To those unfamiliar with the arms trade, the reality is that those deadly weapons and the ensuing, booming conflicts are astonishingly cheap.

An AK-47 assault rifle costs barely a few hundred yuan to manufacture. Fu Zhongjing charging Wang Zhuo between three hundred fifty and four hundred fifty USD was already marking it up tenfold over the cost price. Even at that rate, the total price translated to just over two thousand RMB—and this wasn't for a simple double-barreled shotgun or a crude homemade liushisi potato gun, but a main battle instrument capable of sweeping assaults!

The price range Fu Zhongjing offered accounted for variations in the weapon's origin and technical specifications. In the international arms market, German-made AK-47s commanded the highest prices, though there were also many high-quality copies from countries like Iran, Russia, and Israel. Having worked as an arms broker for years, Fu Zhongjing could easily source weapons from multiple nations, resulting in price fluctuations based on the provenance.

This disparity highlighted the massive gap between unstable and peaceful regions. In Zhongguo, firearms were strictly controlled; on the black market, a single round for a xia zà pào could fetch fifty or even one hundred yuan. Yet, Fu Zhongjing was pricing the ammunition for the highly lethal AK-47 at just one dollar for ten rounds—a mere sixty cents per bullet.

This contrast underscored the safety of domestic security. A single armed robbery could shock the entire nation, putting an entire province's police force on high alert. Conversely, in many developed nations where citizens could legally own guns, several major shooting incidents occurred annually. Take the United States, for example; news of middle schoolers playing "real-life Call of Duty" was hardly surprising anymore.

Thus, upon hearing Fu Zhongjing’s quotation, Wang Zhuo’s first thought was, "That's genuinely cheap." This wasn't due to his wealth, but the stark realization that the cost of killing was incredibly low.

Fu Zhongjing held a similar view, which is why he questioned Wang Zhuo about the necessity of spare parts. This realization hit Wang Zhuo: an assault rifle costing just over two thousand RMB was hardly a luxury item. Given the AK-47's legendary durability and resilience, such an inexpensive and tough piece of hardware could indeed be treated as disposable—"break it, toss it."

"Besides that, I'll need some rockets and similar items," Wang Zhuo mused. "You know my Black friends aren't highly trained militarily, so please recommend things that are simple to use."

"Oh, right!" he added. "I’ll also need some armored transport vehicles. Are those easy to acquire?"

"Even if you needed an ICBM, I could find a way to get it for you," Fu Zhongjing laughed heartily, signaling his attendant to bring over a tablet computer to show Wang Zhuo.

Rocket high-explosive rounds, anti-tank armor-piercing shells, Molotov cocktails, Desert Eagle pistols, sniper rifles, combat uniforms, compressed rations… all manner of low-end army gear were available in a dizzying array, sourced from several major global arms exporting nations.

"Do you have all of this in stock?" Wang Zhuo’s appetite for procurement was fully ignited. Arming his own force was infinitely more satisfying than playing real-time strategy games or ordering online.

"These are standard military supplies, not high-end products; of course, we have stock," Fu Zhongjing replied. "However, some items might be complicated to ship and could involve a longer lead time."

"How long, approximately?" Wang Zhuo frowned slightly.

"About half a month," Fu Zhongjing said, spreading his hands. "If there are storms or other severe weather, it could take longer."

"Oh, I see!" Wang Zhuo slapped his thigh in sudden comprehension. "No wonder it takes so long—you must be shipping them by sea!"

Fu Zhongjing rolled his eyes, thinking with wry amusement: Can we stop joking? Swaziland is the size of a fingernail. For the paltry amount they're buying, do we need an air carrier instead of a ship?

But Wang Zhuo's next question nearly made him throw his back out: "If we use air transport, can it get here faster?"

Fu Zhongjing forced a dry laugh, utterly amused. "Millions of dollars worth of equipment—are you sure you want to ship it by plane?"

"I know the freight might be expensive, but fighter jets wait for no one," Wang Zhuo declared casually. "You know, the American forces deploy right after New Year's Day. Before that, my soldiers absolutely need to get their weapons and get familiarized with them, right?"

"Fine, you clearly don't care about the money," Fu Zhongjing chuckled slyly. "Those darkies are lucky to have a big spender like you backing them." Afterward, the two seriously hashed out the supply list for General Mann's army. Though this was a minor order for Fu Zhongjing, the immense profit margins in the arms trade rivaled those of narcotics, meaning this multi-million dollar deal would net him tens of millions of RMB. It was clear why "merchants of war" grew so rich.

The final procurement location was set for Ukraine—the former Soviet republic that sold the Varyag aircraft carrier to Zhongguo. Competition among major world powers in the arms trade was fierce. Even though one side in this conflict was backed by the Americans, given sufficient profit, even the British would sell equipment to Wang Zhuo, allowing him to stand against the US.

Ukrainian-made AK-47s cost only three hundred fifty USD each; two thousand rifles totaled seven hundred thousand USD. But that was trivial compared to the actual cost of the armored personnel carriers, Molotov cocktails, and rockets.

Including miscellaneous items and shipping, Wang Zhuo ultimately paid eight million USD. This shipment, delivered to Mann, would be enough to arm him to the teeth.

Fu Zhongjing departed to coordinate sourcing and transport. Because Wang Zhuo had extravagantly paid for air freight, the entire shipment would arrive at the Swazi border on the 30th. Wang Zhuo would need to manage ground logistics and airport arrangements for the aircraft landing.

"Wang Zhuo, doing this—shouldn't you notify Old Master Qin Jingzhong and the others first?" Fu Xinran reminded him with some worry. "The Americans are domineering. Supporting their enemies—won't that cause you trouble?"

"Don't worry," Wang Zhuo replied with an easygoing smile. "America has two parties, and multiple factions within each party." "This is just a small test run. In the future, I plan to establish a financial consortium, funneling money to support candidates running for office. If the timing is right, it might even be possible to foster a US President."

"Still bragging..." Fu Xinran looked at him, amused and shaking her head, thinking how vast this man's ambition was—he dared to dream of anything.

"Why, don't you believe me?" Wang Zhuo huffed proudly. "That’s the good thing about America; the public is incredibly accepting. Didn't you see a Black man become President? When you give me a son, we'll have him take American citizenship, and in the future, we'll support him to become America's first President of Asian descent!"

She knew how to banter back. Fu Xinran chuckled. She took all his grand pronouncements as the idle talk of a dreamer, never imagining that decades later, history would actually prove him right. When Wang Zhuo's son and daughter separately entered presidential races for the Republican and Minzhu parties, that would truly be dramatic!

Jokes aside, such matters were tied to national politics, so informing the relevant parties was necessary.

Thus, after his "bragging," Wang Zhuo took out his phone and called Old Master Qin Jingzhong.

The person who answered was Zhen Jin. When Wang Zhuo first met her, he hadn't fully grasped the concept of "Zhen Jin" (truly tight), but after years of experience, he deeply understood the subtle pleasures when a woman was truly tight. Zhen Jin had since become Qin Jingzhong's personal assistant and remained unmarried; her appearance hadn't changed much.

Listening to her sweet, engaging voice, Wang Zhuo was vaguely curious if she lived up to her name, but it was only a passing thought; their lives had no real reason to intersect beyond professional courtesy.

Qin Jingzhong's voice was still robust and full of spirit. "Wang Zhuo, I hear you've been playing at quite a high level lately. Why the sudden call to me?"

"High level?" Wang Zhuo countered with a dry laugh. "What do you mean by that? I'm a bit confused."

"You’re about to clash with the Americans—how is that not high level?" Qin Jingzhong laughed heartily. "Don't think just because I'm old that my eyes are blurry and my ears are deaf; I'm very well-informed!"

"Hmph," Wang Zhuo retorted without politeness, exposing his weakness. "Someone found out about my plans and specifically went to ask your opinion. What did they say?"

"Oh, you're quite assertive, aren't you, kid?" Qin Jingzhong wasn't angered, chuckling instead. "I like young men who act with vigor. They came to me rambling on and on, but I dismissed them with a single sentence."

Wang Zhuo smiled secretly, thinking: What has the Old Master ever disapproved of that I did? The Old Master had the temperament of an old child; if he heard of something good Wang Zhuo did, he’d cheer it loudly. If a mess reached him, it would, at worst, earn a label of "foolish antics," which counted as criticism.

He chuckled and asked, "So, what did you tell them?"

"I told them, if the Americans protest, you tell them it was a personal action carried out without your knowledge," Qin Jingzhong drawled languidly. "Then I turned the question back on them: Isn't this something you folks do all the time? They shut up."

"So they’ve tacitly agreed to let me continue stirring things up?" Wang Zhuo asked, surprised.

"They certainly aren't that easygoing," Qin Jingzhong huffed. "Your high-profile actions have earned quite a few objections. The only reason they haven't made me call you back yet is to see how the Americans react!"

Just as I thought... Wang Zhuo nodded silently. Certain people were indeed using him as a tool to probe the American bottom line!

Thinking this, Wang Zhuo couldn't help a silent sneer. Using me as a tool, are you? Alright then. Let's ride this donkey while watching the play unfold. We'll see who gets the last laugh!