Chapter 438 Leader, what am I supposed to continue? Continue?

A coastal city in the south.

The sun was stiflingly hot, and there didn't seem to be even a trace of wind in the air; the asphalt road was baked until it emitted layers of distorted heat waves.

Inside a fairly large processing plant.

The security guard was sitting bored in the sentry box next to the main gate.

The old ceiling fan above his head was making a monotonous "creak" sound, and the breeze it blew out was also warm.

His mouth was open as he yawned, his eyelids drooping constantly, feeling as if he could fall asleep at any moment.

However...

A dull vibration rang out without any warning.

At first, the sound was faint, but after only a few seconds, the roar of engines approached from afar, and even the glass windows of the sentry box began to resonate slightly.

Hearing this commotion.

The security guard rubbed his eyes and took a casual look outside.

The next second.

His whole body jolted violently, and any drowsiness he had was completely scared away.

Within his line of sight.

At the end of the wide road, a long line of deep green military trucks was roaring toward them.

Those heavy off-road tires crushed the road surface, carrying an unstoppable sense of pressure as they stopped directly outside the processing plant's gate.

Seeing this posture.

The security guard's mouth hung open, and he thought to himself, 'Are they here to arrest our factory director?'

Before he could even react and press the button to open the gate.

Fully armed soldiers had already begun disembarking from the military vehicles.

These soldiers, dressed in camouflage training uniforms, moved with crisp efficiency. In less than half a minute, they had set up cordon tape and blocked off every entrance and exit of the entire factory.

Seeing such a massive scene.

The security guard shrank into the corner of the sentry box and swallowed a mouthful of dry saliva.

Wait, did our factory director break some heavenly law?

I knew that kid was no good.

...

The commotion downstairs was simply too loud.

The sound of air brakes from one military truck after another, along with the rhythmic footsteps of soldiers assembling, penetrated the soundproof glass of the third-floor office area.

Then, the factory director was also alerted.

After hearing the series of unusual noises outside.

He stood up and walked to the window.

Looking out from his office, he had a clear view of the scene at the main gate downstairs.

When he saw the soldiers with live ammunition and the factory gate being completely taken over.

The factory director's head buzzed, and he felt as if the sky was falling.

His legs went weak, his knees feeling as if they had lost their bones. He could only reach out and grip the edge of the windowsill tightly to barely avoid collapsing onto the floor.

A layer of dense sweat beads instantly broke out on his forehead.

He frantically recalled everything he had done recently. Tax evasion? Or failing to meet fire safety standards?

But no matter how he calculated it, none of those issues should warrant mobilizing the army to shut him down.

A short while later.

A series of orderly and heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.

The double wooden doors of the office were pushed open from the outside.

Several comrades from the Special Front, dressed in uniforms and looking grim, stepped into the factory director's office.

The leading comrade had a sharp gaze, scanning the room before locking his eyes onto the factory director leaning against the window.

Being stared at by such a penetrating gaze.

The factory director felt his scalp go numb.

He hurried forward, his smile forced and strained.

Trembling, he said, "Leaders, is there some misunderstanding? This is just an ordinary toy factory."

...

Actually, the factory director wasn't the only one in the room.

At the coffee table used for guests, Old Zhang, who was in charge of reverse engineering tasks, was also sitting there.

On the table in front of Old Zhang, several sketches and some disassembled plastic parts were scattered about.

Seeing this sudden, massive intrusion and the soldiers standing at the door with live ammunition.

Old Zhang's mind went completely blank.

Then, he suddenly thought of a terrifying possibility.

Could it be that his factory director wanted to replicate the firefighting equipment from Little Factory Director Li's live stream, and that's why these people were alerted?

One must know.

Not long ago.

He had watched the entire live stream hosted by Li Jiajun in Baishui City of the Eastern Country.

In that live stream, the items Little Factory Director Li brought out were each more outrageous than the last.

From individual rocket launchers to tracked armored vehicles, and then that miniature mushroom cloud that would make anyone lose their soul at a glance.

Back when he was watching the stream.

He had said before that he wouldn't dare replicate those things; even if he were given ten times the courage, he wouldn't dare touch military-grade equipment on the level of nuclear bombs.

But nowadays, for the sake of making money, businessmen had no bottom line.

Looking at the group of serious-faced soldiers before him.

The more Old Zhang thought about it, the more reasonable this deduction seemed.

'Could it be that the factory director secretly found someone to replicate them?' This thought emerged in his mind.

'It must be! Otherwise, how could the army be brought in to surround the factory!'

As his imagination reached this point.

Old Zhang was scared out of his wits.

He felt that once this label was pinned on them, forget about working in this factory, he'd likely spend the rest of his life working a sewing machine in prison.

To clear his own involvement, he didn't even leave room for second thoughts.

Then, he said with a sob, "Director, you didn't really do that, did you? You can't do that! That firefighting equipment, including those Thermobaric Bombs, cannot be replicated!"

...

Hearing this, the factory director broke into a cold sweat.

He turned his head blankly, looking at Old Zhang, who was slumped on the sofa and shivering.

What on earth was he talking about?

What Thermobaric Bombs? What firefighting equipment?

He had only asked Old Zhang to take the lead in dismantling that Firefighting Parent-Child Pistol that had been selling like crazy online recently, intending to reverse engineer it and produce a batch of knockoffs.

How did it suddenly jump to Thermobaric Bombs?

Old Zhang saying this now was basically pushing him into a fire pit!

Looking at the still-stern faces of the military comrades in front of him.

The factory director was speechless.

He now had reason to suspect that these military people came here because this Old Zhang had made a baseless report against him.

And although the factory director didn't know these were people from the Special Front.

He knew that if he didn't explain himself now, he really would become a terrorist bomb-maker.

He hurried to meet the other's gaze and explain.

"Leaders, don't listen to his nonsense. What replication? I didn't replicate anything."

As the factory director spoke, he waved his hands vigorously, afraid that any slow movement would be misunderstood.

"At most, I recently replicated a toy gun from a toy factory."

To increase his credibility, he even pointed to the pile of gray plastic parts on the coffee table.

In his view, knocking off a competitor's plastic toy gun was at most an infringement of trade secrets or patent rights.

Paying some compensation or a fine would settle it. Compared to the capital offense of replicating Thermobaric Bombs, this was a trivial matter.

However.

Then, as he said this, he became even more dumbfounded.

Because the reaction of the comrades opposite him completely exceeded his logic.

One of the comrades in military uniform, upon hearing his words, actually took out a notebook.

This action was very ordinary, but in the factory director's eyes, it carried a massive amount of information.

One must know.

Just now, when Old Zhang mentioned firefighting equipment and Thermobaric Bombs, the other party hadn't even blinked, let alone taken out a notebook.

Toward those kinds of heavy weapons, this group of people had been unresponsive.

But now, hearing him admit to replicating a toy gun.

The other party actually took out a notebook, intending to record something.

This completely subversive difference in treatment caused the bellyful of explanations the factory director had prepared to get stuck in his throat.

The air instantly went silent.

At this moment, the factory director stopped talking.

The Special Front comrade who took out the notebook to record looked up at him.

In a very flat tone, he said, "Continue."

...

Looking at the pen hovering over the notebook.

And then at the other party's focused gaze waiting to record.

Then, the factory director swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

He almost cried out loud.

"Leader, what do you mean by 'continue'? Continue what?"