Farming Life Starting in Africa

Leng Feng stared at the rock, his lips twitching. After a long while, he turned to look at Rosen and asked, "How much explosive did you add?"

"I've increased it by at least thirty percent," Rosen said casually. "The fragmentation radius is at least fifteen meters. Try not to hit friendly forces when using it—if you have teammates."

Leng Feng didn't reply. He removed the grenade launcher from the barrel, put it back in the box, and picked up the M40A3 again. He scanned the wilderness through the scope, and suddenly a shot rang out, hitting a large rock 500 meters away. All that could be seen was a small cloud of dust rising in the distance.

"This gun is very well tuned. Did you tune it?"

"A friend of mine set it up." Rosen leaned against the hood of the car, lit a cigarette, and asked, "What's the furthest you can shoot?"

"About a kilometer. What's wrong?"

"Oh, I thought all you soldiers were sharpshooters, able to hit things two kilometers away with ease."

Leng Feng smiled.

"There are people like that in the military, but that requires talent, one in a million. My abilities are sufficient—wait a minute." He suddenly realized something, his eyes sharpening like knives, "How did you know I was a soldier?"

"From mainland China, and you're so good with guns," Rosen said with a matter-of-fact expression, exhaling a puff of smoke. "If you weren't in the military, did you get these skills from being a ruthless gangster in Hong Kong?"

Leng Feng stared at him for two seconds, then laughed. "Heh, what about you?"

"I just like it as a hobby." Rosen flicked the cigarette butt away, sending it arcing through the air.

"Alright." Leng Feng put down the gun. "That'll be eleven thousand US dollars in total, right?"

Just as Rosen was about to nod, his phone rang.

He took out his phone and saw it was a call from Zhuo Weixi. He answered, and the voice on the other end was very low and trembling, clearly trying to hold back her voice, "Brother Sen... help me."

Rosen frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Rachel and I are at the St. Francis Chinese Hospital. A group of thugs have come and are arresting people, searching every room."

"What kind of bandits? Arabs?"

"No, it was black people in camouflage and a few white people, all carrying guns. I couldn't see the others. Rachel, Professor Chen, and I are hiding in the storage room, and we haven't been discovered yet. Can you come and help me?" Her voice trailed off, the last few words almost inaudible.

Rosen turned to look at Leng Feng, a headache forming in his head. This script isn't right. Am I supposed to replace Leng Feng as Wolf Warrior? He's not a special forces soldier; he's just a junk collector.

"Okay, St. Francis Chinese Hospital, right? You stay hidden and don't make a sound. I'm coming right now."

He hung up the phone and looked at Leng Feng. The phone volume wasn't quiet just now; Leng Feng must have heard it all, and his expression had changed from relaxed during the gun test to serious.

"Can you come with me to rescue people? Those guns are free."

Leng Feng nodded and, without saying a word, began loading guns into the holster, his movements quick and efficient.

"Were Chinese people kidnapped?"

The two got into the car, and Rosen turned the key to start it. The BJ40 roared off, its tires kicking up a cloud of dust on the dirt road. "Yeah, this place is getting more and more chaotic, it's a real headache," he muttered as he drove.

On the way, Rosen gestured towards the back seat, "Find a combat suit in that backpack and put it on."

Leng Feng turned around and picked up the large hiking backpack from the back seat. It was so heavy he was startled. "Why is it so heavy? Do we have to change clothes to rescue someone? Why all the formality?"

Rosen kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Be careful, there are a few bombs I made myself in the bag. That outfit might be a bit big, so tuck it in."

Leng Feng's hand, which was unzipping the jacket, froze for a moment. His expression was as if he had swallowed a fly, and he almost broke out in a cold sweat. "Hey, you just stuffed the bomb in there like that? Aren't you afraid it'll explode?"

Rosen didn't say anything, focusing on driving.

Leng Feng muttered something to himself, but still reached in and rummaged through. He took out a piece of clothing, a black T-shirt. It felt off to the touch; it was much thicker than ordinary fabric and quite heavy.

Without thinking much, he put it on and found that it was indeed quite long. Rosen was 1.85 meters tall, half a head taller than him, and the clothes almost reached his buttocks.

"Isn't it okay to change into these clothes? The pants are too big to wear!" He held up the combat pants, which were also a size too big, with a look of disgust on his face; the pant legs were much thicker.

Rosen glanced at him, then suddenly reached for the quick-draw holster on his outside thigh with his right hand.

Leng Feng's pupils contracted, but Rosen's movements were too fast. He drew an M1911, raised the gun, and aimed it at Leng Feng's chest. The whole process took less than half a second.

Leng Feng instinctively reached out to push the gun away, but he lost the initiative; Rosen's reaction speed was completely abnormal. In that instant, only one thought occupied Leng Feng's mind—Long Xiaoyun's revenge wasn't avenged yet, and it's already over? Die in Africa, at the hands of a junk collector?

"Bang."

A shot rang out.

Leng Feng felt as if someone had stabbed him hard in the chest with a wooden stick.

But there was no burning sensation from being pierced, and no blood flowed out. He looked down and saw a bullet lying on his pants, emitting a slight warmth. The bullet was deformed, like a flattened little mushroom.

He was stunned for several seconds before he came to his senses, lifted his shirt and touched his chest, but there was nothing wrong, not even a scratch, just a little red.

"Is this... a blank?"

Rosen pointed to the bullet that had fallen onto his pants. "You can't find this in a blank round, can you? This suit is bulletproof. Alright, enough talk, hurry up and change your pants too. If they're too long, cut them shorter with a knife. This suit is bulletproof but not stabproof; if you get stabbed with a dagger, you're still done for."

Leng Feng didn't waste any words this time. He had never seen such a lightweight bulletproof vest in all his years of military service. It weighed about the same as a regular T-shirt, but its breathability was poor, making it very stuffy. But the key thing was that this vest could actually stop bullets.

"Where did you get this?" he asked as he changed his pants, his tone tinged with disbelief.

"It was obtained from an assassin group."

Leng Feng was speechless, his expression complex. "Are assassins this twisted now? Their gear is more advanced than ours?"

Rosen chuckled. "Heh, you'd better not mess with their assassins—especially the ones who own dogs."

By the time they arrived at the St. Francis Chinese Hospital, the sky was already a blood red.

The hospital entrance was quiet. From a distance, you could see two soldiers in government military uniforms standing straight, holding their guns at the ready.

Rosen slowed down the car a short distance from the entrance. Leng Feng leaned forward and asked, "What's wrong? It should be safe here now, right?" He pointed to the two guards. "The government troops have taken control of this area."