Chapter 463: Snow‑laden Kyiv Night

Kyiv's December cold wind, like a whip wrapped in ice shards, lashes the wide but already beginning‑to‑freeze surface of the Dnieper River.

The grand Stalinist buildings lining the street look especially heavy and gloomy under the lead‑gray sky.

Pedestrians are few; each bundles up their swollen coats, heads down, hurrying past with numb expressions, as if they have not yet fully recovered from the dizziness of that red giant's thunderous collapse.

Occasionally faded slogan fragments rustle in the wind, like scars shed by the era.

The air is thick with low‑grade coal smoke, uncollected garbage, and an intangible aura called "bewilderment".

In an unremarkable old apartment building in West City, Chen Jianghe tightens his heavy wool coat, still feeling cold seep through the cracked old windows.

On the small square table before him lies an unfolded map of Kyiv's city area, marked with a dozen or so circles and arrows in red and blue pencil.

Next to it sits a thick stack of personal files, each affixed with a photo and a densely written Russian résumé.

At the other end of the room, Andrei Petrovich— the senior engineer from the Antonov Design Bureau that he brought out of Moscow months ago— is wearing reading glasses, leafing through the files page by page.

The room is lit only by a low‑wattage desk lamp; its dim yellow light casts the two men's shadows long upon the mottled wall.

"This one, Ivan Mihailovich."

Andrei lifts his head, taps one of the files with a pencil, "A ship‑structure specialist from the Black Sea Shipyard, who worked on the stress calculations for the deck of the Kuznetsov. His wife suffers severe arthritis and needs a special Western medicine that has been unavailable domestically for a long time. He himself… is extremely disappointed with the current situation."

"This team," he pulls out another bundle of tied files, "belongs to a precision‑casting laboratory for aircraft‑engine blades under the Madachich Engine Company, six people, led by Stepan. Their project was put on indefinite hold last year, and the lab's equipment is said to be dismantled for scrap. These people's hearts are almost dead."

The old man's voice is low, tinged with sorrow and an almost cold‑hearted calm.

He knows this system too well, and knows the plight of these peers at this moment all too well.

Ideals crumble, livelihood vanishes, a lifetime of learning seems about to be buried together with the rusting equipment.

Chen Jianghe listens silently, marking the corresponding names beside them.

Behind these cold words and numbers are souls that once stood at the pinnacle of the industry, now trapped in hardship or even despair.

What he must do is, on this vast ruin, identify and retrieve those still‑glimmering crystals of wisdom.

"What about safety?" Chen Jianghe asks, "With so many people touching it at once, won't the activity be too great?"

Andrei pushes his glasses up.

"There's no 'safety' here now," he says wryly. "The KGB can't even protect itself; the republics are busy vying for power, no one has the energy to watch these 'useless' technicians. As long as the operation is fast enough and the deal is … clean enough."

He used the word "deal".

Chen Jianghe tacitly accepts that word.

This itself is a special deal.

Using dollars, medicines, a stable work environment and future hope to exchange for the priceless knowledge and experience in these people's minds.

Cruel, but real.

"Has Wang Dahu's group arrived?" Chen Jianghe asks the young assistant standing in the doorway's shadow.

The assistant was arranged by Ivanovitch, a local, sharp and capable.

"They're here, split into three teams staying at different nearby hotels. Equipment and vehicles are in place, ready to move at any time."

The assistant whispers, "Also, the official invitation letter and employment contract sample from Hong Kong International Mechanical Technology Consulting Company have been delivered through special channels."

Chen Jianghe nods.

"Notify each team to follow Plan 1, start tomorrow, and each contact the top three priority targets on the list. Mr. Andrei, please write each of them a brief personal introduction letter in your name; it will increase trust."

"Understood." Andrei does not hesitate, pulls out stationery and begins to write.

His handwriting is steady and forceful, as if signing an important technical document rather than taking part in an operation that robs the motherland of its technological roots.

His mood may be complex, but as a scientist he knows better that letting these technologies and talents continue to function somewhere is far more meaningful than letting them wither silently here.

Almost simultaneously.

In London's financial district, the top‑floor office of Matthew Bank overlooking the Thames presents a completely different scene.

Here it is warm as spring, the air scented with freshly ground coffee and a faint whiff of premium cigars.

Zhou Wenbin, dressed in a well‑tailored dark suit, stands before the massive floor‑to‑ceiling window, watching the cold yet still bustling London night outside.

A stark contrast to Kyiv's desolation.

He holds a freshly decoded telegram from Wanshang headquarters, listing dozens of asset codes and brief descriptions.

Not stock symbols.

Rather entries such as "Kharkiv, T‑3 special‑alloy rolling production line, status: idle, for sale," "Nikolayev, large marine diesel‑engine crankshaft blanks, about 150 units," "Sverdlovsk, Ural electromechanical plant, 70 % new five‑axis CNC machine tools, negotiable," and the like.

The back includes extremely preliminary valuation ranges and risk assessments.

"It's literally… like rummaging through the relic list of a suddenly dead industrial giant," says Richard, the newly appointed European Business President of Matthew Bank, a Brit, who leans over to glance at the documents, whistles, his tone unclear whether excited or moved.

He is a veteran Zhou Wenbin poached from Deutsche Bank, with a keen nose and bold yet meticulous temperament.

"Richard, what do you think?" Zhou Wenbin asks without turning around.

"The opportunity is huge, the risk equally huge."

Richard resumes a professional tone, "These items have astonishing theoretical value, but ownership may be murky, transport is a nightmare, political risk even higher. Moreover, our competitors are many—the Americans, the Germans, the Japanese, even the Koreans, are probably already on the way."

"So our strategy must change."

Zhou Wenbin turns, his gaze sharp, "We won't try to swallow the biggest whole—that would choke us and make us a target. We'll break it into pieces, using various offshore companies, funds, even cooperating with emerging local 'privatization promoters', to acquire those medium‑sized, easily disassembled, highly specialized yet less conspicuous equipment and inventories."

He walks to the desk, pointing at several items on the list.

"For example, this special‑alloy production line; few understand it, but it could be key to our domestic aviation and precision manufacturing. And those large blanks—transport is troublesome, but stockpiled they become strategic reserves for the coming years."

"Cash flow must be swift, payment methods flexible."

Zhou Wenbin continues the deployment, "Part of it can be paid in hard currency, part can be swapped with our light‑industry products, food, even medicine. Matthew Bank has just finished integration; we should fully exploit its newly‑established agency network and letter‑of‑credit channels in Eastern Europe."

"Got it." Richard quickly notes, "I'll immediately organize teams, split into several groups, each targeting key objectives in Ukraine, Russia, and Belarus, conducting on‑site verification and preliminary negotiations. The legal team must follow through all the way; even for a pile of scrap metal, the contract must be airtight."

"Also," Zhou Wenbin adds, "watch for the management talent and technical backbone that get 'released' as assets are disposed. Equipment is dead, people are alive. If we can bundle people with equipment, the premium is worth it."

A resource‑grab without gunpowder quietly unfolds in London, this old‑world financial hub.

The target points straight at the heart of the Eurasian continent's scattered, suddenly directionless, valuation‑needing industrial heritage.

But in Shenzhen, thousands of miles away, Li Ping'an's office remained brightly lit.

Three folders of different colors lay before him.

The blue one, from Chen Jianghe, was the daily briefing on talent contact progress.

The red one, from Zhou Wenbin, contained analysis of potential acquisition targets and funding needs.

The green one, from Ma Guotao, outlined negotiation points for bulk barter trade with the remaining state‑run trade agencies of Russia and Ukraine.

He resembled a commander strategizing behind the scenes, while reviewing battle reports from three directions.

The Telephone rang.

It was Lin Xueqing calling from home.

"Ping'an, haven't you returned yet? Chengye will surface today; the momentum is huge. When can you take a look?"

Li Ping'an's stern face softened instantly, and his fatigue seemed to lift a bit.

"Almost done; once this side shows any sign, I'll go back. Take more photos… No, have Wan Yi arrange it—bring Chengye to the company tomorrow, and I'll take a look."

After hanging up, he turned his gaze back to the map and the documents.

Home is a warm harbor, but now he must stand on the deck where the storm hits hardest.

In the coming weeks, encrypted radio traffic between Kyiv, Moscow, London, and Shenzhen grew frequent.

Chen Jianghe's reports began to contain some uplifting news:

"A preliminary agreement has been reached with Ivan Mihailovich; he requests designated medicines and a guarantee for his daughter's treatment in Germany… arrangements are underway."

"All six members of the Stepan team consented to sign; they request to bring some core experiment notes and micro‑samples… approved, the security team is in place, and they are expected to transit through Vienna next week en route to Hong Kong."

But risk warnings also accompanied them:

"When contacting the third‑group target, possible traces of Western counterpart activity were found… the plan has been adjusted."

"Local security deteriorated; equipment was looted in a certain plant… personnel guard posts have been reinforced."

On Zhou Wenbin's acquisition list, some items now bore symbols indicating 'locked' or 'under negotiation.'

At the same time, funding transfer requests flooded in like snowflakes.

Ma Guotao sent back several jaw‑dropping barter drafts: fifty thousand pairs of sneakers for a batch of special stainless steel, canned food for several heavy‑duty machine tools…

Li Ping'an reviewed each report and issued every directive.

He knew this was a race against time and a game against countless unseen opponents.

The window will not stay open long.

Chaos will gradually subside, and new rules and giants will redraw spheres of influence.

He must, in this brief, unclaimed vacuum, string together as many scattered pearls as possible, even if some are still stained with soil.

Night deepened.

He once again approached the massive world map.

Kyiv, Moscow, London… each location he pinned with a different colored thumbtack seemed to connect into an increasingly clear network.

That network was quietly growing, drawing nutrients from the wreckage of a collapsed giant.

He recalled an old saying from a previous life: "The wind rises from the tip of a green duckweed, and waves form between gentle ripples."

At this moment, what he stirs may not yet be a towering wave.

But he believed that today's silent arrangements and precise moves would eventually converge into a future force capable of far‑reaching impact.

Beyond the window, Shenzhen's night sky remained lit by lights, brimming with restless vitality.

And far to the north, wind and snow cloaked the vast land.

A silent, intercontinental chess game unfolded between wind‑snow and lights, advancing step by step, quietly.

On the board lay cold assets, technology, and talent.

Beneath the board lay a nation's deep yearning for the future and a reborn one's calm, relentless ambition.