Farming Life Starting in Africa

Zhuo Weixi ignored him, took out a bottle of red wine from the bag, and looked at the label. The label was colorful and had something about "Reserve" and "French Oak Barrel" written on it, which didn't look very legitimate.

She frowned, strongly suspecting that the wine was a sweet wine made in some small workshop in China.

"Where did you get this wine?"

"I got it from my uncle; it's the most expensive wine he sells in his shop."

Zhuo Weixi didn't show any disgust. "Then try it first."

With that, she skillfully opened the bottle, and with a "pop," the cork came out. She brought the bottle close to her nose and sniffed it, her brow relaxing slightly—she didn't smell anything strange. Then she poured Rachel a third of a glass, and in no time, the three of them had finished the bottle of wine.

Rosen raised his glass, the enamel cup gleaming white in the firelight. "A thousand cups are too few when drinking with a bosom friend; drink as much as you can."

Zhuo Weixi chuckled and patted Luo Sen's arm. "Hey, I've heard there's a next line—'If you can't drink it, run!' Right? You're already backing down before you've even started drinking?"

Rosen's eyes widened, his face full of innocence. "You're accusing me before we've even started drinking? When did I say I was going to run away? I said we should drink slowly, there's no rush."

He smiled and clinked glasses with the two of them; the enamel cups made a crisp "clang" sound when they touched.

"Enough talk, let's drink first."

Rosen was very confident in his ability to drink. After his body was strengthened, his resistance to alcohol was greatly enhanced—it wouldn't affect his brain at all unless he drank two pounds of baijiu.

Moreover, he has a strong recovery ability and wakes up quickly after drinking it. He has always found this ability quite useful, although he doesn't usually use it many times.

"Hey? Where's your brother?" Rosen put down his cup and looked around.

"He went back to his room to sleep," Zhuo Weixi said, her tone tinged with helplessness.

"Haha." Rosen laughed. "What's wrong? Did the peacock's display fail? It was quite energetic just now, dancing and fawning over you."

"Hehe, oh? When did you arrive?" Zhuo Weixi then realized that Rosen must have arrived a while ago.

"Just for a little while," Rosen said. "I just went to talk to Old Lin about something. We discussed a small business deal."

The group chatted idly, opening bottles one after another, but they didn't drink any baijiu (Chinese liquor).

Zhuo Weixi is returning to China next month. She came here to help her brother check if there are any management problems with the factories here. She studied management in the United States. If she weren't a woman, she would most likely have inherited the Zhuo family business.

None of them drank to excess. Zhuo Weixi's alcohol tolerance was indeed quite good. Rachel was already slurring her words, but Zhuo Weixi, apart from a slightly flushed face, showed no reaction at all.

Knowing that Zhuo Weixi was about to go home, Luo Sen didn't say anything more.

That night, Rosen traveled through the night and returned to Uller.

It was past midnight when I got home. The yard was quiet, the mosquito killer lamp was still on, buzzing. Patrick had gone to bed early, and Swagger sat on the living room sofa, staring blankly at the TV program.

Seeing Rosen return, Swagger said, "I'm planning to leave."

Rosen sat down on the other side of the sofa, crossed his legs, and asked, "Have you made contact with your comrades?"

"Hmm." Swagger nodded. "Donnie has been missing for several days now, and there's nothing unusual in the camp. The higher-ups haven't suspected anything."

Rosen asked curiously, "What about the commander who was killed in the explosion?"

Swagger sighed and placed his cup on the coffee table. "He was swept up, bagged, and taken away that same day. It's probably over now; nobody's investigating."

"Alright." Rosen leaned back on the sofa. "Then have a safe trip."

"Okay, contact me when you come to America." Swagger stood up and stretched.

Rosen smiled and said, "Yes, I will. You'll have to treat me to a meal then."

Swage smiled, which was rare for him, nodded, and went back inside to pack his things.

After breakfast, just as the sun was rising, Rosen drove off in his pickup truck. The truck bed was loaded with weapons and ammunition, covered with tarpaulins and securely tied up.

There was a lot of traffic along the way. There are actually a lot of cars here, after all, cars are incredibly cheap.

Anyone with a decent means of living would try to buy a car for transportation. Who among those who could afford it could refuse to own an International car for just two or three thousand dollars? It might be a bit old and worn, but as long as it runs, that's fine.

After the car left Uller for more than 100 kilometers, the roadside became increasingly desolate.

Further ahead lies the territory of the Steel Army. To get to Hassan's house, one must pass through this not-so-safe area, so Rosen slowed down the car.

Just as they were about to leave the area controlled by the Iron Army, Rosen saw a minibus and a sedan parked on the side of the road.

Something about the cars parked on the side of the road in this place at this time is just not right.

He slowly slowed down, keeping his eyes fixed on the scene. As he got closer, he could see clearly that the minibus had driven into the ditch by the roadside, leaning against something, and he couldn't see what was inside.

The car stopped in the middle of the road hadn't gone into the ditch, but the window was open. The driver, his face covered in blood, was leaning against the door, his head tilted to the side, and it was unclear whether he was dead or alive. There was also a person in the passenger seat, head down, with no blood on him, but he was also motionless.

Rosen and the others got a little closer before he stepped on the brakes, because he saw a six or seven-year-old child in the back seat, with one hand sticking out of the car window and waving it.

He put the car in Park and took a deep breath. Then he pulled up his face mask to cover half his face, pulled up his sleeves, and pulled his hat brim down so that only his eyes were visible. Only then did he open the car door and get out.

When your feet touch the ground, heat rises from the soles of your shoes.

Although he had some doubts about the scene—it was too quiet, and he didn't see the attacker—he got out of the car after seeing a small child in the back seat. What if someone really needed help?

Rosen didn't approach the car directly, but stopped five meters away. He called out in Arabic, "What happened here? Are you all alright?"

The blood-covered child, seeing the pistol tucked into Rosen's leg, showed no fear or panic. He reached out his hand to Rosen, his voice trembling with tears, "Help me, we need a doctor. Please."

Rosen surveyed his surroundings and found nothing unusual in sight except for the minibus.

He hesitated for a moment, then walked over. He reached out and touched the Arab driver's neck; he could feel a pulse and was still breathing. The driver's face wasn't pale, but it was covered in blood, making him look somewhat bloody.

Rosen opened the back door and said to the child, "Get out first, don't stay in the car. I'll go check on the bus next to us."