Miami outskirts, testing farm.
At noon, the sun blazed on the farm's land.
Zhou Qingfeng sectioned off a rough orchard and set up an outdoor training range.
Wooden boards nailed crookedly formed covers, piles of old tires created obstacles, rusty old cars lay in the center, and a few dilapidated containers stood leaning.
It looked like a small town ravaged by a storm.
The place was shabby, yet he managed to turn it into a decent combat training ground – the terrain was varied, the ground was both dry and wet, the environment either sparse or dense.
Real guns were off limits here, replaced by paintball guns – colorful pellets flew everywhere, popping and splattering, the air filled with the smell of paint and the earthy scent of soil.
Zhou Qingfeng came here every few days to play for half a day, each time leaving the "Electric Flight" employees in disarray and wailing all over the place.
