Chapter 291: Chen Lao Asks for a Plan, This Chess Game Is Played for the Nation!

Sitting in that sedan with an extremely distinctive license plate, the heavy door slammed shut with a "bang," instantly cutting off the outside cold wind and clamor. Inside, it was warm as spring, quiet enough to hear each other's breathing, as if the icy, hard reality outside were a different world.

Wang Shanghong took a document out of his briefcase and handed it over, his eyes sharp as knives: "This is all your public data on Hong Kong Island, including the entire process of your acquisition of Wilson Group and the establishment of Xinghan Bank. Our people compiled it, more detailed than what the newspapers wrote."

Lu Qingshan took it, feeling the texture of the paper with his fingertips, flipping through page by page, his expression unchanged.

"It's causing a big stir." Wang Shangxing looked at the rapidly receding street scene outside the window, his voice low, "HSBC and Standard Chartered reports have already been placed on the table at Downing Street in London via secret channels. They say a 'barbaric financial beast' from the East has arrived on Hong Kong Island."

Turning his head, his eyes blazing like torches fixed on Lu Qingshan, as if trying to see through his soul: "They guessed right, you've been aiming at them from the start, right? Your appetite goes far beyond just Hong Kong Island."

Lu Qingshan folded the document, placed it on his lap, and calmly met his gaze, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his lips: "Bureau Chief Wang, I'm just a businessman; business is business. Where there's money to be made, I naturally go."

Wang Shanghong stared into his bottomless eyes and suddenly felt powerless. He realized he could not see through this young man at all. He possessed a composure and terrifying control that transcended his age, as if all raging waves were merely ripples in a pond to him.

The car did not head toward any government compound but turned into a deep, silent alley, stopping at the gate of an unremarkable gray‑brick courtyard. No plaque hung at the entrance, only two soldiers in military coats standing upright. At the alley mouth, two ordinary men in cotton jackets, hands in pockets, looking like idle street chatters, seemed to unintentionally raise their eyelids the moment the car steadied.

That glance, sharp as an eagle, carried a cold killing aura forged in seas of corpses and blood.

Entering the courtyard, a crisp plum fragrance hit the face. The courtyard was small, blue bricks laid clean, and in a corner an old plum tree bloomed in the cold wind, its iron‑like branches dotted with tiny red specks.

An elderly man in a washed‑out gray Zhongshan suit, slender, stood with his back to them, holding a large pair of scissors, meticulously trimming dead leaves from a Cattleya orchid. His movements were slow and steady, as if sculpting a work of art.

Wang Shanghong stood still, respectfully lowering his hands, daring not to make a sound.

Lu Qingshan also stood quietly behind him, feeling the invisible aura.

The old man cut the last dead leaf, wiped the scissors with a handkerchief, then slowly turned. His face was lined with the ravages of time, but his eyes were as clear and wise as a deep pool, seeming to pierce the heart.

"Arrived?" He didn't ask who, as if he already knew they would come. His voice was hoarse yet full of vigor.

"Old Chen, I am Lu Qingshan." Lu Qingshan bowed slightly, respectfully.

"Sit." The old man pointed to a stone bench in the courtyard and sat down himself.

Wang Shanghong brewed three cups of steaming hot tea, then silently slipped to the courtyard gate, like a statue.

Chen Lao lifted the thick porcelain cup, gently blew the steam, and got straight to the point: "I already know everything about Hong Kong Island. Tell me your thoughts, the next step, how you plan to act."

Lu Qingshan did not hide anything, plainly laying out his plan to set up a fund in London, Short Selling the British pound, and Xinghan Bank's future deepening among the people, becoming the capillary of Chinese finance, summarizing concisely.

He spoke calmly; Chen Lao listened attentively, nodding now and then, or frowning in thought.

The whole courtyard, aside from the whistling north wind rattling plum branches, only Lu Qingshan's steady voice echoed.

After listening, Chen Lao remained silent for a long while, then slowly nodded, his gaze at Lu Qingshan now bearing an unmistakable appreciation and praise.

"Steady, daring, and ruthless. Looks like someone who does great deeds." The old man set down his cup, producing a crisp light sound on the stone table, "The Hong Kong Island battle was fought well! Fought heartily! Over the years we've taken so much offense from those foreigners; your slap is, for us, for all Chinese worldwide, a fierce vent of resentment!"

Changing tone, his eyes became extremely serious: "But you must remember. You've only won the first hand at the table. On the imperialist table there are not only chips but knives hidden under the board. Finance and commerce are merely their most respectable means. When they find respect insufficient, any despicable trick will emerge."

A chill shot up Lu Qingshan's spine.

"I'll inform your father, have him pick a team of the best people for you. All have crawled out of gunfire and shellfire, hands clean, minds sharp, absolutely reliable." Chen Lao looked at him, his tone becoming exceedingly solemn, "Your life now isn't just yours; it's a spark for the ten‑billion of us who have long hoped for one. It must not be extinguished."

Lu Qingshan felt a massive shock; in his past life he was just a beetle crushed at random, and now his life bears such heavy meaning! He was momentarily dazed, but more so felt a responsibility that could crush mountains.

"Thank you, Old Chen." He inhaled deeply, able only to utter those four words.

"Don't thank yet." Chen Lao waved his hand, looking at Lu Qingshan, his world‑seeing eyes flashing a complex emotion: expectation, trust, and a burden as heavy as a mountain.

"The 180 million you earned from the 50 million you made was executed perfectly—quick, short, solved our urgent crisis. Now we've pooled together what we can mobilize, all of it for you."

The old man slowly extended three withered yet incredibly strong fingers, like three pillars supporting the sky.

"Three hundred million."

His voice was light, yet like thunder exploding in Lu Qingshan's ear.

The old man paused, then clearly enunciated the last two words, one by one.

"US Dollar."

"This is all we can muster now, everything."

He gazed at Lu Qingshan, his look seeming to bear the weight of an entire nation, and slowly asked: "This burden, this trust, do you… dare to accept?"