Chapter 373: Fleet Moves South, the Gears of War Begin Turning!

In the coming days, the top‑floor office at Weilian Wang Dajie 81 Hao turned into a high‑speed War Command Center. However, this war had no smoke, only the frantic "tap tap" of the telegraph machines, the endless roars over transoceanic calls, and the scorching scent of concentrated coffee mixed with adrenaline filling the air.

Beneath the calm surface lies a current strong enough to stir the global capital markets.

"FXXK! Are those Swiss still counting gold with an abacus? Tell them, if they delay another half hour, I'll make their bank's reputation as full of holes as their cheese!" David Cohen, with two massive dark circles under his eyes, grabbed the phone and roared in fluent German into the handset. On the screen before him, a crucial gold Settlement figure was stuck, like a thorn lodged in his chest.

On the other end, Ye Ning was practically born on that encrypted phone; her line connected to distant Hong Kong Island, to another female commander of the Star Han Investment Group, Wang Yuyun.

"Wang Yuyun, the Kowloon Warehouse land parcel list for Yi He has been verified. Have Lawyer Chen lead a team to handle the Settlement immediately. Yes, not a single piece can be missing; even the grass on the ground must be ours."

"The asset appraisal for Swire's airline catering and maintenance operations at Kai Tak Airport is flawed; they included equipment scrapped three years ago. Let those old foxes redo it. Our people will use calculators to tally every single screw with them!"

"For Hutchison Whampoa's shipping contract documents, have Wilson's people follow up, tell them that the stability of his 'Savior' title depends on his efficiency. Our patience is measured in hours; no extensions."

Each phone call signified assets worth billions changing hands. That contract, valued at 950 billion pounds, was like a massive vortex pulling countless manpower and resources into it. Sixty percent of it was gold; the remaining forty percent comprised the foundations of these three century‑old trading houses on Hong Kong Island.

Sashun and the Rothschild family indeed bled heavily for the "Empire's Glory." It is said that Vice Prime Minister Li De, while persuading the two family heads, promised generous post‑war profit shares, but that is no longer something Lu Qingshan needs to worry about.

Li Zhi'an led over a hundred traders into another fierce battle. They not only had to monitor the global market indices to prevent anyone from Short Selling the pound or related stocks, but also were responsible for settling astronomical quantities of steel, cotton, and sugar through Wilson's channels, and reconciling each batch of gold transferred from various Swiss bank accounts.

Even Lu Qingjun was dispatched, together with A Biao, leading the elite security team to fly to Zurich to personally inspect the gold that would reshape Hong Kong Island's landscape.

The whole team, from senior executives to ordinary traders, each resembled a wound‑up gear spinning wildly; even the shafts had turned for days, their eyes bloodshot, their spirits hyper‑excited to the point of near madness.

Only one person was an exception.

Lu Qingshan.

This chief architect who had raised a towering wave now lounged as leisurely as a wealthy man on vacation in London.

While Ye Ning and the Hong Kong Island legal team argued heatedly over the details of a Transfer Agreement, Lu Qingshan sat behind the tea table, leisurely sipping the newly arrived Wuyi Mountain Da Hong Pao, its aroma wafting, shielding him from all external clamor.

When David Cohen, angry over a delayed gold Settlement, berated the Swiss bank manager in three languages over the phone, Lu Qingshan paced to the floor‑to‑ceiling window, watching the red double‑decker buses cruising the street below as if tallying their frequency.

He would even occasionally stroll down to the Trading Hall, bring a chair, pick a trader who was working so hard they were almost smoking, sit beside them, and chat casually as if catching up with family.

"Tom, don't be so nervous." He patted the shoulder of a blond youngster, who was staring intently at the cotton futures Settlement slip, adjusting his glasses nervously, his mouse nearly flying out of his hand.

"Y‑yes, boss."

Lu Qingshan pointed to an inconspicuous window in the corner of his screen showing real‑time Tokyo market data, "Sony's stocks are moving in an interesting way. But have you ever paid attention to a company called 'Nintendo'? The one that makes hanafuda cards."

"Ni‑Nintendo?" Tom's mind went blank; he had no time to study a card company, he was almost going mad just reconciling the cotton futures Settlement, "Boss, I… I don't really know…"

"Oh, it's fine, just ask." Lu Qingshan smiled, then turned to another Chinese‑American girl checking data, "Miss, how do you think the copper price on the London Metal Exchange will move over the next three months?"

Everyone in the Trading Hall was on the verge of tears.

Boss, we're begging you—if you just came over and scolded us a few times, nudged the progress, we'd feel reassured. You just loiter around us doing nothing and ask these completely unrelated questions, it only raises our pressure! No one knows what this gentleman is actually thinking.

David Cohen, stealing a moment, gulped a large glass of ice water, sidled up to Li Zhi'an, lowered his voice and complained, "Li, do you think the boss thinks we're too idle? Is he using an ultra‑sophisticated method to mentally whip us? I feel each time he asks a question my heart skips a beat, fearing I'll answer poorly, that he'll deem me unprofessional and then exile me to Africa to count diamonds."

Li Zhi'an didn't lift his head, his eyes glued to the waterfall of data streaming on the screen, and barked two words: "Work."

Only Li Junjie, while working frantically, used a notebook to record every 'abnormal' move of the boss, and beside it wrote his analysis in trembling handwriting:

"Boss behavior logic deconstruction (ver3.0):

1. Abnormal leisure: Strategically there are no variables, execution is fully delegated. This is not 'wu wei er zhi', but an embodiment of 'Absolute Control'. When the board is set, the player merely watches the endgame. This is the 'Divine Perspective'.

2. Seemingly casual question (key!): 'Nintendo'? A tiny Japanese card company? Why mention it? Guesses: A. The company has hidden technological potential? B. The boss's commercial empire already extends into entertainment? C. It's a Smoke Bomb to mask his focus on another firm? C is most likely. Conclusion: Every seemingly off‑hand word from the boss could be a piece dropped onto the future board!

3. Detachment: Keep the top decision‑maker absolutely detached, avoiding the quagmire of concrete matters, to ensure absolute calm and an objective view of the whole picture. He isn't on vacation; he's in another dimension, overlooking our war.

Final conclusion: What I see isn't leisure, it's God looking down on humanity!"

He finished writing, looked at his conclusion, and let out a breath, both reverent and fervent.

Another afternoon, Lu Qingshan carried his Yixing teapot, strolling into the Trading Hall. He no longer "harassed" the staff; instead he walked to the massive World Map and halted.

His gaze did not linger on London, nor did it turn to New York or Tokyo.

His finger lightly traced the Strait of Malacca, crossed the South China Sea, and finally rested on the brilliant island on the map—Hong Kong Island.

Then his gaze continued north, crossing the Shenzhen River, landing on that huge red region.

The office clamor, the street bustle below seemed irrelevant to him. In his world, only this map remained, and the invisible route on it that links the empire's rise and fall with the nation's future.

At that moment, Ye Ning, who had been following behind him, handed over a freshly received encrypted telegram.

The telegram was brief, only one line.

"The ship has left port, heading south."

Lu Qingshan read it, his face showing no expression, and simply passed the telegram back to Ye Ning, ordering her to destroy it.

He redirected his gaze to the map, watching the fleet's route from Portsmouth and glancing at the position of Capital City, a subtle curve forming at the corner of his mouth.

The war machine had already roared; Iron Lady would have to rely on this 'Logistics Minister' supply line to win the distant war.

And he, this 'Logistics Minister', wanted more than just a few trading houses.

London's card game had ended its first half.

The real stakes were only just being placed on the table now.

He turned, looked at the still‑busy people in the office, and spoke slowly, as if to himself yet as if to everyone.

"I wonder what the weather in Argentina is like now."