Chapter 336: Thirteen Hours, He Turned a Flock of Sheep into Wolves!

From nine in the morning to ten at night.

In the meeting room, smoke lingered; heavy curtains blocked any change in daylight, only the fluorescent tubes emitted a low hum. The air was thick as unmixable ink, mixed with sweat, tobacco, and the smell of cold food that had long gone cold. In everyone's ears, it seemed Lu Qingshan's hoarse yet piercing voice still lingered.

For thirteen straight hours, aside from each person hastily grabbing a few bites of boxed lunch, the meeting never stopped for a minute.

When Lu Qingshan, his voice hoarse, spoke the last word and leaned back against the wide chair, fingertips gently rubbing his aching temples, the whole meeting room fell into a deathly silence. It was a blankness after the brain had been repeatedly washed by a flood of information, completely crashed, even the marrow feeling sore and weak.

Then came a long, rising-and-falling sigh of relief, as if a weight had been lifted. The thirty-plus mid-level cadres of the department, each and every one, looked as if they'd just been fished out of water—shirts soaked through, clinging to their backs, faces etched with unmistakable fatigue and exhaustion.

Yet strangely, although their bodies were at the limit, each person's eyes burned with a flame never seen before—a flame infused with soul, pointing the way, even endowed with a sacred mission, scorching enough to frighten.

Zhang Rongfeng felt even more shock, waves of terror churning in his chest, the cold sweat on his back never drying. He gazed at Lu Qingshan, eyes closed, resting his mind, and a scene from the meeting kept replaying in his head.

When Lu Qingshan called out names, assigning the elderly researcher Li Mo—nearly sixty, inarticulate all his life, loving to hide among piles of old papers—to lead a team in chewing through the most tedious, most technical German original technical documents, Li Mo's face instantly turned the color of pig liver, his lips trembling as he wanted to say he was too old, his eyesight failing. Lu Qingshan merely gave him a calm glance and said softly, "Engineer Li, I know this is hard and painful. But in the whole department, only you have thirty years of experience translating German technical literature; only you can find the 'key' we need among those old papers. This task falls to no one else—it's an order."

Li Mo said nothing, just clenched his fists; in his bloodshot eyes lay the humiliation of being forced onto Liangshan, as well as the complex feeling of having his worth seen through at a glance and being entrusted with a heavy responsibility.

Immediately afterward, Lu Qingshan turned his gaze to the silver-tongued, relationship‑master Wang Zhen, the social star: "Comrade Wang Zhen, you will liaison with the German Chamber of Commerce, the Mechanical Association, and the Precision Instrument Chamber. I know they are notoriously difficult and arrogant, and I know you despise dealing with those stubborn Germans. But your talent lies in warming ice and getting your words into their hearts. This task's hardship is no less than Engineer Li's, yet I equally believe only you can do it."

Such an arrangement simply calculated each person's worth, together with their likes and dislikes and limits, then squeezed out the last drop with the most precise force!

He'd only been in the department for a couple of days, yet he seemed to know the abilities and personalities of the over ninety staff inside out; every assigned task hit precisely each person's strong point—and… pain point. First make them suffer, then let them erupt with their greatest strength in that suffering, ultimately gaining an unparalleled sense of achievement!

Is this a department head? He's practically a precise, cold‑hearted, super‑human computer that will spare nothing for the goal!

The meeting ended; everyone dragged their weary feet away, and the huge meeting room soon held only Lu Qingshan and Zhang Rongfeng.

Zhang Rongfeng refilled Lu Qingshan's barely touched teacup with scalding hot water and sincerely exclaimed, "Director, I'm convinced. No, I'm utterly in awe! Your brain… how did it grow? You not only twisted our ninety‑plus people into a single rope, you also focused each person's strength onto the blade's edge, I…"

This was no longer flattery; it was a question and awe springing from the heart.

Lu Qingshan lifted his teacup, letting the rising steam dispel some fatigue on his face; he could feel his throat burning, but his gaze remained frighteningly bright.

"Comrade Rongfeng, you overpraise me," he waved his hand, his voice hoarse like sandpaper, "the real hard battle hasn't started; today was just a pre‑war mobilization. The follow‑up work management and tracking will be hard on you—you're an old comrade of the department, you need to put in extra effort."

One sentence, both an order and a sign of respect.

Zhang Rongfeng instantly straightened his back, his face utterly solemn: "Director, rest assured! I guarantee to complete the task! I will never drag you down."

"Hmm." Lu Qingshan nodded, "Tomorrow I'll be temporarily absent from the department; I have some private matters to attend to."

"All right." Zhang Rongfeng didn't press further; he knew this man before him deserved his unconditional trust.

Lu Qingshan rose; the intense work made his vision darken for a moment as he stood, his body swaying, and he instinctively gripped the desk edge to steady himself. Zhang Rongfeng's heart leapt; he stepped forward quickly, yet dared not actually reach out to support him.

Lu Qingshan walked slowly to the huge floor‑to‑ceiling window. Outside, the capital city stretched out in rolling waves like a sea of stars, myriad lights. The cold glass reflected his weary yet upright silhouette, as if separating him from the mortal bustle.

But within that warm glow, one light belonged to Fuqiang Hutong 23 Courtyard.

I don't even know if, at this hour, Yue E and Xiao Xue have fallen asleep.

Thinking of his daughter's adorable face asleep, and that soft, childish "Daddy, come home early" he'd heard when leaving, his steel‑like will also rippled with the faintest tenderness.

He picked up the internal phone on the desk, his fingertips moving skillfully over the old dial, and dialed a number he knew by heart.

"Minister, it's me, Qing Shan."

From the other end came Zhang Jian's deep, steady voice: "Hmm, finished? I hear your voice is hoarse—drink some water to wet your throat."

"Everything's set here." Lu Qingshan's voice returned to its usual calm, "I'll head out for Hong Kong Island tomorrow; London… we need to begin preparations."

The other end fell silent for a few seconds, that silence seeming to bear a thousand‑jin weight, then a low, solemn response came through.

"All right, stay safe. Over on Yingzi's side, dragons and snakes mingle, the waters run deep. Remember, you are the nation's sword, but first you must protect this shield of yours. We… await your triumphant report."

"I know."

Hanging up, the fatigue and tenderness in Lu Qingshan's eyes vanished at once, replaced by a glint sharp enough to pierce the night curtain.

Ten‑year plan, finance as the spear.

And his first battle—this spear forged from the nation's will and future, its tip unmatched in sharpness—will thrust fiercely from that Oriental Pearl where wind and clouds surge! For the country, for the family, and to guard that one light among the myriad lamps.