Chapter 357: Storms Rise Again! The Two Young Lords Li, One After the Other, Storm In!

Henry painfully closed his eyes, his stomach churning like a raging sea, a surge of sour liquid shot up his throat; he forced himself to swallow, but his body staggered backward a step and he fell heavily onto that massive sofa that symbolized power.

He finally understood.

Lu Qingshan had never, from the start, intended to pull out that sixty‑plus billion himself.

He was using the entire British Empire's war machine, using the centuries‑old reputation of London Financial City, to foot the bill for his more than sixty‑billion funding shortfall…!

He wasn't doing business; he wasn't even gambling.

He intended to pin the Shason Family, the Rothschild, and all the ancient families that set the rules onto the gambling table, forcing them, crying and shouting, to shove money into his pocket and beg him to lift his hand!

"The devil… he's a devil…" Assistant Parker's legs went limp, collapsing completely to the ground, his face ashen, a warm, damp heat spreading at his crotch, and he muttered unconsciously.

"No." Henry snapped his eyes open; a near‑mad hatred and resentment flared in his gray pupils. He dug his fingernails deep into the sofa's genuine‑leather armrest, "He wants to overturn our table! He wants us, the rule‑makers, to taste what it's like to be toyed with by the rules!"

He sprang up from the sofa like a cornered beast, rushed to the desk, grabbed a spare phone, and with a hand trembling so much he could barely hold the handset, dialed an encrypted number.

"It's me!" His voice was twisted by excitement and Fear, roaring into the mic, "Deploy all power! Investigate! Investigate that Lu Qingshan! I need to know who he's met these past days, what he's said! Get Li Jiasheng on Hong Kong Island moving! I need to know the source of his thirty‑billion funds! I need to know who's really behind him!"

The other end was silent for a moment, as if shaken by his madness.

"And!" Henry let out a beast‑like growl into the mic, his eyes flashing with all‑or‑nothing madness, "Connect me to Moscow! To the KGB! To the CIA! I don't care what you use, I must know every movement in Argentina! All of them! I must know when that damned war will start!"

He wants to overturn the table?

Then I'll drag the whole world into the water! Let's see who dies first!

Hanging up, Henry breathed heavily, stared at the nightscape that once belonged to his family, and only endless resentment remained in his eyes.

He didn't know that, as he issued the order, after a night of clamor and revelry, London welcomed another gloomy dawn.

In the top‑floor office at Weilian Wang Dajie 81 Hao, Lu Qingshan was looking at the visitor‑appointment list Ye Ning had just handed over.

The first name on the list was written in bold:

Li Junjie.

Beside Li Junjie's name was a tiny parenthesis containing a few words Ye Ning had highlighted in red pen:

"Son of Chairman Li Fuying."

The next morning, a young man in a suit and modest smile, led by Li Zhi'an, walked into the Trading Hall still warm with the after‑glow of excitement.

The young man was about twenty‑two or twenty‑three, handsome, exuding the vigor of an elite from a prestigious school, yet his curiosity about everything around him was tempered by good upbringing, appearing neither servile nor arrogant. He was Li Fuying's son, Li Junjie.

The moment he stepped in, the scene stunned him. It was not the quiet, solemn financial institution he imagined, but more like a victorious camp. The air was saturated with the mix of cigar, coffee and adrenaline, people clustered in groups of three or five, loudly debating, their faces bearing a post‑battle fervor.

"Mr. Lu." Li Junjie quickly composed himself, hurried to Lu Qingshan's side, bowed slightly, respectful yet not obsequious, "My father asked me to convey his greetings, and to let me broaden my experience here."

Lu Qingshan's gaze lingered on him for two seconds, nodded, and his first impression of the youngster was decent.

"Li Uncle, you're too courteous. Since you're here, don't stand around; we don't bother with empty formalities, only skill matters." Lu Qingshan said, waving at David Cohen, who was nearby, spitting and arguing with a team member.

David saw the boss summon, and immediately, like a fed‑to‑the‑dog hound, bounded over, his golden‑threaded glasses glittering.

"David, let me introduce a new partner, Li Junjie." Lu Qingshan pointed at the young man, "The son of Chairman Li of the Hong Kong Island Far East Association, you'll mentor him, have him assist you."

David was startled, scanned Li Junjie's well‑tailored Jena suit, then glanced down at his own coffee‑stained shirt, then broke into a grin, saying in his characteristic exaggerated tone, "Boss, my pleasure. But I must pre‑declare that I have no afternoon tea or golf here, only cold numbers and a market that could explode at any moment. Mr Li, are you sure you want to follow this 'madman' rather than go downstairs for a coffee?"

His line made everyone around laugh, and Li Junjie felt a bit embarrassed, quickly extending his hand: "Mr. Cohen, please stop joking. I'm here to learn how to fight, and I hope you'll guide me."

The two shook hands, David patted his chest, looking serious: "Don't worry, follow me, I'll teach you everything, guaranteed, so you can survive under this 'god‑only' and thrive."

At that moment, Ye Ning strode in on high heels, expression blank, but the wind she raised carried a murderous chill. The whole hall's clamor automatically dropped a few decibels.

She placed a tablet in front of Lu Qingshan, voice low but carrying an icy coldness.

"Boss, another client named Li has specifically requested to see you."

Lu Qingjun was watching David and Li Junjie together and found it amusing; hearing this, he also leaned in curiously.

When he saw the name on the tablet, his complexion changed instantly.

Li Zexun.

"Damn!" Lu Qingjun blurted, his voice full of undisguised disgust and wariness, "That old dog Li Jiasheng sent his precious son who studied law at Cambridge? What's he here for? A weasel giving New Year's greetings to a chicken!"

Everyone in the Xinghan Group knew that, back on Hong Kong Island, Li Jiasheng and his son had always been a thorn in their side. Now that they had just stirred up a storm in London, the other side came knocking, purpose obvious.

Lu Qingshan tapped lightly on the three characters "Li Zexun", his face showing no joy or anger.

The scout had arrived.

And it was a clever little fox.

"Have him wait in the top‑floor office." Lu Qingshan returned the tablet to Ye Ning, his tone as flat as if arranging an inconsequential afternoon tea.

He turned his head, looked at the Financial City's forest of skyscrapers outside, his gaze deepening.

"We've just brought London's pot to a boil, and already someone can't wait to taste the broth."

Lu Qingshan looked at his angry brother, a cold arc curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Qingjun, remember this. Some people come for a share, others come to flip the table for their master."

"But they all forget," Lu Qingshan's voice carried absolute Confidence and a detached view over all beings, "that in this building, if I don't want them, no one else can sit at the table."