Farming Life Starting in Africa

"You'd better take it easy," Rosen patted his uncle on the shoulder. "He can bring out so much domestic liquor; he must have connections. You're a businessman, why are you making enemies everywhere? Today he doesn't know the market and you rip him off, but tomorrow he'll know and come back to cause trouble for you. Is it worth it?"

Upon hearing Rosen's words, Qian Bida's eyes darted around. "That makes sense... It wouldn't be bad to find him as a supplier in the future. Should we do him a favor later?"

"Take care of your own affairs." Rosen didn't care about that; he was concerned about something else. "I have a feeling things are really getting out of hand here. I even got entrapped on the street. How's the green card process going?"

Qian Bida wiped the sweat from his brow. "I paid someone to come down soon. Ugh, what am I going to do with all this stock?"

"Looking for someone to take over? There are quite a few people interested in this business. If you lower the price, you can sell it directly to someone else."

Qian Bida nodded and said nothing more. He had his own considerations. Making money was fine with him, but losing money was like taking his life.

"I'll come to your place tonight and bring you two sets of clothes. You must wear these when you go out from now on."

Qian Bida asked curiously, "What kind of clothes? And you have to wear them?"

"Bulletproof," Rosen said in a low voice, "the same as the one I'm wearing. I recently got my hands on some, it's very expensive."

Qian Bida's eyes lit up instantly. He reached out and touched the fabric of Rosen's shirt. It was slightly thicker than a regular T-shirt, soft to the touch, nothing special. "Can it really stop bullets?"

"Yes, it can." Rosen nodded. "I've tried it. A regular pistol can barely penetrate your armor, and a close-range shot from a rifle can also stop it."

Qian Bida's eyes were practically glowing with greed. He rubbed his hands together, his face flushed with excitement: "Can we still get our hands on some? This stuff is sure to fetch a good price! Those wealthy bosses are all terrified of dying; they're willing to pay any price for something that can save their lives!"

Rosen narrowed his eyes and said in a low voice, "Take it easy. We can't let word get out that we have this. I got it from an assassin organization; it's an internal product, not something you can buy on the market. If it gets out, you'll be facing their pursuit."

Upon hearing Rosen's words, Qian Bida's smile froze instantly.

Making a lot of money is a good thing, but getting involved with a random assassin organization because of this isn't worth it. He's here to do business, not to risk his life.

Qian Bida waved his hand, "Then forget it."

Rosen smiled and said nothing more.

At the dock, the workers had finished loading the last container. Rosen started his pickup truck, the diesel engine roaring to life. The convoy began to move slowly, heading towards Uller. Leng Feng's small pickup truck followed leisurely behind.

Looking at the goods on the trucks ahead, he had some doubts, but he still believed Qian Bida's words.

The convoy drove back without any major mishaps. Upon arriving in Uller, in front of Qian Bida's supermarket, the workers began unloading the goods. The black men worked quickly and efficiently, unloading the boxes one after another and stacking them neatly. Qian Bida stood by, watching, a cigarette dangling from his lips, occasionally shouting, "Be gentle! Those boxes are all fragile!"

Leng Feng didn't ask the workers for help; he carried his wine crates himself. He looked very frustrated; this trip had really been a bit of a loss.

Rosen leaned against his pickup truck, watching Leng Feng busy himself, and found it somewhat amusing. He took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out, and handed it to him.

Leng Feng paused for a moment, stacked the liquor boxes he was holding, straightened up, shook his head, and said, "I don't smoke. Thank you."

"Hmm." Rosen put the cigarette in his mouth, flicked his lighter, lit it, and exhaled a puff of smoke. "Looks like you only drank alcohol."

"Hehe." Leng Feng chuckled, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "How did you figure that out?"

"You kept those two boxes of white cigarettes, definitely not to give them away." Rosen flicked his cigarette ash, which drifted to the ground. "In Uller, very few people give away such expensive things."

Leng Feng shrugged. The black kid Tundu next to him greeted him and then went into Qian Bida's store to wander around.

The store shelves were filled with all sorts of colorful goods, with labels printed in Chinese, English, and some Arabic.

Tundu picked up a bottle of baijiu (Chinese liquor), looked at the words on it, which read "MOU TAI" in pinyin. It looked a little different from the baijiu his godfather used.

However, the two characters for "Maotai" are the same. He has been learning Chinese recently and already knows quite a few Chinese characters.

Looking at other products, I always feel that the text on some of the trademarks doesn't look quite right.

Rosen finished his cigarette, stubbed it out on the sole of his shoe, and casually asked, "What brings you to Africa? Is it for work?"

Leng Feng paused for a moment, his gaze drifting as he looked at the wine box. "I'm here to find someone."

After saying that, he reached into his collar and pulled a thin rope from his neck, with a bullet hanging from it.

The bullet was made of pure steel, with spiral patterns on it, like the pattern of Damascus steel, gleaming dimly under the light.

He held the bullet up to Rosen's face: "Have you seen this before?"

Rosen looked down and frowned. He took it, weighed it in his hand, and then examined the patterns more closely. The bullet was finely crafted, with consistent depth of lines; it wasn't machine-pressed, but rather hand-polished.

He shrugged and handed the bullet back: "Never seen it before."

He genuinely had never seen it before. Although he knew this matter was related to a mercenary, he had no leads on the person. Telling him would only cause Leng Feng unnecessary trouble.

Looking at the bullet, Rosen silently complained to himself, "What lunatic would use Damascus steel technology to make a bullet? It might be a bit harder, but it'll deform after it's fired, and the power won't be much greater. Plus, the cost is ridiculously high."

"You can ask my uncle," Rosen said, gesturing towards Qian Bida's direction. "He's that cuckolded guy. He's been here a long time and knows a lot of people; he might have seen him."

Leng Feng followed his gaze and saw Qian Bida standing next to the pile of goods, his green hat standing out conspicuously in the setting sun, like a traffic light.

"Alright," Leng Feng said, about to retract the warhead.

"Wait!" Rosen raised his hand to stop him. "I'll take a picture and ask someone else. I have a friend who has a lot of connections here; maybe he's seen it. But he's slow to reply."

He took out his phone, snapped a picture of the warhead, and sent it to Zhou Weijie with the caption: "Have you ever seen this thing before?"