Farming Life Starting in Africa

Rosen casually grabbed a bottle, pried the cap off with a metal skewer, and with a "pop," the cap popped off a long way and landed easily in the trash can in the corner of the yard.

He handed it to Miao Feng.

Miao Feng took a big gulp, let out a loud burp, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and said, "It's alright. I can aim and fire. As for accuracy..."

He shook his head and chuckled, "Don't even mention it, I don't have the talent. Last time I practiced for an entire afternoon, hitting a target fifty meters away, and I don't know how many shots I missed. My arms were sore for days afterward, this stuff is just too tiring."

"What about your gun license? Has it been issued yet?" Rosen opened a bottle for himself, took a sip, and then handed another bottle to Hassan next to him.

Hassan took the beer and gave half of his skewers to Patrick.

"It's done." Miao Feng raised an eyebrow as he said this, with a hint of smugness. "The day I went to get it done, I mentioned your name, and they gave me the certificate on the spot."

"Haha," Rosen laughed, "it seems they still value human relationships quite a bit."

In fact, Miao Feng obtained his gun license through the government military, paying for it in the process.

In this place, if you have an Asian face, as long as you don't walk around with a handgun in your crotch or wave an AK around in front of the government building, nobody cares whether you're carrying a gun or not.

But Miao Feng was different. He had to deal with government officials from China, and constantly brandishing an illegal gun in front of them made him uneasy. People from China are more accustomed to following the rules.

Rosen took another bite of meat, chewing it with relish. Miao Feng's grilled skewers were indeed "just a tiny bit" better than his.

"Seriously," Rosen swallowed, pointed the iron skewer at Miao Feng, "If you don't have much work lately, try not to wander around, especially don't leave the city. The situation is not peaceful right now. The Red Turban Army and the Iron Army are both interested in Uller, and they might start fighting any day now."

Miao Feng paused for a moment while flipping the meat skewers, then nodded. "I won't be doing any fieldwork lately, so don't worry."

When Miao Feng met Rosen, Rosen was tinkering with a racing car and was testing it in an open space outside the city.

Miao Feng passed by and saw it. He walked over and looked at it for a while. Finally, he said to Rosen, "Your image transmission signal is not good. It's probably going to stay like this. Do you want me to fix it for you?" Rosen let him try it with some skepticism. It turned out that this guy really had some skills.

He helped Rosen improve the digital image transmission receiver for the racing drone glasses and also gave Rosen the blueprints for an enhanced repeater.

Since then, Rosen's self-made racing drones have become increasingly outrageous. With a payload of 5KG, they can still fly for 20 to 30 kilometers without any signal problems, which can at least meet the needs of most customers.

Moreover, Miao Feng not only modified the machines, but also introduced many customers to Rosen. Rosen's first large order here came from him.

Some customers want particularly durable modified cars, and Lawson's modified cars have found a market.

His modified vehicle has been tested against landmines—not anti-tank mines, of course; if those exploded, even a passing US military Humvee would be torn to pieces. But it could withstand infantry mines, the kind Rosen modified vehicle could withstand several times over.

"Okay." Rosen took a swig of beer. "I've been staying in the city lately. If you need to go out on any assignments, just call me. We can go out for a walk together, that way we can look out for each other."

Hassan sat quietly to the side, eating his meat skewers and listening to Rosen and Miao Feng chat. Although he couldn't understand a word, his eyes would occasionally drift to Rosen's thigh.

There was a quick-draw holster there, with a pistol inside. The grip was exposed, with several anti-slip grooves engraved on it, giving it a dull gleam under the light.

After hesitating for a while, Hassan finally spoke.

"Luo," his voice was soft, tinged with hesitation, "do you... still have any guns?"

Rosen and Miao Feng turned to look at him at the same time.

"What's up?" Rosen raised an eyebrow. "Hassan, you want to play with guns too?"

Hassan shook his head, unconsciously twirling the metal skewer in his hand. "It's not for myself. It's for my tribe. We've been fighting the Karo tribe for water for the past two months, and we've already fought four or five times."

His speech slowed down, as if he were organizing his thoughts. "The Carlo tribe has over a dozen good guns, while we only have a few old hunting rifles, some of which don't even fire. Every time we go to fetch water, we end up fighting, and we've already lost several people. The chieftain said... he wants a batch of weapons."

Africa is often associated with drought, water scarcity, poverty, and disease. However, south of the equator, Africa has abundant rainfall and fertile land. Fruits can be harvested and quickly regrown, and even roadside bushes are full of berries. They don't need to store food.

Of course, there are also dry seasons when water is scarce, and at those times, wars break out between tribes. It's not uncommon for dozens or even hundreds of people to be killed or injured.

Rosen's expression remained unchanged; he was used to it. "An AK47 costs five hundred dollars, and bullets cost one dollar each."

Hassan lowered his head, his voice muffled, "Mr. Luo... we have no money."

Rosen didn't respond, waiting for him to continue, while Patrick got up and went back inside.

Hassan looked up, his eyes filled with a complex emotion, a mixture of pleading and probing. "The chieftain said we can exchange women. Or... we can exchange prisoners we capture in the future."

The air was still for a moment. The charcoal fire crackled, sending a few sparks flying that fell to the ground and went out.

Miao Feng didn't interrupt. He already knew about the living conditions in Africa. The locals here faced unimaginable difficulties in survival. Most people could only live to their thirties, and those over forty were considered long-lived.

In China, one should only apply moral standards to oneself here, and it's best not to impose them on others, otherwise one would be acting like a saint.

Rosen glanced at him sideways. "Hassan, I don't do human trafficking."

He waved to Hassan. Hassan hesitated for a moment, then stood up and obediently moved closer.

Rosen's voice was so low that only the two of them could hear, "If you don't have money, you can exchange it for gold. I know your tribe used to have a small gold mine. Don't pretend to be poor with me, you definitely have some in stock."

Hassan fell silent.

Time ticked by, and a small swarm of insects, attracted by the firelight, buzzed and hovered above the grill. Patrick emerged from the house at some point, carrying a plate of chopped tomatoes and onions, which he placed on the small table beside him.

"I'll go back and ask," Hassan finally spoke, his voice so soft it seemed as if he was afraid the wind would blow it away.