Chapter 353: Hunger List Activated, the Queen Navy

Evening, the clouds over London hung low, as if to swallow the city's lights.

Li Zhi'an knocked on the door and walked in, placing a neatly organized newspaper on Lu Qingshan's desk, his expression unusually solemn, even his voice lowered a few notches, as if fearing to disturb unseen things in the air.

"Boss, here's the news you need to watch. In today's corner of The Times, there's an inconspicuous report that the United Kingdom and Argentina's latest round of negotiations over Ma Island sovereignty has collapsed."

Lu Qingshan lifted the newspaper, his gaze landing on the words "negotiations collapsed," his eyes deep; he slowly closed them, leaned back in his chair, and a subtly meaningful smile curled his lips.

It's close.

The fuse of war has already been lit. All that's needed is a gust from the South Atlantic, a salty, briny wind, to ignite the whole powder keg.

He set the newspaper down, showing no sign of tension, stood up, smoothed his collar, and, on a whim, said, "Let's go downstairs and check on our soldiers; they've been cooped up too long—don't let their fighting spirit wear away."

When he pushed open the heavy glass doors of the Trading Hall, the hall—previously filled with cheap coffee scent, anxious atmosphere, and constant whispers from days of idleness—fell silent as if its throat had been clamped.

Everyone seemed frozen, as if a pause button had been pressed; a trader's coffee cup tipped, the scalding brown liquid spilling onto his trousers without his noticing.

The next second, with a "Swish," all of them—one hundred twenty elite who had emerged from Wall Street's sea of corpses and blood—leapt from their chairs, their eyes a complex mix of awe, curiosity, and sheer Fear, fixed on the mysterious boss who existed only in legend.

Lu Qingshan looked around, laughed in flawless London‑accented English, "Gentlemen, good afternoon. It seems the work enthusiasm has been low these past few days while I've been away."

The joke set the stagnant air moving again; several people gave awkward smiles, and their tense shoulders relaxed a bit.

He dropped any bossy airs, strolling casually and chatting with the high‑paid elite he had recruited. From Wall Street's oddities to London's horse racing culture, his erudition and witty banter quickly bridged the gap between them.

At that moment, he noticed a young man in the corner.

The man was very young, barely in his early twenties, with dark brown curls and a pair of gold‑rimmed glasses perched on his nose, looking scholarly; yet among the awe and apprehension of the crowd, only his gaze radiated a shrewd, incisive insight that clashed with his student appearance.

"You're David Cohen? An American Jew?" Lu Qingshan asked as he stepped in front of him.

The young man named David clearly froze for a moment, then pushed his glasses up, answering with a hint of the typical Jewish shrewdness and humor, "Yes, boss. I didn't expect you to know my name; it seems my $3,000 consulting‑fee résumé wasn't wasted."

Ye Ning had specifically mentioned this David to Lu Qingshan, calling him the biggest surprise of the recruitment. A top‑university graduate, yet he moved in the market like a veteran who'd been scraping by for twenty years, with an extraordinary innate sensitivity to numbers and human nature.

Lu Qingshan smiled, "I've reviewed your trading record—impressive. But I'd like to hear your thoughts on this London Adventure."

David's eyes lit up instantly; he glanced around, lowered his voice, "Boss, forgive my bluntness. This is no longer an adventure; it's dancing on a cliff, blindfolded. Before I came, I thought I was a risk‑addicted lunatic, but after arriving I realized that compared to you, I'm just a perfectly sane ordinary person."

He paused, his tone turning serious: "But I never believe someone who can marshal tens of billions would be a fool. Fools get devoured by the market, while you devour the market. So behind this dance there must be an unheard music powerful enough to change the world. I'm curious—what's the name of that piece?"

Lu Qingshan gave him a deep look, a hint of admiration flashing in his eyes.

This young man was truly fascinating.

At that moment, Lu Qingshan's private phone rang. He glanced at the caller—Li Fuying, far away on Hong Kong Island—and, in front of David, answered calmly.

"Qing Shan, hope I'm not disturbing you?" Li Fuying's voice on the other end was full of enthusiasm.

"Uncle Li, you're too kind. Whatever you need, just tell me."

"Well, I wouldn't dare call it a command. It's a personal matter—I want to ask you a favor. My son Junjie, isn't he studying in the United Kingdom? I heard two days ago you went to London; he's been pestering me daily, saying he wants to meet you and learn some real skills. So... is it convenient?"

Lu Qingshan smiled, "What's inconvenient about that? Have him come anytime; my door is always open. Uncle Li, rest assured, when Junjie arrives, I'll treat him like a brother."

He hung up, feeling quite pleased.

He was weaving a net—a vast web that would cover not only London but connect the world. Young talents like David Cohen and Li Junjie were future key nodes of that web.

Everything proceeded methodically, exactly as scripted.

Meanwhile, at Shason Group headquarters, Henry Shason remained smugly self‑satisfied.

He had united almost all Futures Brokers in London, laying the Heavenly Net, waiting for Lu Qingshan to be unable to bear the pressure and start liquidating, then to rush in and shred him to pieces. The entire Financial City was waiting to see how this "fool" from the East would flamboyantly self‑immolate.

Suddenly, the office's internal emergency comm channel emitted a rapid, heart‑pounding buzz! It was the highest‑level Red Alert!

David's complexion changed; every trader in the Trading Hall tensed instantly, their breathing halted.

Lu Qingshan hit the speakerphone; Ye Ning's voice, tinged with uncontrollable excitement and trembling, crackled like electricity from the handset, background filled with countless ecstatic shouts and the explosive clatter of keyboards.

"Boss! The Hunger List... there's movement!"

"The first! Just five minutes ago, our informant at Plymouth Shipyard reported that the Royal Navy's logistics procurement division, bypassing all standard procedures, just issued a top‑priority emergency inquiry!"

Ye Ning's voice cracked with excitement; she was practically shouting.

"They need... massive quantities of specialized ship steel and... three hundred thousand packs of medical cotton!"

"And the delivery deadline is within a month! They're insane! The entire market's supply is in our hands!"

As soon as the words fell, the Trading Hall was dead silent for a tenth of a second, then erupted in a landslide of cheers! Some flung documents into the air, others embraced ecstatically, while some collapsed in their chairs, faces twisted in absurd, manic smiles.

David Cohen's gold‑rimmed glasses slipped to his nose; he stared open‑mouthed at Lu Qingshan, as if gazing at a walking deity.

Amid the revelry and clamor, Lu Qingshan calmly hung up, a cold, ruthless smile slowly curving his lips.

The music—began.