Chapter 363: Humiliation? No, This Is Pricing Power!

In the office there was no negotiating table, only a set of rustic Zisha tea ware and two opposite sofas. The air was filled with crisp tea fragrance, which not only failed to dilute the metallic smell of money and the oppression of politics, but rather acted like a thin veil, making those two odors even more inscrutable.

"Mr. Lu, a pleasure to finally meet you." James Reed spoke first, his voice deep and magnetic with a standard parliamentary accent, each word measured, "I am James Reed. The Prime Minister, occupied with urgent state affairs, has specially authorized me to represent him fully in negotiations with you."

He extended his hand, his face bearing the politician's trademark impeccable smile, attempting to set the tone of the meeting with an equal handshake.

Lu Qingshan neither shook his hand nor even stood, merely nodding slightly, his pallid fingertips lightly tapping the warm Zisha kettle to indicate the opposite sofa: "Mr. Ried, please sit. Mr. Allen, also please sit."

Ried's hand hovered in the air for a second, his trained smile unchanged, but the Vice Prime Minister behind him, Allen's secretary, clearly saw his thumb and forefinger twist involuntarily as he withdrew his hand. His eagle‑sharp eyes scanned the overly young, overly impudent Oriental before him like a scanner, a cold, predatory glint flashing deep within.

"Mr. Lu, you're blunt, so I won't beat around the bush." Ried sat on the sofa, leaning slightly forward, hands crossed on his knees, assuming a standard negotiating posture, "We have received your Quotation Sheet. Frankly, that Quotation Sheet makes us very… confused."

He deliberately emphasized the word "confused," the deterrent power of which made Lu Qingjun's heart skip a beat.

Lu Qingshan lifted the teapot, filling the two empty cups before him; amber tea swayed gently in the white porcelain, rising a wisp of steam.

"Confused about what?" he asked back, his voice as flat as if inquiring whether the flowers in the yard had bloomed.

"The price." Ried's voice deepened like a stone dropped into a deep pool, "Ten times the Market Price, and settled in Gold Settlement. Mr. Lu, I mean no offense, but this does not read as a sincere commercial quotation; it feels more like a… malicious joke."

Lu Qingjun stood aside, his palms sweating, his heart lodged in his throat. He felt the office air grow thin, each breath like inhaling shards of glass.

Lu Qingshan pushed a cup of tea toward Ried, then lifted his eyes, looking at him calmly: "Mr. Ried, tell me, how much would you price a service that lets a fleet sailing thousands of miles to a battlefield have usable ammunition and replaceable steel plates?"

Ried's pupils snapped shut sharply.

He instantly understood that the other side was not debating the commodity attributes of steel and cotton, but the price of the result "letting the fleet fight"! This was a Dimensionality Reduction Strike!

"Mr. Lu, the British Empire's reputation, the pound's value, have been the cornerstone recognized worldwide for centuries." Ried forced himself to stay calm, trying to steer the conversation back to familiar ground, "Settling in gold is not only an insult and distrust to our monetary system, it challenges the post‑war free‑trade order!"

"No." Lu Qingshan shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching—not a smile but a scalpel‑precise coldness, "Mr. Ried, you're mistaken again. I don't distrust the pound; I simply trust gold more. After all," he lifted his cup and blew the steam, "your printing machines can run twenty‑four hours nonstop, but the world's gold mines can't produce much in a year."

One sentence, light in tone, yet it shut down all of Ried's grand rhetoric.

Allen's secretary's forehead already beaded with fine sweat; he kept wiping with a handkerchief, only for more to appear, and finally gave up.

"Mr. Lu!" Ried's voice finally carried a barely restrained fury as he lunged toward the sofa back, trying to overwhelm with presence, "We came with Sincerity! We acknowledge the navy order is indeed urgent, and we are willing to pay a reasonable premium! But tenfold pricing exceeds commercial bounds; this is extortion! It's naked war fraud!"

"Premium?" Lu Qingshan seemed to hear something interesting, set his cup down, and looked at Ried, "Mr. Ried, your so‑called 'reasonable premium' rests on the premise that other sellers exist on the market. Yet now, across Europe, the only seller who can meet your demand within a month is just one."

He extended a finger, the joints distinct, and lightly tapped the red‑wood tea table, producing a soft "knock."

"That is me."

"So this is not a premium. This is a price."

The office fell into suffocating dead silence.

James Reed stared at Lu Qingshan. After decades navigating the political arena he had faced countless intractable opponents, but he found all his experience and tactics ineffective before this Oriental man. He does not discuss feelings, rules, or the future. He simply sits calmly, tells a fact, then makes you accept it.

Ried inhaled deeply, deciding to use his final move, also the politicians' favorite—occupying the moral high ground and launching a personal attack.

He leaned back on the sofa, his aura suddenly icy and oppressive, no longer looking at Lu Qingshan but at London's skyline, his voice filled with disappointment and a condescending tone of judgment.

"Mr. Lu, I am beginning to doubt whether you truly have the Sincerity to resolve the issue today."

"You have paid such a huge price, risking antagonizing all of Europe, forcing us into this corner. Now we have come, with determination to solve the problem. Yet you propose a condition that is fundamentally unacceptable."

He turned his head slowly, his gaze like a knife, stabbing Lu Qingshan, questioning word by word:

"Do you intend to sell goods, or use this as a chance to humiliate a great nation, spark a war you cannot finish? Tell me, Mr. Lu, where is your Sincerity?"

The question, like a heavy hammer, smashed the office. Lu Qingjun's breath halted; he nervously looked at his brother, sweat soaking the seam of his trousers. Humiliate a nation? Spark a war? Such a massive accusation—who could bear it? Ried's mouth even curled a barely perceptible arc, convinced that no one could endure such a charge.

Yet, faced with this thunderous interrogation, Lu Qingshan's face showed no ripple.

He didn't even answer Ried's question, as if the accusation were as light as a feather.

He simply turned, glanced at the standing Ye Ning beside him, and in a tone as casual as asking about today's weather, with a genuine London accent, asked:

"Has dawn broken over Argentina?"