The woman's residence was a simple wooden house.
Near the doorway inside the house was a large bed. The bedsheet on it was reasonably clean. At this mont, a seven or eight-year-old girl was fiddling with a doll on the bed.
From Ding Fan's perspective, this girl was most likely the child that the woman had ntioned earlier.
When the child saw the woman walk in with a man, she obediently headed further into the room and pulled shut a curtain dividing the bed from the innermost area.
Seeing this, Ding Fan understood. Apparently, the child had grown accustod to her mother bringing different n back.
Watching this child's unnaturally precocious behavior made Ding Fan feel uneasy.
Just then, sounds of automatic rifle fire echoed from the street corner not far away.
Ding Fan used Divine Sense to investigate. At the spot where he had taught those thugs a lesson earlier, three pickup trucks were now parked. Around fifteen or sixteen ard n were inexplicably firing at the sky.
"Those people belong to Musta. They're extrely ruthless. If they catch you, they'll kill you," the woman said to Ding Fan.
"Have you heard of Smith?" Ding Fan asked.
"I've heard of him. That man is connected to Musta as well—they're probably good friends," the woman replied, while fetching a basin of water and handing it to Ding Fan. "Do you want to wash up?"
Ding Fan shook his head.
"It seems you know quite a bit," he remarked.
The woman chuckled bitterly. "People like us sotis get dressed up and sent to them for entertainnt. That's how we learn a little about them."
Ding Fan nodded. In chaotic places like this, the most unfortunate are always won and children.
As she spoke, the woman started removing her outer garnt, revealing black lingerie underneath.
"What are you doing?" Ding Fan hesitated. "Put your clothes back on."
The woman looked at Ding Fan, puzzled. "You paid money, so naturally, I have to serve you."
"I don't need any service," Ding Fan said.
"Do you think I'm dirty?" she asked, confused.
"I'm not in the mood," Ding Fan replied indifferently.
At that mont, the door suddenly swung open and a drunken man staggered inside.
Upon seeing Ding Fan, the man turned to look at the woman. "!@#￥%...&*"
The woman beca visibly anxious after hearing the man's words and began saying sothing in a flurry.
The two spoke in the local language, which Ding Fan didn't understand.
"You need to leave now. My husband figured out that you're the Huaxia man those people are looking for. You have to go; he's going to turn you over to them," the woman hurriedly said to Ding Fan in Huaxia language.
Slap—a heavy blow struck the woman's cheek as the man slapped her hard.
The force of the slap knocked the woman over onto the bed.
After knocking her down, the man gripped his wine bottle and pointed it directly at Ding Fan. "You're not going anywhere. You attacked Musta's n. If I turn you over to them, at least they'll give so money for booze..."
Ding Fan furrowed his brows tightly.
From the man's behavior, Ding Fan could tell he was just a drunkard. It was evident that he was also aware of his wife selling her body to support the family.
For a man to stoop so low, relying on his wife's degradation to make ends et—it was truly appalling.
Ding Fan didn't want to linger in such a place any longer.
He headed towards the door. Seeing Ding Fan ignore him, the man grew furious and swung the bottle at Ding Fan's head.
There was no way Ding Fan would let a drunk hit him. He angled his body slightly, avoiding the bottle. Then, with so added force in his right hand, he flipped the man onto the ground.
The man struggled on the floor for quite so ti, but couldn't get up.
Glancing back at the woman and the girl peeking timidly from behind the curtain, Ding Fan turned and walked out of the wooden house...
...
After leaving the wooden house, Ding Fan headed straight to the nightclub where Smith often frequented.
On his way, Ding Fan didn't worry about encountering Musta's n, as he deliberately avoided areas where they might be present.
Since Ding Fan had been here before, it didn't take long for him to navigate skillfully to the nightclub.
Inside the manager's office, Ding Fan made his way once again to the underground fighting arena via the hidden passage.
Smith was still in his usual seat, watching the fights. Ding Fan imdiately called over a server, handed him a generous tip, and requested paper and a pen to write down: "Ding Fan is here."
Given how valuable Ding Fan was as a custor—having recently purchased $300 million worth of arms from Smith—Smith didn't waste a mont before coming to greet him.
"Mr. Ding, why didn't you let know you were coming? I could've arranged for soone to pick you up," Smith said, grinning obsequiously.
"I'm here to discuss business, though this doesn't seem like the right place," Ding Fan replied flatly.
Ding Fan's decision to visit Smith had only been made two hours earlier. There hadn't been enough ti to notify him, so Ding Fan opted to co directly.
Understanding the importance of business matters, Smith didn't dare delay and quickly accompanied Ding Fan to his reserved private room.
"Mr. Ding, let introduce you to Mr. Musta here. He's my good friend and business partner," Smith said, gesturing towards a tall middle-aged man who had been standing beside him.
Ding Fan hadn't expected the coincidence of running into Musta here, especially after dealing with a few of Musta's n not long ago.
Ding Fan exchanged greetings with Musta.
"Mr. Ding, what kind of business are you looking to discuss this ti?" Smith asked straightforwardly after the pleasantries.
"I need many things right now. What's available in your inventory?" Ding Fan replied impassively.
"Mr. Ding, as long as the price is right, I can get you whatever you need," Smith said with a smile, taking a puff of a cigar.
"In the Middle East, there's probably nothing Smith and I can't procure," Musta chid in.
Ding Fan trusted Smith's capabilities. The last transaction—a purchase of M2 heavy armored vehicles, which were active military equipnt of The Stars and Stripes Country—had demonstrated Smith's high-level connections. After all, Smith had managed to acquire items many nations couldn't, even with money.
The M2 main battle tanks had proven invaluable to Ding Fan, especially during the unification of Mali Island, when they had been instruntal.
"I currently need combat aircraft, warships, missiles... and if possible, production lines for manufacturing weapons," Ding Fan said without hesitation.
Smith and Musta exchanged a glance upon hearing this.
Aircraft and warships—those were things that far exceeded the ordinary level of armants. Even the Middle Eastern warlords, who ruled regions like kingdoms, hadn't bought such equipnt from them.
"These items aren't impossible for us to get, but the pricing..." Smith trailed off, fixing his gaze on Ding Fan.
"Money isn't an issue, as long as you have the goods," Ding Fan replied calmly.
"What we currently have available are combat helicopters—each priced at fifty million," Smith said. "As for the rest, you'll need to give us so ti."
"How many do you have?" Ding Fan asked flatly.
"We have twelve units," Smith responded. "If you purchase them all, I'll include training for your troops, free of charge."
"I'll take them all," Ding Fan said coldly.
Smith and Musta couldn't help but reveal smiles at the corners of their mouths.
At fifty million per aircraft, twelve units totaled six hundred million! Before eting Ding Fan, they'd be lucky to make one to two hundred million in a year. But now, here they were closing a six-hundred-million-dollar deal in one transaction—it was exhilarating.
"Mr. Ding, you're certain you want all of them?" Smith's eyes sparkled with delight.
"I'll transfer the money to you by tomorrow," Ding Fan said bluntly.
Six hundred million wasn't a big deal for Ding Fan.
Besides the Foundation Building Pills he refined, there was also the Revitalizing Pill produced by Sun Qi. Sun Qi alone could generate five hundred million a day just by refining Revitalizing Pills.
It was safe to say that Ding Fan was indeed rich.
"Haha, I knew Mr. Ding would be a generous man," Smith said, laughing heartily.
At that mont, Musta's phone rang. He answered it promptly, speaking in bursts of unfamiliar language.
"A Huaxia kid showed up and injured a few of my n. Earlier, a drunkard brought his wife here, saying she knew where that Huaxia kid was hiding. This is how it goes in the Middle East—people will trade anything for a al or a bottle of booze," Musta said with a smile after hanging up.
"Mr. Musta, it was who injured your n," Ding Fan said sternly, turning to Musta.
From Musta's words, Ding Fan deduced exactly what had happened after he left—the drunkard had taken his wife to Musta to trade her for alcohol.
Ding Fan, though not a saint inclined to solve every problem he encountered, was disgusted by that depraved man. Recalling the terrified look in the girl's eyes behind the curtain, Ding Fan couldn't help but think that the man deserved to die.
"Mr. Ding, was it actually you?" Musta asked, startled.
"Indeed, it was. You can capture now, if you want to take revenge for your n," Ding Fan replied plainly.
After hearing Ding Fan's response, Smith chuckled. "Mr. Ding, you're joking. You're an esteed guest. Even if you punished my n, or killed one or two, I wouldn't hold it against you."
The deal Ding Fan was negotiating—the six-hundred-million-dollar contract—was far too valuable. Musta wouldn't be foolish enough to jeopardize it over two injured subordinates.
To do so would be either sheer insanity or utter stupidity.
"Bring that couple here," Ding Fan said, addressing Musta.
Though unsure of Ding Fan's intentions, Musta still instructed his subordinates to go fetch the pair.
Before long, his n brought in the drunkard and the woman.
"Lord Musta, my wife knows the whereabouts of the Huaxia man… She surely knows where he is. I only beg Lord Musta for a bottle of liquor—even half a bottle you've already drunk would suffice…" The drunkard dropped to his knees as soon as he saw the group, trembling as he spoke without daring to lift his head.
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