Chapter 370: The Real Big Boss Appears! The King of the Old World!

Ye Ning gently closed the office door, and Wilson's flustered silhouette vanished behind it.

The atmosphere inside shifted in an instant from tense admonition to a brief relaxation after a great battle.

"Brother…" Lu Qingjun began to speak, but found his throat terribly dry and his heart still pounding wildly from the earlier conversation. He felt the shock he experienced today far exceeded that of the past twenty years combined.

"You three, go out and rest first," Lu Qingshan said without turning, his voice calm. "David, take them to the restaurant downstairs; order whatever you like and charge it to my account. Calm the nerves."

"Boss, are you trying to make me the fattest trader in London?" David Cohen exaggeratedly patted his belly, trying to mask his inner turmoil with a joke, but his trembling voice and shining eyes betrayed him. "But I like it! Junjie, let's go; today I treat you to... oh no, the boss treats us to Beef Wellington! Calm the nerves! Must calm the nerves!"

He unhesitatingly lifted the still‑somewhat absent‑minded Li Junjie, and Lu Qingjun courteously nodded to his brother; the three hurried out of the office. They all understood that for the boss to clear the scene so solemnly meant the upcoming client's weight exceeded their imagination, and was beyond what their rank even allowed them to merely observe from afar.

Inside the office, only Lu Qingshan and Ye Ning remained.

"Let him come up," Lu Qingshan said, walking to the liquor cabinet. He did not touch the Zisha Tea Set that had just been used to see off the Vice Prime Minister, but instead took out a bottle of Louis XIII and two crystal‑clear glasses. Tea is for dealing with politicians; wine is for the like‑minded.

"Understood."

Ye Ning turned and left, and a few minutes later pushed the door open again. This time her footsteps were lighter than usual, and a barely perceptible gravity had settled in her expression. Following her was a slender, kindly‑faced white elder. He wore a well‑tailored tweed suit, his hair silver‑gray, a gentle smile on his face, and his blue‑gray eyes held the sediment of years and wisdom, showing no edge, like a benevolent grandfather vacationing at a country villa.

But the moment he stepped into the office, the entire room's aura seemed to shift. It was an intangible, blood‑line‑rooted weight, unlike James Reed's power‑stacked, aggressive presence; instead it resembled a deep‑sea current, calm on the surface yet harboring a force capable of overturning everything.

Jacob Rothschild.

"Mr. Lu, I apologize for the sudden visit and hope you will forgive me," Jacob said, his voice warm and mellow, bearing the elegance of an old‑fashioned London accent.

"Mr. Jacob, your coming is my honor," Lu Qingshan pushed a half‑filled glass of brandy toward him, gesturing "please." "Last time I wanted to invite you for a drink, but missed the chance. I didn't expect you to come in person today."

Jacob lifted his glass, gesturing to Lu Qingshan, but did not drink immediately. He surveyed the office, his gaze finally resting on the red encrypted telephone, and smiled gently, a smile that held an all‑seeing clarity.

"I heard that yesterday a brilliant drama unfolded here—using the Downing Street whip to tame a disobedient Persian hound. Mr. Lu, your methods are more ingenious than I imagined."

The Persian hound he mentioned naturally referred to the Shason Family, who made their fortune in the Middle East.

Lu Qingshan lifted his own glass, gently swirling the amber liquid, his face revealing no expression: "Mr. Jacob, you flatter me. I'm merely a businessman who solved a few small troubles for a client."

"Small troubles?" Jacob's smile deepened; he leaned forward slightly, his seemingly gentle gaze revealing a hint of scrutiny. "Making the entire London Financial City foot the bill for a war, and simultaneously replacing a century‑old family's heir. Mr. Lu, if that's a small trouble, I'm curious—what counts as a big deal in your eyes?"

He finally drained the brandy in his glass, a flash of brilliance flashing in his blue eyes; beneath the gentle façade lay a sharp edge befitting a Financial Emperor.

"Mr. Lu, London is a very ancient city, like a complex old mansion. Its residents are accustomed to its original layout. You can certainly redecorate your room, but if you tear down a load‑bearing wall, everyone in the house will feel uneasy."

That, however, was his true purpose for coming today.

It wasn't a declaration of war, but a test. A warning.

It is the boundary drawn by this Old World's king for the dragon that has crossed the river.

Lu Qingshan did not answer his question directly; he leisurely took a sip of wine, then walked to the massive floor‑to‑ceiling window, overlooking the financial heart of the city beneath his feet.

"Mr. Jacob, have you ever considered that some old mansions, though splendid on the surface, may have foundations long hollowed out by termites?"

His voice was light, yet like a scalpel, it precisely cut through the genteel façade, reaching Jacob's ears with crystal clarity.

"At this point, what's needed isn't patching up but tearing down and rebuilding."

Jacob's smile, for the first time, slowly receded. The fingers gripping his crystal glass subtly tightened by half a degree.

He stared at the young Eastern man's silhouette; though not towering, it now seemed fused with the whole of London, bearing a heart‑pounding, oppressive pressure to crush the Old Order completely.

He understood.

The other party had never heeded the line he had drawn.

Moreover, the other side came to declare war of its own accord. He wasn't here to remove a wall; he intended to bury the entire old mansion, together with its former owners, and then erect his own new home.

The office fell into silence.

In the air only the crisp clink of crystal glasses remained, each strike sounding like a funeral bell tolling for the old era.

After a long while, Jacob once again displayed his trademark gentle smile, as if the previously veiled, sharp‑edged dialogue had never occurred.

"It seems London's future weather will be even more interesting," he stood, smoothing his suit. "Mr. Lu, the wine today was excellent. I hope next time we'll have another chance to sit down and taste together."

"It will certainly happen," Lu Qingshan turned, his face also smiling, though his smile gave Jacob a chill. "Perhaps next time we can discuss how to replace this old mansion's main beam with a sturdier one."

Replacing the beam means replacing Rothschild.

Jacob's pupils contracted imperceptibly.

He gave Lu Qingshan a deep look, said nothing further, merely nodded, turned, and left the office under Ye Ning's guidance.

The office door closed again.

Lu Qingshan stood alone by the window, drinking the remaining brandy in his glass in one gulp.

The spicy liquor swept down his throat, bringing a surge of burning war intent.

Rothschild, Sashun…

These names that have perched atop the Old World for centuries, to him, are merely inscriptions on tombstones that will eventually be washed clean by rain.

He raised the empty glass, silently toasting the city outside, poised for wind and clouds.

I am the one who comes to erect a monument.