Chapter 355: Charge Number! We Heard the Cannons Early!

The entire hall filled with a uniform, synchronized sound of inhaled cold air, a sound huge and oppressive, as if one hundred and twenty lungs were instantaneously sucked into a vacuum, each vibration of the air carrying a terrifying texture.

Spending enough money to make a London middle‑class family struggle a lifetime just to buy a low‑level dispatcher's phone call. Such a move is extravagant, yet terrifyingly effective! This is no longer commerce; it is intelligence warfare in a war!

"Just a few minutes ago, the Seagull team leader David Cohen," Ye Ning's gaze cut through the crowd, landing precisely on the young Jewish man, her voice carrying a tremor and reverence she herself had not noticed, "received that decisive call."

Everyone's eyes, like spotlights, swept and focused on David.

David adjusted his glasses; under the gaze of all, he showed no nervousness at all, instead straightening his chest, a hint of proud shrewdness on his face. He stepped forward, took the lead, and said, "Yes, boss. The call came from a dispatcher at the Seagull Shipping Company in Plymouth Harbor, a fellow named Bob. I've bought him three drinks and talked twice about his incompetent son. He said he received a top‑priority dispatch order, demanding he clear three core routes immediately to make way for a batch of incoming 'special steel' and 'medical supplies.'"

He paused, his voice tinged with an excitement only a top hunter could smell: "That order bypassed all his superiors, coming directly from a coded number of the Navy Logistics Department. I had him repeat it twice to confirm. That code was last used ten years ago during the Egypt evacuation operation!"

Ye Ning added, her voice regaining calm but with a metallic texture that struck each person's heart: "I immediately cross‑checked two other informants from the warehouse and shipyard; all reports matched. Then I called in an 'old friend' at the Financial Times to discreetly probe whether the navy has any large‑scale exercise plans."

"Just five minutes ago, the information was finally confirmed. The United Kingdom's Royal Navy Logistics Procurement Department issued an urgent RFQ, target: ship‑grade special steel, medical de‑fat cotton. Delivery: within one month. Quantity: enough to arm an expeditionary fleet."

"And they will soon discover in despair," Ye Ning lifted her head, her flame‑filled eyes fixed on Lu Qingshan, each word like a judge reading a final verdict, "that across the entire European spot market, there is only one seller capable of meeting their demand within a month. That seller is us."

When her words fell, the hall slipped back into an eerie dead silence.

If the earlier revelry stemmed from the joy of victory, then this silence now springs from a bone‑deep… Fear of that unfathomable scheme!

It turns out, from the moment they bought the first futures contract, they weren't gambling.

They are using tens of billions of dollars to dig a trap for the entire empire on which the sun never sets, a trap it will have to leap into even as it bleeds!

At that moment, Lu Qingjun finally emerged from his stone‑like stupor. He didn't shout as usual; instead he staggered to a Terminal, his fingers trembling as he pulled up real‑time data. He tried to calculate, to quantify the terrifying profit, but his brain—the one that boasted of being a business genius—crashed completely when it saw the massive position size and potential premium space. His lips quivered, unable to compute a single figure, and he could only seize Lu Qingshan's arm, his face a mix of bewilderment and extreme shock after having his worldview upended.

"Brother… you… can you see the future? Before you came to London… did you already know this would happen? Who… who are you really?"

Lu Qingshan gave him no answer, merely patting his hand soothingly, then turned his head toward the now‑stone‑stunned David Cohen, a teasing smile appearing on his face.

"David, you asked me earlier what the accompaniment for our dance is called."

David shivered all over, as if waking from a dream, instinctively straightening his posture, his gaze filled only with fervent adoration.

Lu Qingshan spoke slowly, his voice low yet clear to every ear, carrying an ancient Eastern wisdom tempered by blood‑fire and ice.

"In my hometown there is an army that has a battle song called 'Charge Number.'"

"Remember, a war never begins with the first cannon blast. It starts with the first unnoticed purchase order. And we merely heard that bright horn in advance."

As soon as the words fell, the office's internal phone rang urgently again.

Ye Ning hurried to answer; after a few seconds, her complexion turned oddly strange, as if she had witnessed the most absurd drama in the world.

She covered the handset, rushed to Lu Qingshan's side, and in a dream‑like tone reported, "Boss… it's… it's Mr. Henry 'Vulture' Shason of the Shason Group; he wants to speak with you…"

"Pfft—" Lu Qingjun almost lost his breath.

Henry? The guy who previously shouted that they wouldn't even have money left for a ticket? Why is he calling? To beg? Or to test?

Everyone held their breath, waiting to see how the boss would humiliate this once‑arrogant opponent.

But Lu Qingshan simply lifted the red‑wine glass on the table at a leisurely pace, admiring the swirling crimson liquid, not even looking up, and in a tone used to brush off a street vendor, casually said, "Tell him I'm busy, holding a party with my meritorious followers. If he has business, have him make an appointment with my lawyer."

Ye Ning's pupils snapped shut; she stared at the boss's carefree profile, the last shred of Rationality belonging to a financial elite in her heart completely shattered, leaving only boundless fervor and worship.

Humiliation?

No, this is a disregard so absolute that even humiliation is too much effort—an utter, other‑dimensional indifference!

At Shason Group headquarters, Henry Shason heard the cold relay over the phone; his face flushed red, then turned iron‑blue, and he slammed the expensive handset against the wall, producing a deafening crash! "Bastard! Eastern pig! How dare he treat me like this!" He looked like a mad demon, yet the next second felt a bone‑chilling cold.

On William King Street, just as Ye Ning was about to reply, Lu Qingshan called her back.

He stared at the continuously scrolling "Hunger List" on the screen, the names of illustrious families and industrial magnates flashing in the data's glow like lambs awaiting slaughter.

He extended a finger, brushed lightly over the list, and finally stopped on a German family name renowned for shipbuilding and military industry.

"Tell everyone the party is over."

"Now, begin our second movement: the Hunger Games."

The curve of his mouth grew grim and wild, like a demon god surveying humanity.

"I want you to use all our media resources, anonymously broadcast a message to the entire city of London."

"Say that all spot steel, cotton and white sugar on the market have been completely bought up by a mysterious Eastern buyer."

"I don't want their money." Lu Qingshan drained the red wine in one gulp, his cold gaze sweeping every name on the list. "I want their Fear. I will make each person on the list suffer in panic, wait in desperation. I want them to understand that from today onward, London's rules have changed. If they wish to survive, they must learn a new posture to speak to me."