Chapter 439: Casting Doom on Global Iron and Oil

The morning mist in Central, Hong Kong always carries a strange scent mingling sea brine with the smell of cash.

A crack in the window of the top‑floor office of Wanxiang Dasha lets that scent seep in in thin threads, winding around the rose‑wood desk piled with global mining reports.

Li Ping'an didn't close the window; instead he inhaled deeply— the smell sharpened him and made him know precisely that he was on the front line of an invisible war.

The previous battle was in Tokyo, where the smoke consisted of numbers and graphs on a screen.

This one spreads beneath the planet's crust and atop the seabed; the foes are century‑old giant crocodiles and elusive geopolitical currents.

Zhou Wenbin knocked and entered, cradling a thick stack of fresh telegraph paper, his face a mix of excitement and disbelief.

"Mr. Li, something's happening in London…"

Li Ping'an turned and gestured for him to set it down.

The ink on the telegraph paper was fresh, the script clear across the ocean. They were translated abstracts of two English research reports, authored by two well‑known independent commodity analysts.

One bore the bold title "Asian Demand Under the Shadow of Yen Appreciation: Is the Iron‑Ore Super‑Cycle About to End?"; the other was more direct—"1986: Structural Turning Point of Global Crude‑Oil Oversupply."

The reports' data were meticulous, well‑cited, and the logical chain so tight that no flaw could be found.

The core argument was unanimous: after the Plaza Accord, Japan's "resource‑gobbling" appetite will be forced to shrink, dragging down the expansion pace of other emerging Asian industrial economies; meanwhile, the mineral and oil‑gas capacity boom fueled by capital floods in recent years now faces the harsh reality of waning demand.

The conclusion was subtle yet lethal: price corrections may not be a short‑term wobble but the start of a long‑term trend.

"What's the reaction?" Li Ping'an asked, his voice calm.

"At first it's only circulating in a small circle."

Zhou Wenbin licked his slightly dry lips, "But this morning Reuters and Bloomberg business briefs both quoted the core points. Rio Tinto and BHP's London share prices opened slightly lower; the drop wasn't large, yet… buying pressure was clearly hesitant."

Li Ping'an walked to the massive world map and lightly tapped the ochre‑red region of Western Australia.

The great beast's armor showed its first loosened scale.

"That's only the first cough."

Li Ping'an's mouth curled with a cold arc, "To make the market truly sneeze, even fever, we need more 'viruses.'"

He returned to his desk and pulled out a list. It named a dozen or so people, with notes on their expertise, academic standing, and—more importantly—their recent financial status or personal "little habits."

"Have Jiaxin handle it," he handed the list to Zhou Wenbin, "In the name of the Wanxiang Global Economic Research Fund, invite these professors, former government energy advisers, retired mining chief economists, to Hong Kong, Singapore, or Switzerland for a high‑level closed‑door symposium. The topics…"

He paused, his gaze sharp: "We'll discuss 'the vulnerability of resource‑dependent economies,' 'the potential impact of global debt expansion on commodity financing,' and 'the suppressive effect of new technologies (such as our special ceramic bearings that could reduce equipment wear) on long‑term resource demand.' Remember, we only provide the platform and 'objective data'; the conclusions are for them to draw 'independently.'"

Zhou Wenbin understood: this was to lift the 'pessimistic' tune from street tabloids to the academic arena, cloaking it in authority and rationality.

"And the compensation…" he asked cautiously.

"Generous," Li Ping'an replied, "but we'll pay regular expert consulting fees, travel allowances, research sponsorships. The accounts must be as clean as distilled water. We want their voices, not leverage."

For the next month, the international commodity market seemed shrouded by an inexplicable low pressure.

Various reports and commentary pieces titled "Reflection," "Early Warning," "Re‑assessment" began flooding professional journals and high‑end financial media.

At first, mainstream institutions scoffed, deeming it the noise of a few frustrated voices seeking attention.

Mining and oil giants remained optimistic, their annual reports brimming with expansion plans and news of new mine startups.

But market sentiment was like a sandcastle: solid and splendid at low tide, yet the first ripple of the incoming tide could wash away the base grains.

In Li Ping'an's global monitoring room, the curves on the screens began to shift subtly.

Rio Tinto's share price, after hitting a new high, moved sideways for three weeks with shrinking volume. BHP showed a similar high‑level stagnation.

Crude‑oil futures still oscillated around $27‑$28 per barrel, but the forward‑contract discount was quietly widening—signaling that smart money was already betting on a future decline.

"Mr. Li, should we start quietly accumulating?" the fund manager handling the Australian market asked, unable to hold back.

"No rush," Li Ping'an said into the handset, his tone unmistakable. "Let the bullet fly a while longer. The seed of panic has just sprouted; we'll wait for it to grow into a dense forest that blocks the sun for everyone."

He hung up and looked at another screen.

There, an encrypted telegram from Wang Zhenbiao in Moscow displayed a single line: "First batch of targets contacted, response hot, but water deeper than expected. Awaiting further instructions."

Moscow's deep autumn was already pierced by biting north winds.

The Red Square was sparsely populated, and the Kremlin's red star looked dim against the lead‑gray sky.

Compared with the grand yet rigid Stalinist structures on the outskirts, an abandoned warehouse district on the city's edge better matched the current Soviet social pulse—old, chaotic, yet throbbing with restless undercurrents.

Wang Zhenbiao tightened his wool coat, still feeling the cold seep into his bones. Beside him walked a Soviet contact named Yi Wan Nuo Fu, a former KGB lieutenant colonel now "gone commercial," dealing in gray‑area trades with extensive connections.

"This is it."

Yi Wan Nuo Fu pointed to a two‑story brick building ahead, its windows half‑nailed with planks. "'Warrior Club,' a hangout for veterans—especially those returning from Afghanistan."

The warehouse door swung open, a warm rush of cheap tobacco, vodka and sweat hitting the nose.

Under dim lighting, dozens of figures sat or stood, mostly in faded old uniforms or jackets, hulking in build, their eyes clouded and wary from hard‑won experience.

Wang Zhenbiao entered, the chatter dimming. Countless gazes fell on his Eastern face, scrutinizing, curious, doubtful.

Yi Wan Nuo Fu loudly introduced a few points in Russian, mentioning 'International Security Company,' 'high salary,' 'legitimate contract.'

A bearded, half‑ear‑missing hulker pushed through the crowd. He limped slightly but exuded force. He was called Wei Ke Duo, former deputy commander of a motorized infantry regiment stationed in Afghanistan.

"Chinese?" Wei Ke Duo asked in stiff English, his gaze like a hawk. "Work for us? In Africa? South America?"

"Hong Kong company," Wang Zhenbiao corrected, his Russian not fluent but clear. "An Bang International Security, registered in Hong Kong. We need professional security personnel to escort mining exploration teams, guard transport convoys, ensure port facility safety. The mission may be tough, the location dangerous."

He paused, scanning the room: "Compensation is weekly in US dollars. Killed or seriously injured receive a high pension sent directly to designated families. The contract is one year, renewable, with one month paid leave for family visits each year—the company covers round‑trip tickets."

A buzzing murmur rose in the warehouse.

"US dollars." Those two words in a Moscow winter of 1985 held a certain magic.

Wei Ke Duo stared at Wang Zhenbiao: "Weapons? Gear?"

"The company supplies everything uniformly," Wang Zhenbiao replied, prepared. "Standard issue is tailored to the mission area—from assault rifles to heavy machine guns, from armored cars to helicopter support—if needed. Our client can afford it."

"Why trust you?" another voice from the corner, a lean former Recon Soldier with knife‑sharp eyes, said. "We've seen too many scammers and empty promises."

Wang Zhenbiao pulled a document from his coat—not a contract, but several color photographs.

The photos showed security personnel in uniform black training gear, training at a Southeast Asian jungle camp, well‑equipped and spirited.

Other shots featured transport aircraft at an airport bearing the 'An Bang' logo, and brand‑new wooden crates stacked in the warehouse, each stamped with English firearm model numbers.

"This is our company's training base in Southeast Asia and some of the equipment."

Wang Zhenbiao sent the photo down, "The first batch of fifty recruits has completed training and been deployed to the Borneo mining area. Their families received the first US‑dollar remittance last month."

The photo passed between rough palms, sparking more whispers. Its authenticity often carries more weight than any language.

Victor looked at the photo, fell silent for a moment, then looked up and asked, "When do we leave? Where to?"

"After the preliminary screening and medical exam are passed, we will gather and go to Hong Kong for signing and training."

Wang Zhenbiao said, "The first batch's mission destination could be the Australian desert or the African rainforest. Are you afraid?"

Victor grinned, showing tobacco‑stained yellow teeth, but there was little warmth in the smile: "In Afghanistan we dance with death every day. What we fear is coming back to find ourselves useless junk, unable to earn even enough rubles to buy a new pair of boots for a child."

Wang Zhenbiao made a Telephone to Li Ping'an for inquiry.

"The first round of contact exceeded expectations; over three hundred people signed up, many of them veteran cadres, with a high proportion of technical troops (pilots, communications soldiers, aircraft mechanics)."

Victor and his men could serve as grassroots cadres. However, the local Brotherhood (an organized veteran group) proposed to bundle large‑scale escort projects and take part in management.

There are also leads that some retired pilots, even ground‑crew personnel, have strong interest. Should we broaden the recruitment scope?"

Li Ping'an listened, his fingers lightly tapping the tabletop.

Veterans banding together was within his expectations, even a good thing—organization implies better discipline and coordination. But participation in management… requires careful checks and balances.

What about pilots and ground crew?

His mind stirred. Future resource transport, especially to remote areas, indeed benefits enormously from air power. Yet aircraft, particularly large transports or helicopters, are too big and too sensitive a target.

He weighed his words for a moment and replied:

1. Agree to make Victor and other trustworthy cadres the core, form the first battalion (about 120 people), sign formal employment contracts, with top‑tier compensation.

2. Negotiate with the Brotherhood; future large projects may be subcontracted preferentially, but command authority, equipment control, and financial rights must belong to the company.

3. Pilots and ground‑crew will be secretly registered separately, kept in contact, not recruited for now, awaiting further orders.

4. The most critical: background checks. Anyone with alcoholism, violent criminal records, or extremist political leanings will be eliminated. We need warriors, not thugs.

5. Arrange for the first personnel to depart as soon as possible, using dispersed routes, transiting through Eastern Europe to Hong Kong. Pay attention to safety.

He hung up the Telephone, and Li Ping'an walked to the window.

Hong Kong's night glitters, but across the water, Kowloon Walled City remains a dark silhouette that lights cannot penetrate.

Light and shadow have always coexisted. He intends to draw strength from the massive Soviet shadow to guard the tentacles reaching toward the bright world.

Two weeks later, the "cold" symptoms in the international bulk‑commodity market became increasingly evident.

An article signed by a highly respected Nobel laureate in economics (who received generous "academic exchange" sponsorship from the Wanshang Fund) was published in a Financial Times column.

The piece did not outright bearishly predict resource prices; instead, in a worried tone, it examined "global capital misallocation" and the "financial risks that could arise from over‑investment in the resource sector."

The article was like a Stone dropped into a pond, its ripples spreading rapidly.

Soon after, two influential Wall Street investment banks successively downgraded the stock ratings of several large mining and oil companies, citing "increased demand‑side uncertainty."

Market confidence finally showed a crack visible to the naked eye.

Rio Tinto's share price fell 8 % in a week, BHP down 6 %, and Vale, being far in South America, slipped a bit less, about 4 %.

Crude‑oil futures broke below the key psychological level of $26 per barrel.

Panic began to spread like ink dropped into water, slowly diffusing.

In Li Ping'an's monitoring room, the Telephone rang increasingly often. Fund managers from various regions inquired whether to enter the market.

"Begin establishing observation positions."

Li Ping'an finally ordered, "For each target, first buy no more than 0.5 % of the total share capital. Don't rush, don't cause an obvious lift. The market is still searching for direction; we need to be wolves hidden in the flock, approaching silently."

Just as the market breeze subtly shifted, Wang Zhenbiao led the first batch of seventy‑six former Soviet soldiers who passed the screening, after a circuitous journey, to Hong Kong.

They did not enter the bustling city; instead, several sealed buses took them to a remote temporary camp in the New Territories, converted from an abandoned factory.

The camp was surrounded by barbed wire, with sentries wearing An Bang Company uniforms (actually early security recruited locally from Hong Kong).

Li Ping'an arrived at the camp in person.

He saw the figures standing in rows on the open concrete ground—varied in height, build, and weight, dressed in a mishmash of civilian clothes, some even pale from the cold.

Yet their stance still bore the imprint of the army; after an initial bewilderment and vigilance, most eyes quickly returned to the habitual rapid scanning and assessment of the surroundings.

Victor, temporarily appointed as Team Captain, stood at the front of the formation. He changed into a brand‑new jungle‑camouflage training uniform (pre‑provided by the company); though ill‑fitting, it lifted his spirit considerably.

Li Ping'an, via a translator, delivered a brief speech to these future "company employees."

"Welcome to Hong Kong. This is not the end, but the beginning."

His voice rang through the loudspeaker, "Your past experiences are valuable assets. An Bang Company will pay an equivalent reward for that wealth. But here, you must learn new rules: company rules, client rules, international rules."

"In the coming months, you will undergo intensive training here: language (basic English and Now we need to output lines: English), international law, security procedures, new equipment operation. Upon passing, you will execute missions. Missions may be dangerous, but the company is your backing."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over each face.

"I know many of you have doubts and mistrust. That's normal. Time will prove everything. I promise only two points: first, every word in the contract will be fulfilled. Second, as long as you obey the rules and complete the missions, the company and I will treat you as our own, sharing honor and disgrace."

There were no blood‑pumping slogans, only clear, calm statements.

Instead, these veterans accustomed to slogans sensed a rare sincerity.

After the speech, Li Ping'an met privately with Victor and several squad leaders.

"Victor, your team needs to develop combat effectiveness as soon as possible."

Li Ping'an handed him a cigarette, a specially prepared Soviet brand, and said, "The first mission, three months from now, is to escort a geological survey team into Western Australia's Pilbara region. The environment is harsh, but local security is relatively good, suitable for team cohesion. Any issues?"

Victor took the cigarette, lit it, inhaled deeply, squinting, "Survey team? Scientists?"

"Yes."

"Protecting soft targets is more troublesome than protecting hard targets."

Victor replied bluntly, "But they usually don't cause trouble. No problem, boss. As long as the equipment is ready and training time is sufficient."

"The equipment is already en route by sea."

Li Ping'an nodded, "The training syllabus will be given to you tomorrow. Also, those among you who know English need focused development. I need them not only to understand orders but also to communicate basically with clients and locals."

When they left the camp, it was already evening.

The setting sun plated the desolate factory area with a layer of decaying gold. In the distance, the lights of Hong Kong's cityscape gradually lit up, like a river of stars turned upside down.

Chen Jiaxin drove while Li Ping'an sat in the back seat, closing his eyes to rest.

"Chief Li, over in the Soviet side... could that draw attention?" Chen Jiaxin asked with some worry. Bringing in so many former soldiers at once, even though the paperwork was handled covertly, is still no small matter.

"The Soviet Union is currently swamped with too many crises."

Li Ping'an did not open his eyes. "The aftershocks of the Chernobyl disaster have not yet settled, ethnic tensions are surfacing across regions, and the economy is a mess. Dozens to hundreds of veterans are 'going out to work'; as long as they aren't organized units defecting with heavy weapons, they can be ignored for now, and some even welcome it—this can ease employment pressure and social instability a bit."

He opened his eyes and looked toward the rapidly passing street scene outside the window.

"What we need to exploit is this time window. If they catch on, or if the situation changes, this channel may no longer be viable. So, on Wang Zhenbiao's side, we must speed up and broaden the selection scope. Not only combat personnel, but also logistics, communications, intelligence analysis... any professional veteran who can be useful, we can approach. What we need is a complete overseas security system that can be deployed quickly."

Chen Jiaxin glanced at her boss through the rearview mirror. His face still bore little expression, but his eyes reflected the moving lights outside the window, deep enough to seem capable of swallowing the whole night.

"Chief Li, are we moving too fast?"

She couldn't help but ask. The leap from Sniping in finance to global resource deployment, and then to covertly building a transnational armed security force, made even a core aide like her feel her heart race.

Li Ping'an fell silent for a moment.

"Jiaxin, have you ever seen a child picking up shells on the beach?" he suddenly asked a seemingly unrelated question.

Chen Jiaxin was startled.

"When the tide recedes, the beach leaves many beautiful shells behind."

Li Ping'an said slowly, "But if you move too slowly, the next wave will wash everything away, or other children will pick them up. Right now, we are rushing to the sea as the global economic tide recedes. We must not only collect shells, but also drive wooden stakes into the sand before the tide returns, to claim our own stretch of shoreline."

His tone was calm, yet it contained unquestionable resolve.

"Fast, to seize the opportunity. Steady, to keep the stakes from being washed away by the tide. What we need to do is be both fast and steady."

The car entered the underwater tunnel, and the lights streamed across the window like a flow.

The dark tunnel was like a metaphor. They were traversing a passage full of unknowns; the light at the exit represented opportunity, while the tunnel itself concealed risks.

But Li Ping'an knew he could not slow down.

Back in the office, two latest reports were already on the desk.

One was a market department briefing: Rio Tinto's stock fell by 3.5% on high volume today, and the market began to show "profit-taking" and "stop-loss" orders. The bearish voices had gathered from a trickle into a noticeable stream.

The other was Wang Zhenbiao's Encrypted Telegram, brief but important: "The second batch of personnel (about ninety people, including seventeen technical troops) has been arranged to leave the country. Additionally, we have contacted a retired land‑air squadron ground crew team (eight people) who say they would join as a whole if their families' resettlement can be solved. Requesting approval."

Li Ping'an picked up a pen and annotated the second report:

"Approve recruitment of the ground crew team. Family resettlement can be attempted via a third country (such as Cyprus) for temporary stay; the company will provide necessary living assistance. This matter must be kept absolutely confidential and handled separately."

After annotating, he walked again to the world map.

Australia, Africa, South America... on those circled resource points, silhouettes in black combat suits seemed to be patrolling.

And along the air routes and sea lanes connecting these points, invisible capital currents and tangible armed escorts were advancing in sync.

Financial bearishness is a soft knife, cutting the arteries of market confidence.

Armed recruitment is a hard shield, protecting the fruit soon to be harvested.

One soft, one hard; one bright, one dark.

He inhaled deeply, as if he could smell the primal scent of ore and crude oil from those distant lands on the map, mingled with the cold smell of steel and sweat.

In this global chessboard, the key pieces have already been placed.

Next comes waiting for the market to panic completely, for stock prices to plunge into a deep valley.

Then, a precise strike, swallowing and gnawing away.

And the "valiant troops" recruited from the Moscow suburbs will become the outermost, and most unignorable, defensive line of his global resource empire.

Outside the window, Hong Kong's lights burned through the night without rest.

It is a sleepless city brimming with desire and opportunity.

And he stands at the top of this city, turning desire into strategy, forging opportunity into a lever that can move the Earth.

The night is still long.

But his dawn is quietly gestating within the silent thunder of capital.