Chapter 445: High‑Grade Iron Mine

The rain over London's financial district always falls in a light, drizzling patter at the most unexpected moments.

Zhou Wenbin stood beneath the porch of an ancient stone building, watching the rain threads drift diagonally in the amber halo of the street lamps.

In his hand he held a freshly wax‑sealed document; the parchment felt warm and heavy, as if it could draw away all the heat from his palm.

The gold‑stamped English script on the file bag glimmered faintly in the damp air.

It was the full title of the Johnson‑Matthew Bank Final Equity Transfer and Asset Disposal Agreement.

Just an hour earlier, in the oak‑paneled conference room on the second floor of this building, he and Gu Zhixing, representing Wanshang Bank, along with Charles Hui Tingdun's liquidation team from the England Bank, and the massive legal teams on both sides, completed the final signing.

The process was tediously long and exhausting.

Every page, every clause, even every punctuation mark was repeatedly verified.

The air was saturated with the scent of old paper, premium ink, and a faint undercurrent of tension.

But when Zhou Wenbin finally signed his name in the designated spot, the rustle of the pen tip across the paper sounded to him like a deep, distant tolling bell.

It was sealed.

A symbolic one‑pound.

Along with a subsequent capital injection commitment of £120 million, a bad‑debt carve‑out plan, and operational guarantee funds.

Wanshang Bank thus brought a century‑old financial institution, once ranked among London's five major gold‑price banks, into its fold.

Though it was scarred and its reputation tarnished.

Yet the weighty license, the seat in the core circle of global precious‑metal trading, and a foothold in the heart of European finance were now firmly in hand.

Hui Tingdun, in his brief remarks after the signing ceremony, still maintained his trademark reserve.

"Congratulations to Wanshang Bank. I hope you can restore the former glory of Matthew Bank and bring new… vitality to the London market."

His wording was cautious, his gaze lingered on Zhou Wenbin's face for a moment, complex and inscrutable.

There was relief, there was doubt, perhaps also a barely perceptible discomfort at having challenged authority.

Zhou Wenbin's reply was equally decorous.

"Thank you, Mr. Hui Tingdun, and the England Bank, for your trust. Wanshang Bank will honor its commitment, operating Matthew Bank with the highest professional standards and compliance, striving to rebuild it into an institution the market can rely on."

It was merely diplomatic talk.

But the resolve embedded within was clear to both parties.

As they left the conference room, the rain over London had just begun to fall.

Gu Zhixing let out a long sigh and rubbed his swollen temples.

"Finally… we've secured it." His voice carried deep fatigue, yet a sense of relief.

"The first step of a thousand‑mile march."

Zhou Wenbin stared at the file bag in his hand, his tone calm: "The real hard work lies ahead—integration, cleanup, reconstruction. Luo Bo'an will stay here temporarily to assist the transition team. We must swiftly dispatch elite personnel from Hong Kong and Tokyo."

"Understood." Gu Zhixing nodded. "Back home, Director Li should also be awaiting news."

The news, sent via Encrypted Telegram, reached Hong Kong that night and was immediately forwarded to Shenzhen.

Li Ping'an, in his office at Pingshan Industrial Park, saw the brief dispatch of good news.

He stood by the window, where the Special Zone's lights burned endlessly.

There was no excitement as he had imagined.

Only a weighty sense of responsibility and a clearer roadmap.

The financial tendrils had finally reached the heart of the old‑world empire.

This was more than a commercial expansion.

It was also a stance, a signal.

He picked up the red secure Telephone on the desk and dialed Beijing's number.

Some matters need to be known to certain people in advance.

As the good news arrived on a rainy London night, Shenzhen's Luohu Port welcomed a group of foreigners whose expressions were slightly uneasy yet unable to hide their curiosity and inquisitiveness.

At the front was an elderly man with graying hair and a sturdy build, wearing an ill‑fitting suit and carrying an old, obviously heavy toolbox.

It was James Whitaker.

Five others trailed him—some of similar age, some middle‑aged—laden with bags, their eyes a mix of travel fatigue and alertness to the unknown surroundings.

He Xiao, clad in a brand‑new jacket, had been waiting both inside and outside the checkpoint, his neck stretched long.

At the sight of James, he bolted forward like a cannonball, nearly stopped by patrolling armed police.

"Mr. James! Welcome! Welcome to Shenzhen!" He Xiao's English came out hurried and loud, his face radiating unabashed excitement.

James, made slightly awkward by the over‑enthusiastic gesture, cleared his throat and scanned the surroundings.

Clamor.

That was his first impression.

The air was humid and hot, tinged with sea brine and dust.

Sounds filled the air—car horns, bicycle bells, pile‑driving at a construction site, and a rapid, high‑pitched dialect he could not comprehend at all.

The buildings were new, yet appeared somewhat chaotic.

Pedestrians were numerous, hurrying in plain clothes, but their eyes held a fierce, unfamiliar blaze.

It was a world entirely different from the Coventry suburbs where he had spent most of his life.

"Is this… the Special Zone?" James asked, his tone uncertain.

"Yes! The Special Zone! Shenzhen!"

He Xiao nodded vigorously, scrambling to help carry the heavy toolbox, "The car is over there! I'll first take you to your lodging to rest! The rooms are ready! They have air‑conditioning!"

James hesitated briefly, then released the toolbox.

He looked at He Xiao's overly sincere smile, then surveyed the boiling, unfamiliar land, and the lingering homesickness and doubts in his heart seemed to be diluted.

At least, this kid truly and sincerely welcomes them.

James and his party's lodging was arranged in the newly built foreign guests' apartment in Luohu.

The conditions aren't luxurious, but they're clean and tidy, with everything needed, plus a private bathroom and the air‑conditioner that He Xiao kept emphasizing.

James turned on the air‑conditioner, feeling the cool breeze, which indeed dispelled the late‑summer humidity of the south.

The few veteran workers he brought were engineers or senior technicians who had previously worked at Birmingham or Coventry automobile factories; some excel at engine tuning, some at body welding, and others are adept with electrical systems.

They are all people who, because factories closed, layoffs occurred, or they, like him, fell out with management, have become frustrated and stagnant.

He Xiao, through James's introduction, offered them a salary they could hardly refuse and the promise of "participating in a brand‑new automobile project," which finally persuaded them to cross the ocean.

At this moment, gathered in James's room, a few of them whispered in English, their conversation inevitably revolving around worries about the future and the unfamiliarity of this country.

"James, tell me… can we really build decent cars here?" asked Martin, a former engine test engineer, who was balding and whose fingers never seemed clean from years of oil.

"I don't know."

James answered honestly, walking to the window and watching the endless stream of bicycles and occasional trucks on the street below: "But that kid named He has fire in his eyes. And the sketches they drew… though crude, point in the right direction, and they're willing to invest themselves."

He turned around, looking at the veteran workers: "Back in Britain we no longer have such chances. Factories either shut down or only think about cutting costs. Here… at least it seems they want to start from scratch and seriously do something. Let's call it an adventure."

Adventure.

The word struck a chord with them.

At their age, on British soil it's already hard to have the qualification and stage for an "adventure."

Perhaps this unfamiliar, hot land in the East can truly give these "out‑of‑date" skills and ideas a chance to reignite?

The next day, He Xiao, eager, took James and his group to the Bao'an Industrial Park to tour the automobile project site under construction.

The site was still a scene of bustling activity—laying foundations, erecting steel frames, dust swirling.

He Xiao pointed at the layout, spitting as he explained the future Assembly Workshop, Stamping Workshop, Welding Workshop, testing runway…

James listened, occasionally interjecting with sharp technical questions: Is the foundation load‑bearing enough? What are the precision requirements for the vehicle tracks? What ventilation and temperature‑control plans for the paint Workshop?

He Xiao could answer some, but not others, so he hurriedly had the nearby translator note them down, saying he'd fetch an engineer to confirm right away.

This pragmatic yet eager attitude actually put James a little at ease.

At least they are truly taking action, not just talking on paper.

After touring the site, He Xiao led them to the temporarily set‑up "Automobile Project Preparation Office."

In a few shabby offices, there were already some technicians poached from other domestic automobile factories, as well as a few freshly graduated university students.

He Xiao introduced James and the others to everyone, his tone full of respect: "These gentlemen are the top experts we invited from Britain! Mr. James is a chassis‑tuning master! Mr. Martin is an engine‑testing specialist! Everyone should consult the teachers more in the future!"

The young Chinese technicians, looking at these genuine foreign experts, had eyes full of curiosity and admiration.

James felt a bit embarrassed by the atmosphere, but the feeling of being needed inside him gradually rose.

Perhaps here, their experience can truly be put to use.

He Xiao, seizing the moment, arranged a "welcome banquet" in the canteen.

The dishes were abundant, featuring Cantonese cuisine as well as specially prepared steak and fish‑and‑chips.

He Xiao somehow obtained a few bottles of Erguotou and poured them for the veteran British engineers.

"This is our fine Chinese liquor! Strong! But it warms the body! Welcome, teachers!" He Xiao downed a cup himself, the heat making his teeth chatter.

James looked at the clear liquid before him and, half‑believing, took a sip.

A line of fire instantly shot from his throat to his stomach.

He choked, coughing repeatedly, his face turning red.

Those around him smiled kindly.

He Xiao quickly handed him water: "Slowly, slowly! Sip the liquor in small mouthfuls!"

James recovered his strength, feeling a wave of warmth spread from his abdomen to his limbs, the travel fatigue and lingering gloom seemingly dissipated.

He stared at the Chinese dishes on the table whose names he couldn't recall, at He Xiao and the young Chinese technicians' sincere, enthusiastic smiles, and at the bustling figures on the construction site outside the window.

This Eastern nation, in a rough, direct yet vibrant way, crashed into his life.

The road ahead remains unknown.

But now, the crisp clink of glasses and the fiery warmth in his throat made him feel that this adventure might truly have begun.

While James and his crew adapted to Shenzhen's humid heat and spicy baijiu, on the opposite side of the globe, on a completely different land, another Wanshang "exploration" was entering a critical stage.

Australia, Western Australia, Peelbara region.

Here lies a red desert baked by the sun.

The sky is a pure blue, the sun so scorching it can burn the skin.

The ground is a monotonous ochre‑red, strewn with low shrubs and jagged rocks, the heat wavering the distant scenery.

A convoy of several off‑road vehicles, like insignificant beetles, trudged across the endless wasteland, raising long plumes of red dust.

Leading the team is senior geologist Brown Miller, hired locally by Wanshang Mining Company, an old man sun‑tanned to the hue of rosewood.

In the vehicle are technical representatives sent by Wanshang from within the country, and guards from An Bang International Security Company—veterans first recruited from the Soviet Union, Viktor and another leader named Sergei.

They are silent and taciturn, yet their vigilant eyes never leave the quiet, dangerous wilderness beyond the car windows.

The convoy halted in a seemingly unremarkable hilly area.

Brown Miller leapt from the vehicle, donned a wide‑brimmed hat, squinted at the geological map and aerial photos in his hand, then kicked the dark‑red gravel on the ground.

"This is the area," he rasped. "Based on preliminary geophysical data, there's a strong magnetic anomaly underground. Theoretically, there should be a high‑grade hematite vein."

The domestic technical representative, surname Zhao, named Zhao Zhenshan, is a lean, wiry middle‑aged man.

He crouched, picked up several stones, and examined their cross‑sections closely.

Some stones appeared ordinary, yet their weight was noticeably heavier than typical stones.

He struck one with his portable geological hammer; under the sun, the exposed face showed a deep, metallic‑sheen gray‑black.

It was iron ore.

The grade looks quite high.

Zhao Zhenshan's heartbeat quickened a few beats.

But he showed no expression on his face, merely carefully packing the ore sample into a bag and labeling it with a number.

"Lay out points, start drilling." He stood up and gave the order to the accompanying exploration team members.

A small drilling rig was set up.

The roaring sound shattered the ancient silence of the desert, startling several lizards into a frantic escape.

The drill bit stubbornly bored deep into the red earth.

Everyone stared at the ever-extending drill pipe, waiting for the moment the core sample would be extracted.

Time flowed slowly in the scorching air.

Sweat soaked everyone's backs.

Wei Ke Duo and Xie Er Gai stood on a slightly higher spot, holding Telescope, vigilantly scanning the surrounding horizon.

This place is uninhabited, but that doesn't mean it's absolutely safe.

Finally, the drilling rig came to a stop.

The first batch of core samples was carefully extracted.

When that cylindrical core sample, less than a meter in length, was fully revealed before everyone, all held their breath.

That was not ordinary red or brown ore.

But rather an almost pure black, dense and hard core sample, flashing a cold metallic luster in the sunlight, like a piece of black steel imprisoned by the earth for hundreds of millions of years.

Bu Lang Mi Le stepped closer, examining it closely with a magnifying glass, his fingers slightly trembling.

"My God..." he muttered, looking up at Zhao Zhenshan, his eyes full of shock, "Zhao, this is not ordinary hematite...... it's high-grade magnetite! Grade...... possibly over sixty-five percent! And looking at the completeness and thickness of this core......"

He didn't continue.

But Zhao Zhenshan already understood.

They might have stumbled upon a rare, enormous reserve and extremely high-grade open-pit magnetite deposit!

Beneath this seemingly barren red earth likely lies a slumbering "Black Mountain Range" that would drive anyone mad!

Zhao Zhenshan forced himself to calm down.

"Continue drilling. Expand the area. Increase the density of survey points." His voice, tense with excitement, "I need to know the direction, thickness, and approximate reserves of this ore belt!"

More drilling rigs were mobilized.

On the red desert, more mechanical roaring sounded.

As box after box of pitch-black core samples were extracted and labeled, everyone's mood shifted from initial shock to a restrained ecstasy.

Preliminary estimates suggest the iron ore reserves in this area could reach as high as several billion tons!

Moreover, it is easy to open-pit mine, with extremely high grade!

What does this mean?

It means that if we can secure the mining rights for this area, Wanshang will control a massive resource capable of influencing the Asia-Pacific region and even the global iron ore market!

This is no longer a minor tentative probe.

But rather a staggering discovery that could rewrite the company's fate and even reshape the industry landscape!

Zhao Zhenshan immediately reported this preliminary result via satellite telephone at the highest security level back to Hong Kong, and then Hong Kong forwarded it to Li Ping'an's desk in Shenzhen.

Shenzhen, night had grown deep.

Li Ping'an stood before the enormous world map in his office.

His gaze, having just moved from London where a small red flag had been placed, slowly shifted to the southern hemisphere, to the vast ochre-red region marked "Western Australia".

London's financial foothold had just been settled.

Shenzhen's automotive talent began to gather.

And now, beneath the Australian desert, another slumbering "Black Mountain Range" has been uncovered.

Three lines, almost simultaneously, achieved breakthrough progress.

This is not merely luck.

This is the inevitable outbreak after long-term layout, precise investment, and accumulated momentum reaching a certain level.

Finance, industry, resources.

The embryonic form of a tripartite balance is gradually becoming clear under the global view.

He picked up a red marker and drew a conspicuous circle on that spot of Australia on the map.

Then, beside it, he wrote two vigorous Chinese characters:

"Whale devouring."

Outside the window, the special administrative region remained brightly lit.

This light seemed to have already illuminated farther places, shining into London's mist, falling on Australia's desert, and also toward the deep blue of a more vast and tumultuous future.