Chapter 116

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Protagonist:

Chen Yi

Pretty girls love parties; this place lets their hormones reach maximum effect.

Receiving a call from a Chinese boy, Emily jumped excitedly; even in Washington, she had not the slightest hesitation.

And her roommate girlfriend, hearing there was free first-class round-trip travel, also raised the slogan of looking out for safety, demanding to participate together.

After obtaining Tang Xiongfei's agreement, the two boarded an American Airlines flight that very night.

A Chinese trust boy, a Washington golf party, a Hilton business suite—what could be more exciting than this?

At dawn, they were picked up by a luxury sedan at the Hilton where they were staying; behind the floor-to-ceiling windows of a not-large but luxuriously decorated room, the two looked at the Capitol Building happily for half a day, then, led by a handsome young waiter, came to the restaurant to eat breakfast.

Brightly colored pretty short skirts, open-toe fashionable high heels—in a world of skirt suits and gray suits, both eye-catching and not out of place.

Emily ordered a cup of black coffee, holding it in her hand and said in a low voice: "This place is practically a prison of suits."

Looking around, the men in the restaurant were all in crisp formal wear; rarely one or two wore jackets, and they were almost certainly service personnel.

On Capitol Hill, suits are like prison uniforms; no matter how many you change, they always look the same.

"That guy's watch is more expensive than my car." The other girl propped up her feet, revealing her white calves, smooth enough to make the old men nearby swallow their saliva.

"And the men at the bar—look at them, green eyes; I bet their butts are round..."

"Julian!" Emily called out to interrupt her, and the two clinked glasses laughing together again.

"Washington people must live miserably, poor politicians..." Julian said halfway, carefully covered her mouth, and said in a low voice: "Green Eyes is coming over."

The girls were watching the men in suits, and the latter were likewise constantly letting their gazes drift toward the corner of the restaurant overflowing with sunlight.

Harvey patted his companions' shoulders, boldly stepped forward, and with a thousand-times-honed charming smile said: "Ladies, you truly make the room's color different; you're not Washingtonians, are you?"

"No." Julian was the most interested, and she was the one to answer him.

"I'm from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, here on Capitol Hill on business; I never expected to meet girls more attractive than artworks here. May I treat you to champagne?"

"At 10 in the morning? No thanks." Emily actively declined him. If someone smelled alcohol on her at the golf course, it would be terrible.

Green Eyes regretted it so much she wanted to slap herself; used to nightclub life, she almost forgot what time it was now.

Julian immediately came to the rescue: "What do museums and Congress have to do with each other?"

One question brought the conversation back on track.

Harvey almost wanted to hug the little girl before him and kiss her; he rallied and said: "You know, congressmen like to put famous paintings in their own offices and hallways. If they use counterfeits, it really looks bad, and they're unwilling to spend money, so they rent some artworks from museums for show. This time I came to replace some woodblock prints for them—Japanese ukiyo-e."

The so-called rental, and what form of payment is used, is truly debatable. This is actually still political investment by the museum. All crows are black; without unified resistance from the entire nation, the reputation of the American empire would easily be confirmed.

Emily, hearing it was Japanese art, asked: "Ukiyo-e? Painted on wooden boards?"

Harvey eagerly said: "Carved into wooden boards, Japan's national treasures. The new ambassador gifted them to the Metropolitan Museum; just right to lend to several congressmen to hang in their hallways. Wait, I'll get them for you to see."

He turned to the bar, took a set of ukiyo-e, then returned to the window to show enthusiasm.

Chen Yi happened to walk into the restaurant at this moment.

Any man, seeing the girl he invited being hit on by another man, would not be happy.

Chen Yi straightened his waist and walked toward Harvey, who was enthusiastically talking about museum life.

Emily saw him, first put her hands on her hips, made her hand into a megaphone shape, and shouted softly: "Here, here."

Chen Yi couldn't help but laugh again.

"Hello. I'm Harvey." Green Eyes extended her hand to Chen Yi friendly.

"Chen."

The two lightly touched and let go.

Chen Yi pointed to the chair Harvey had been eyeing for a long time: "May I?"

"It's reserved for you." Emily immediately picked up the small bag on it and asked with a smile: "What would you like to eat?"

"Milk, sandwiches, bacon if available. Oh, and double portions of steak, soup, and some fruit." Knights are gluttons; Chen Yi is now at knight level.

Emily added specific names and repeated it to the waiter.

The latter's well-trained eyes rolled twice, trying to discern the source of his enormous appetite.

Harvey jealously stared at Chen Yi; although he had been talking to Julian, his actual target was Emily. The two girls were obviously most outstanding because of him.

At this moment, his tall companion came to assist, speaking quickly in English. They could tell Chen Yi's English was only good for simple conversation.

In this impolite conversation, one of them, tall in stature, without changing expression, took back the ukiyo-e from Harvey's hand.

This action seemed slightly unnecessary at this moment.

After being tempered by Source Energy, Chen Yi's senses were now so sensitive that he immediately turned his head.

Looking at Chen Yi's Asian face, the tall man's heartbeat unconsciously quickened.

At such close range, even normal people might hear a racing heartbeat; Chen Yi easily noticed his heartbeat change.

His suspicion grew stronger, and his gaze turned to the ukiyo-e.

Japanese trinkets; I don't understand what's good about them. But the price of artworks is never determined by artistic value, but by the attributes of the person who created them—just like the packaging of any commodity—the Japanese have money to pay, so their artworks naturally rise in price; Indians shared profits from casinos, and worthless Indian antiques immediately skyrocketed 40 times; China's economic development, and the auction figures at international auction houses also climb steadily.

"What's the origin of this wood painting?" Chen Yi wouldn't say ukiyo-e in English.

"It's a collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art."

Chen Yi said "oh," and out of curiosity, casually tore open a Perception Scroll from his satchel, while asking: "What year is this from?"

The ukiyo-e was still in the tall man's hand; he deliberately covered most of it and said: "Japanese Edo Period."

Emily smartly asked two more questions, explaining to Chen Yi: "At least 300 years old."

"Then it's fake." Chen Yi thought so, and said so.

Harvey with green eyes, his eyes were truly green, he tried to stay calm and said: "You're Chinese, right? Don't talk as if you understand Japanese things."

"Fake is fake. What does that have to do with nationality?" Chen Yi smiled very affably.

Harvey's face froze, regretting his flirtation in his heart, and said: "I don't need to tell you this. Galileo, take the things back first."

"Wait." The bow-tie man, who had remained silent all along, forcibly took the ukiyo-e back from the tall man, holding it level, and said: "Mr. Chen, how do you know it's fake?"

"The history of this woodblock print is at most five years." Chen Yi saw this using a Perception Scroll.

The bow-tie man smiled and did not pursue the matter further, leaving the Chinese boy who had been preparing to fabricate an explanation somewhat disappointed.

However, he held the ukiyo-e in his hand and did not return it to Harvey.

Emily and the other three girls watched eagerly, wanting to see a good show, but it turned out to be an anti-climax.

Julian turned his head to continue flirting with Harvey, at least to give her his phone number.

But the impeccably dressed Harvey was not in the state, turning a blind eye to her winks.

"Sir, your breakfast." The waiter came to this crowded table.

"I'm Niall, hope to see you again." The bow-tie man handed Chen Yi a business card and left.

In his comings and goings, he had quite an arrogant attitude.

After sitting down, Chen Yi took out the business card to look at it, and saw that besides the name and contact list, there was actually no other explanation.

Emily leaned beside him, covering her mouth and laughing: "Could he be the master of some consortium?"

Julian curled his lips and said: "A Ralph Lauren suit worth less than ten thousand dollars. What he's wearing isn't even as good as Harvey's."

Chen Yi raised his eyebrows, not expecting that the deduction system of fashion girls was actually quite sound.

Although it was a famous brand clothing, the main consumer group of Ralph Lauren suits was indeed the more affluent middle class; in Washington, those who chose it seemed more like civil servants.

It's just that the bow-tie man was at most forty years old; to become a big politician, he was still too young.

"Forget it, I'll eat something and set off." Chen Yi said, and wolfed down his food. He had been practicing golf all evening, for fear that his performance today would be too embarrassing; the energy consumed was not small.

The bow-tie man's party of three was also stuffing things into their mouths, looking like they were preparing to leave.

Chen Yi deliberately lagged behind a step, and then went to the parking lot.

The Raptor F150, which had turned from a small lizard, was parked there, only with a different license plate changed.

Chen Yi didn't care whether there was a driver's license or not; he kicked it hard, warned it once more, and then got in the car.

The girls showed amazement at the huge pickup truck; in fact, a car worth fifty thousand dollars in the United States was not cheap either.

Emily sat in the passenger seat, and the color-changing little lizard couldn't help but roar: "Hello, beauties, I am Apollo."

No one understood.

Chen Yi stepped hard on the car accelerator, and the Raptor shot out.

The Illusory Dragon whimpered once.

Combat techniques filled with Source Energy; one step down, and an ordinary car would have to lie flat on the ground.

……

If the golf courses near cities across the United States were ranked, Washington would definitely be among the top.

Here, congressmen play golf, cabinet ministers play golf, media anchors play golf, courtesans and the president also play golf.

East Potomac Park is the golf course closest to the White House, within walking distance. Although it is difficult to see the President here, his White House staff, and the crowds on Capitol Hill, are inevitably regulars.

This place is also a public course liked by many people, receiving over 100,000 people annually; if you come too late, you have to wait a while.

Catherine is a regular in Washington and has invited many influential people; cars and caddies were booked long ago.

Tang Xiongfei and others waited in the rest area; after jointly handing over invitations with Chen Yi, someone naturally led them and the three ladies to find Catherine and Mark.

The priest was wearing golf attire; at first glance, he looked like a genetic mutant from a black community.

Although he wanted to immediately take down Chen Yi, he still used the smile of a host to introduce: "This is Ryan Campbell, a consultant at Morgan Stanley's Securities Department. William, you should know him, Investment Manager at Mellon Bank. Max Elsen is an old friend, Investment Decision Maker at Zurich Bank. Charles Briggs, assistant to Director Ambo of the New York Stock Exchange. Oh, Niall is here; he is Chief of Staff to Senator Sands, with considerable decision-making power..."

Chen Yi turned his face; indeed, it was the bow-tie man he had seen at the hotel.

Niall smiled friendly, but seemed not to want to catch up.

Securities consultant, investment manager, exchange director assistant, plus a senator's aide—Catherine, under the sunlight, was simply radiating the light of victory.

This lineup could not be called luxurious, but it was the most practical; all were specific handlers with decision-making power, a net of heaven and earth for middle management on Wall Street. Unless it was a veteran consortium strongman, such a lineup was something a foreigner could never break through no matter what.

Tang Xiongfei's face turned red, and he said to Chen Yi in Chinese: "They want to block us."

Chen Yi grunted.

His brain turned extremely fast.

Such a situation was expected; the only thing not considered was the participation of a senator and an exchange director. Fortunately, they did not come in person; otherwise, Wall Street would not be able to stay still.

Now, it meant that bank loans were truly out of hope.

The control ability of "Siren" was one billion US dollars; if it were a traditional securities company, it wouldn't matter without bank loans. But for high-frequency trading, making about one trade every ten seconds, it could not be called more than enough, but barely sufficient.

But lightning trading was different; compared to ordinary retail investors, it saw market fluctuations 0.3 seconds in advance; its way of making money was to build positions in advance and reduce positions in advance.

Therefore, it was not purely making money through trading volume, but could hold relatively long-term—if a stock remained in an upward trend all day, the lightning trading party would keep holding it until the fluctuation trend declined.

Of course, no matter how fast it rose today, it definitely would not be held overnight.

As the largest exchange in the United States, the New York Stock Exchange had stocks with impressive rises every day; that meant part of Gold Source Company's money was frozen—its profits were also frozen.

In this way, to always maintain a trading volume of one billion US dollars, at least three billion or even more money was needed for turnover.

If it weren't for Mark and his mistress, taking a thirty million US dollar margin loan, there would be no problem at all, and there would be considerable leeway to add more in unfavorable situations—but if it were really as he said, being blacklisted by Merrill Lynch, then even with one billion US dollars as margin, there might not be a bank daring to lend him two billion.

"Niall, you tee off." Catherine didn't care what Chen Yi was thinking; she first placed the golf ball on the ground.

The senator's aide did not decline; he swung smoothly and hit the ball far away.

"Almost 250 yards, right?" William commented with a smile.

"Amateur level." Niall was also quite satisfied, then said: "Ladies, one swing?"

But he was saying it to Emily.

New York's female students are worldly; golf can only be an ordinary sport. Emily is brimming with confidence, her beautiful legs with feet together even more embarrassingly pretty.

Chen Yi's expression is calm, hands tucked in his pockets.

The Priest swings his club over to his side, smiling: "Mr. Chen has any thoughts, speak them out, let's discuss."

His determined-to-win look is second only to Catherine's.

Chen Yi seethes inwardly: If you really acquire the company, you punk will have to compensate even your Jesus underwear clean.

Emily's clear laughter rings out; she drove 200 yards, quite good among female enthusiasts.

"Mr. Chen, your turn." Catherine yields her position.

After Chen Yi takes position, he hears her say: "Hand over Gold Source Company, it's good for everyone. Our terms are only valid today."

Chen Yi silently draws his club, silently strikes the ball, silently watches the ball fly.

No curve ball; immense force makes the ball stable like a corpse, flying all the way to the fairway before dropping.

The few regular golfers all look at him with an ant-looking-at-elephant expression.

Mark seems to recall something, trembles, and says: "Tompkins Park's fairway should be 400 yards, right?"

"Should be." Everyone exclaims in amazement.

Chen Yi shows not a shred of pride, very ordinarily tells Catherine: "Merging the company is inadvisable, but if you're interested, investing in Gold Source Company is possible."

"How to invest?"

"Like a fund, put out 1 billion dollars, I guarantee at least 30% return rate."

Catherine nearly sprays a mouthful of blood.

On this planet, buying cow dung with 1 billion USD could rise 30% in a year.

No need to talk about this, everyone continue playing.

After a round, the crowd splits into three groups to continue forward: Catherine and her girlfriend are one group, Washington's natives and Tang Xiongfei are one group, Niall, William, Mark, and Chen Yi are one group.

It's clear the others are purely going through the motions of existence.

Chen Yi still tortures the golf ball with all kinds of brute force, but his stroke count isn't fewer than the others.

The Priest plays not bad not good, letting William and Niall vie for first place.

Playing like this for seven or eight holes, Niall seems to suddenly awaken and comes over: "Haven't thanked you for the earlier help yet."

"Can't be called help..."

"They steal and sell artwork." Niall doesn't explain in too much detail, but says: "Anyway, I thank you on behalf of Senator Sands. Anything I can help with, just say it."

"Nothing for now." Chen Yi shakes his head; he still doesn't trust this Chief of Staff.

William and Mark also stop; the latter pokes the ground with his club, smiling-not-smiling: "Mr. Chen, any new ideas?"

"Still none for now." Chen Yi glances, strives to hit the ball out.

The ball flies past.

William pressures: "If Merrill Lynch puts Gold Source Company on the restricted list, Mellon Bank will link up and make corresponding moves."

"I understand." Chen Yi just walks with head down.

The three men follow him in puzzlement.

Mark and William even whisper to each other with faces full of suspicion.

People who control hundreds of millions of dollars are no thorough fools. If there were no reliance, they absolutely wouldn't give up such favorable terms.

In their view, if Chen Yi doesn't accept their terms, he fundamentally has no way out; compared to ending with nothing, a conditional cooperation is the most normal choice.

But he still doesn't put forward terms now, leaving the Priest and William unable to figure it out.

When a round is about to end, Mark checks the time, makes a final effort: "Mr. Chen, Niall witnesses on site. As long as you agree to any proposal, we'll definitely push the new legislation through. Then colocation service providers exit the market, Gold Source International's share will only increase further."

Mellon's face goes sunny to cloudy, then cloudy to sunny. Although he is a colocation service provider, the exchange's exploitation is truly harsh, and restrictions are many; if he could join Gold Source International, he wouldn't mind either.

Chen Yi faces the direction of Capitol Hill, curls his lip: "Who told you I want legislation to squeeze out colocation service providers?"

"Doesn't matter if you don't admit it..."

"I'm not not admitting." Chen Yi interrupts the Priest: "I'm just saying, squeezing out colocation service providers doesn't need legislation."

As they speak, his mobile phone suddenly rings.

"Sorry." Chen Yi walks a few quick steps, answers the call, then turns back.

The three men still stand in place.

Chen Yi's tense face suddenly breaks into a smile: "Priest, Mr. Mellon, from now on, Gold Source International will be the only company that can conduct lightning trading without becoming a colocation server provider."

"Legislation passed? Impossible."

The three are greatly shocked.

"No legislation needed." Chen Yi looks at them with a helpless gaze: "A few days ago, Senator Schumer pressured the Securities and Exchange Commission. If the SEC doesn't restrict 'lightning trading', then Congress will 'execute on its behalf'. The earlier lobbying was just preparation for the worst-case scenario of execution on behalf."

"Then you can't do lightning trading either?" Niall doesn't understand this stuff.

Chen Yi shrugs: "The restriction measure taken by SEC Chair Mary Schapiro is to cancel colocation server behavior. Unless Gold Source International is proven to compete unfairly, we can still continue lightning trading."

He sighs inwardly. In this world, earning 50 million is hard, giving away 50 million is even harder. Half a month's time, "Siren" could get 200 million, yet could only barely give away 50 million, and still had to spend money hiring lobbyists...

The pressure lineup on the golf course is strong, but ultimately they're only Wall Street's mid-tier forces. This is a group of business elites with power but no money. Besides Catherine, everyone is working for their company, not themselves.

They probably also can't guess Gold Source International's true profit level.

The Priest's face alternates red and white, but not a trace of dejection shows; he still says: "This is all good for us. 150 million USD, this is the final offer."

"Starting at 100 million USD, minimum 50% annual return rate."

"Impossible. If we pull you onto the blacklist, you have no bank support, how much can you swallow?" Mellon also reacts.

"What if I have Chinese bank support?" Chen Yi pinches his phone, seemingly relaxed: "You can check through your own channels. 100 million USD credit line has already arrived in Gold Source International's account. Next three days, at least 2 billion USD is no problem. Also Japanese banks, Saudi Arabia banks — can you control them?"

In fact, the 100 million USD credit line was the full amount he barely managed to get. Chinese banks don't understand Wall Street financial business, and are even less willing to support.

William wants to retort: Merrill Lynch's blacklist is equally effective on Japanese and Saudi Arabia banks...

But he didn't say it. Because Mark's blacklist meant nothing to China's banks.

Mark called Catherine.

His mistress arrived in a white small car, the light of victory on her face long since vanished without a trace.

Obviously, China's bank credit lines did indeed exist.

Chen Yi spoke slowly, using unskilled words, to her: "A pure investment of 150 million US dollars, taking 10% of the shares, not participating in company management, I guarantee a return rate of over two times. Two additional loans of 1.5 billion US dollars each, one to Gold Source International, one to my parent company in China, Chen Group. The conditions I propose... are valid only today."

The same words, two hours earlier, had been spoken by Catherine herself.

... (Unfinished, if you want to know what happens next, please log in to www. qidian. com, more chapters, support author, support genuine reading!)