I was arrested for working a part-time job during summer vacation; they said I committed war crimes?

A military firing range in Northwest China.

Yellow sand filled the sky, and heat waves rolled in.

In the distance stood a reinforced concrete fortress with thick walls, a target specifically used to test the destructive effects of heavy weapons.

The fort has withstood countless shelling attacks over the past few years, and its surface is riddled with bullet holes, but the main structure remains intact.

Today, this fortress has a new adversary.

An elderly man with gray hair, wearing a white T-shirt and black cloth shoes, stood in the observation platform, holding a telescope and squinting at a small black dot more than ten kilometers away.

The old man had an ordinary, even somewhat kind, appearance. But now he was surrounded by a group of soldiers, one of whom, a two-stripe four-star officer, was slightly bent over and whispering something.

The old man waved his hand, telling the other party to "mute" first.

Then he asked casually, "Is everything ready?"

The sound wasn't loud, but it had a power that made people unconsciously straighten their backs.

"Ready." The middle-aged officer, a senior colonel, nodded hurriedly and pointed to the launch site below the observation platform.

Not far away, an outrageously thick mortar barrel pointed diagonally towards the sky, with a strangely shaped shell already inserted into its muzzle.

This shell was modified from a gas cylinder, with a tail fin and gyroscope added to the rear. The cylinder also had a line of small print painted on it: MADE IN CHINA·Civilian Product.

The old man stared at the shell for a long time, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

Let's begin.

The colonel picked up the walkie-talkie and issued the launch command.

A few seconds later.

boom!

A gas cylinder shell shot out of the cannon barrel, trailing a long plume of flame, and whistled through the sky.

Everyone in the observation station held their breath.

Through the telescope, the gas cylinder shell traced a graceful arc in the air as it flew toward the fortress more than ten kilometers away.

A few seconds later.

Boom!

A small mushroom cloud rose from the location of the fortress.

The shockwave carried concrete debris outwards, sending dust billowing into the sky and obscuring the sun.

When the smoke cleared, the reinforced concrete fortress that was said to be able to withstand direct hits from heavy artillery shells had been reduced to a pile of ruins.

The observation deck was silent for several seconds.

The old man slowly lowered his binoculars.

"Launch another one," he said.

The colonel hesitated for a moment, but still did as he was told.

The second gas cylinder was loaded and launched.

The target area was hit with equal precision, and the fortress, already reduced to ruins, was plowed up once more.

This time, no one called it a "gas cylinder" anymore.

The old man walked out of the observation platform and came to the launch site.

He crouched down and carefully examined another gas cylinder shell that had not yet been fired.

His fingers gently traced the gyroscope at the tail, then touched the welded joint of the tail fin, his eyes filled with a complex and indescribable emotion.

"Gyroscope, tail fin, simple guidance module..." the old man muttered to himself. "These things aren't high-tech, but to be able to combine them with a gas cylinder and achieve such low cost and high efficiency is something that ordinary people can't do."

The colonel stood behind him, remained silent for a moment, and then said, "It is said that the cost of this gas cylinder is less than one hundred US dollars."

"Less than a hundred dollars?" The old man looked up at him. "A conventional artillery shell with navigation capabilities costs at least a thousand dollars on the international market. So that college student achieved eighty percent of the effect, or even more, with less than a tenth of the cost?"

He paused, then added, "And look at the welding process of this tail fin, the calibration precision of this gyroscope. Although it's rudimentary, every part is just right, without a single wasted element. This is a skill... of simplifying complexity."

The colonel pursed his lips, seemingly wanting to say something but then stopping himself.

The old man stood up, dusted off his hands, and stared at the still-smoking ruins in the distance, remaining silent for a long time.

"If this technology could be rolled out worldwide, the world would no longer have to worry about heavy firepower."

The colonel frowned: "You mean... this thing can be widely used?"

"What do you think?" The old man turned around and looked at him.

"That's not what I meant." The colonel carefully chose his words. "I just feel that if it were really rolled out on a large scale, I don't know how many more people would die."

The old man replied calmly, "Didn't the massacre that happened in sub-Saharan Africa decades ago kill many people?"

The colonel was taken aback.

"Hutu and Tutsi, machetes, a million lives." The old man's voice was so calm it didn't sound like he was describing a horrific massacre. "Back then, they didn't have gas canisters or artillery shells, they didn't have flying motorcycles, and they barely had any decent guns. Tell me, didn't a few people die?"

The colonel was stumped by the question.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

The old man didn't say anything more and turned to walk out of the shooting range.

After taking a few steps, he suddenly stopped.

"By the way, where is that kid named Gu Qingzhou now?"

The colonel hesitated for a moment, then said, "He's been arrested. Interpol has issued a global arrest warrant."

The old man paused for a moment.

"A global arrest warrant?" he repeated, his tone unreadable.

"Yes." The colonel nodded. "Interpol has accused him of selling large quantities of weapons to armed groups in the Middle East, endangering regional peace and stability."

The old man was silent for a few seconds, then gave a soft "humph".

"Endangering regional peace and stability? Ha!"

He turned around, looked at the colonel, and his eyes held a meaningful look.

When has the Middle East ever been peaceful and stable?

The colonel did not speak.

The old man didn't say anything more, only leaving out the words: "If I have the chance, I'd like to meet this young man."

Done.

He walked slowly, his hands behind his back and his cloth shoes on.

On the observation platform, the others looked at each other in bewilderment.

The colonel stood there, watching the old man's departing figure, a bitter smile on his face.

The boss wants to see that kid?

Sigh, that kid's in jail now.

......

at the same time.

Northwestern Polytechnical University.

In a spacious laboratory, dozens of students gathered around a long table, their eyes fixed intently on the "drone" on the table.

Calling it a drone is actually giving it a bit too much credit.

The machine's frame is made of aluminum alloy square tubing, its outer shell is cheap plastic, and the propeller looks like it was wholesaled from Taobao.

Two small bombs were mounted under the fuselage—the bombs were also crudely designed, with simple tail fins welded to the tail, and the words "XXX Gas Company" could even be seen on the bomb body.

The paint job is light gray and the workmanship is rough.

It looks like the kind of project that gets eliminated in a college science and technology competition.

But the professor standing on the podium looked at it with an almost pious gaze.

The professor, surnamed Li, is a top expert in the field of drones in China. His hair is already gray, he wears gold-rimmed glasses, and speaks slowly and deliberately.

He reached out and gently stroked the simple drone, as if he were touching a work of art.

"Students," Professor Li began, his voice not loud, but every word resonating, "don't let the ugly appearance and rough workmanship of this drone fool you; it looks like it was picked up from a junkyard."

He paused, then adjusted his glasses.

"But in the past few months, this 'flying motorcycle' has become the best-selling, most famous, and most feared weapon in the entire Middle East."

A low murmur arose in the laboratory.

A student raised their hand: "Teacher, isn't it just a modified ordinary civilian drone? How powerful can it be?"

Professor Li glanced at the student, but instead of answering directly, he turned around and pulled up a set of data on the electronic screen behind him.

"The power system is a light motorcycle engine, with a range of 1,000 kilometers. The payload is two 15-kilogram small bombs. Guidance method: civilian GPS plus inertial navigation, with a circular error probability of no more than 15 meters. The unit cost is no more than 3,000 US dollars."

He turned around and looked at the students who were dumbfounded.

"Three thousand US dollars, twelve hundred kilometers, fifteen kilograms," he said, emphasizing each word. "Do you know what that means?"

The laboratory fell silent.

"This means that a dirt-poor armed group can use the money to buy a second-hand pickup truck to build a drone strike force capable of covering the entire war zone."

Professor Li's tone became somewhat complicated at this point.

"The 'Rainbow' and 'Wing Loong' series of reconnaissance and strike UAVs that we sold to Saudi Arabia are indeed much more powerful than this. But a single 'Rainbow-4' costs several million US dollars, and it requires a dedicated runway, ground station, maintenance team, operator training... There are very few countries in the world that can manage this system."

He pointed to the "flying little motorcycle" on the table.

"But this thing doesn't need a runway; you can just hand-launch it from any flat ground. It doesn't need a special ground station; a laptop and a game controller are all you need to control it. It doesn't need a professional operator; a young man who has played shooting games can get the hang of it after a morning of practice."

"Millions of dollars and three thousand dollars, a professional team and game controllers."

"In your opinion, which market do you think is more viable in a place like the Middle East?"

"And don't think this is a modified civilian drone. It was put together by a twenty-year-old using a bunch of seemingly unrelated civilian products. If he were to apply for a patent, he could definitely get it."

The students looked at each other and fell silent.

Professor Li sighed, walked to the window, and looked at the gray sky in the distance.

"In the past few months, the battlefield situation in the Middle East has changed dramatically. The Houthi rebels have gone from being suppressed to launching attacks on all sides, and have even entered the capital. There are many reasons for this. But anyone who has been on the battlefield knows that the seemingly 'outdated' weapons they have played a decisive role."

He turned around and looked at the young faces.

"You're studying drone technology, so you know what the world's most advanced drones look like, how high they fly, how far they can fly, and how many missiles they can carry. But have you ever wondered why a rudimentary contraption cobbled together from civilian parts can cause such headaches for several major powers?"

No one answered.

Professor Li didn't ask any more questions. He simply walked back to the table, picked up the "flying little motorcycle," held it up to his eyes, and examined it carefully.

"The person who designed this thing has a very clear mind," he muttered to himself, as if speaking to his students, yet also as if speaking to himself. "He knows not to pursue ultimate performance, just enough is fine; not to create complex systems, just stability is fine; not to have fancy features, just be able to fly and explode is fine."

"This way of thinking is not something someone with formal academic training could have."

He put down the drone and turned around.

"Alright, that concludes today's lesson. The assignment is to write an analytical report titled 'Low-Cost Drone Applications in Asymmetric Warfare: A Case Study of the 'Flying Motorcycle''."

He paused, then added, "The word count should be no less than five thousand."

The students let out a chorus of groans, but no one really complained.

Because everyone knows that this is more than just an assignment.

That seemingly "outdated" thing is changing the face of war in ways they never imagined.

......

At the same time.

Harbin Institute of Technology.

The same scene is playing out in an equipment laboratory.

A middle-aged professor wearing a military green T-shirt stood on the podium, holding a steel pipe in his hand.

No, it's not a steel pipe.

It is a gun barrel with four right-hand rifling grooves engraved on the inner wall.

"Students," the professor's voice boomed, carrying the hearty tone typical of Northeasterners, "look closely. The rifling on the inner wall of this pipe has a precision of 0.01 millimeters, and the helix angle error of the four lines does not exceed 0.1 degrees."

He paused, then raised the tube a little higher.

"This level of machining precision wouldn't be unusual in any reputable military factory in China. But can you guess the conditions under which this pipe was machined?"

A student raised their hand: "CNC machine tool?"

"A CNC machine tool?" The professor laughed. "In a place like Yemen, you're lucky to find a regular lathe that doesn't rust, let alone a CNC machine tool?"

He put down the gun barrel, picked up a photograph from the table, and held it up for the students to see.

The photo shows a workshop that couldn't be more rudimentary—a dirt floor, a tin roof, and several workers in slippers gathered around an old machine tool, processing something. The model number of the machine tool is no longer legible, and its surface is covered in grease and rust.

"With these conditions, they used the semi-finished steel pipes we provided to process heavy gun barrels that met the accuracy standards, and then assembled a rifle that could maintain accuracy at 800 meters."

The professor put down the photos and looked around at the young faces.

"Students, you are studying precision manufacturing, so you know what the world's most advanced machine tools can make. But have you ever wondered why a workshop with unstable electricity can use a 30-year-old machine tool to produce things that even the most established companies struggle with?"

The classroom fell silent.

The professor sighed, his tone becoming somewhat heavy.

"This incident teaches us a very real lesson—the technological barrier is being lowered by some people in a way we never expected. We are ahead in high-tech fields, but we need to learn from them this kind of 'breaking down the whole into parts' and 'simplifying the complex' approach."

He picked up the gun barrel and weighed it in his hand.

"That kid named Gu Qingzhou is only a junior in college this year."

He didn't say anything more, but everyone present understood the meaning behind his words.