Shelling
"You have a pastor here?"
Old Hei Chaka was a little surprised.
He looked at the Chinese people present. They actually believed in this stuff? Shouldn't they have built a Buddhist shrine or a Taoist temple or something?
A Confucian temple would've worked, too!
"Freedom of religion, and we should respect local customs. They can worship their way, and we'll mind our own business!"
Fang Zhiguo smiled. Other than holding a service every Sunday, the pastor didn't seem to do much else!
In fact, the pastor had often helped them work through communication problems with the locals. After all, the Chinese were living in a foreign country, where customs and taboos were different. It was easy for misunderstandings and conflicts to arise.
With this kindhearted go-between, Manager Hao found it much easier to direct the Black employees. He'd even paid the pastor a wage to help renovate the little church. It wasn't large—at most, only seventy or eighty square meters inside and out—and the work hadn't taken long.
Chaka remarked meaningfully, "Good thing you're Chinese!"
If they'd been foreigners from another country, they might not have been so courteous to a humble pastor—unless they shared the same faith.
A burst of crackling static came from the radio at Fang Zhiguo's waist, followed by a clear voice.
"Chief, Chief! They've broken through from the south. There are about a hundred of them, with vehicles too. The rice paddies we planted are done for!"
From the vantage point atop the warehouse, someone peered through binoculars in the direction of the relentless gunfire, watching the sudden battle unfold.
"Alas! We've finally been dragged into this!"
Manager Hao let out a long sigh.
He was heartbroken over the destroyed rice paddies. They hadn't just grown rice there; they'd also raised fish in the