay." Nabil nodded. "Seven points it is."

Chen Zheng smiled, turned and shouted towards the outside of the tent, "Khalid! Go prepare the contract!"

Khalid responded, and the sound of his footsteps gradually faded into the distance.

The tent quieted down, with only the tea in the teapot still bubbling away.

Chen Zheng poured Nabil another cup of tea, and the two of them chatted casually while holding their teacups.

The conversation ranged from the weather in Zahle to recent prices in the Bekaa Valley, and from gold prices to smuggling routes along the eastern coast of the Mediterranean.

As they chatted, the conversation drifted to the war situation.

Nabil put down his teacup, moved closer to Chen Zheng, and lowered his voice by half an octave.

"Oh, right, Mr. Bruce, I almost forgot to tell you something."

"Um?"

"The rebels in Daraa province desperately need a heavy artillery piece that can breach walls and demolish buildings. They need a lot of it. If you're interested, you can give it a try."

Chen Zheng's eyebrows twitched.

"Heavy artillery?"

"right."

Nabil nodded. "The street fighting in Delaware is getting more and more intense. The government forces have blocked all the key intersections with reinforced concrete walls. The rebel pickup trucks can't get in, the RPGs can't penetrate them, and the mortars are inaccurate. They've been stuck in the city for almost two weeks and have suffered heavy casualties."

Nabil continued, "They only have two requirements now: cheap and incredibly powerful. Accuracy, range, and lifespan are irrelevant. As long as it can blast a path and let their pickup trucks crash in, any junk will do!"

Chen Zheng became interested. "How much cheaper?"

Nabil held up one finger: "Within $1500, the cost of a single shell should ideally be kept to a few tens of dollars."

Chen Zheng paused for a moment, holding the teacup.

Heavy artillery under $1500.

A shell costs tens of dollars.

Are they out of their minds? Damn it, what kind of weapons do they have if they don't have money?!

Why don't you just buy a lollipop and sit there watching? You're so stingy, you wouldn't even get a turn to be gang-raped.

But Chen Zheng would never say that—he was afraid of hurting the customer's feelings.

"If you're interested, you can give it a try. If it really works, I think other rebel groups will buy it too."

"The market is quite large."

The allure of those four words was undeniable. Chen Zheng's eyes lit up upon hearing them, and he nodded vigorously. "Let me think of a way!"

Khalid returned quickly, holding two copies of the contract.

It was in Arabic, printed on white A4 paper. The paper was quite new, and the edges were neat.

However, the terms and conditions above are written in flowery language and convoluted, and seem to be nothing but nonsense. They would be of no use in a lawsuit.

Who recognizes it?

Just like wearing a cover in front of a PC, having it doesn't necessarily make you much safer, but without it, nobody feels at ease.

Chen Zheng flipped to the last page, picked up a pen, and signed his name next to the signature column.

Nabil picked up the contract, squinted at it, and nodded.

He took a gold fountain pen out of his pocket, uncapped it, and signed his name—a string long enough to be a password—next to the signature line.

"It's a pleasure working with you, Mr. Taha," Chen Zheng said with a smile, patting Nabil's hand with his other hand.

"Mr. Bruce, rest assured, there is nothing that cannot be sold in my hands, Nabil Taha."

Nabil folded the contract and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his robe. "I've sold everything from donkeys to missiles."

Even if the other party is bragging, Chen Zheng still gives them a thumbs up.

"Then I'll leave it to you."

Nabil stood up, straightened the collar of his robe, pulled down the hem, and tightened the belt around his waist, making himself look smart and presentable.

"Mr. Bruce, I'll go back and contact people right away. In the Middle East, there are no weekends when fighting goes on, and opportunities don't wait for anyone."

6

"I'll take you there."

Chen Zheng stood up, escorted Nabil to the tent entrance, and watched him leave before returning to his own tent.

Khalid was sitting on the blanket, opening and closing the contract repeatedly.

"Stop reading." Chen Zheng plopped down. "No matter how beautifully it's written, it'll be worthless if you turn your back on it later."

6

"Boss, the news about us getting gold in our last transaction has been circulating in Zahle for a while now. It must have been him who spread it. He doesn't have a very high moral standard."

Chen Zheng smiled. "I'm not looking for a partner, why would I care about his moral standards? Besides, how much morality do you think we have left?"

"If we die, we'll definitely go to hell."

"I'm not going to heaven! I'm going to pursue my faith!" Khalid retorted defiantly, patting his chest. "Besides, boss, I don't like what you're saying. I donate money every year, and I've even donated blood to Jiacheng!"

"I still have thank-you notes from the New Moon Society at home."

Chen Zheng waved his hand dismissively, his tone like he was coaxing a child: "Alright, alright, you're a moral exemplar. When the factory has model workers in the future, we'll recognize you as one."

Khalid didn't understand what "model worker" meant, but he felt that Chen Zheng's words were sinister and strange, as if he was cursing someone but he couldn't find any evidence, and he was so embarrassed that his face turned red.

Damn, I'm so angry!

Chen Zheng ignored him and stepped out of the tent, lifting the curtain.

The sunlight outside was still so harsh, so bright and white, that it made him squint.

The air in the tent area was filled with the mixed smells of baked flatbread and diesel fuel. In the distance, several tribal women squatted in front of a makeshift stove to start a fire, and wisps of smoke rose up, twisted into strange shapes by the heat.

He had only taken two steps when he saw Assam rushing over from the other end of the tent area.

Assam was running very fast; the hem of his jacket was fluttering in the wind, and beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead.

He rushed past the clotheslines lying haphazardly and the crowds squatting on the ground chatting, taking three steps at a time to reach Chen Zheng.

"Bruce!"

His voice carried an irrepressible excitement.

"My boss is back!"

"Where are your terracotta warriors?"

"Quick! Put it on, but tell me, is it fake?"

Chen Zheng paused, his lips moved slightly, and his eyes darted around. "Not quite real, is that alright?"

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