Chapter 374: The World's Most Luxurious Way to Die!

Five days later, the door of the Trading Hall conference room was violently pushed open from outside, and a figure burst in in a whirlwind, carrying a fatigue and exhilaration that had crossed continents.

Brother!

Lu Qingjun's dark face was tinged with an abnormal red glow, his eyes shining like two spotlights. He had just flown back from Zurich, the jet lag hadn't even hit him, and he still carried the dry cabin air scent, and he plunged straight into this still high‑speed‑running command center.

"He's back." Lu Qingshan, standing before the massive World Map in the conference room, turned his head at the sound and gave him a glance, his expression calm as if his brother had merely gone downstairs to buy a newspaper.

In the Trading Hall, Ye Ning, Li Zhi'an, David Cohen and Li Junjie all stopped what they were doing at the sound, strode into the conference room together, and fixed their gazes on him.

"Hey! My golden transport officer!" David Cohen was the first to rush forward, slinging an arm around Lu Qingjun's shoulder and exaggeratedly sniffing him, "Let me smell! Is there that world‑most expensive, sweetest copper stink?"

"To hell with you!" Lu Qingjun laughed scoldingly as he pushed him away, took a deep breath, and his face showed a strange mix of yearning and dread. He looked around, lowered his voice, as if about to share a secret that could overturn perception.

"You haven't seen that scene... the Swiss Bank's seventh underground level, the final vault door there is thicker than the walls of our building. Just opening it required three different people, three separate passwords, and even an iris verification," he gestured, "When the door opened, there was a 'Buzz—' sound, and my ears went numb. It wasn't a sound, it was... it was air pressure! The air inside was heavy, carrying a metallic, cold, sweet, pungent smell. Then, stepping inside..."

He paused, as if searching for a word that could describe that scene, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Golden mountains," he opened his mouth and, after a long pause, managed four words. "Not an adjective, it's literal—mountains of gold, one after another. Row after row of alloy frames stretch from the floor up to the ceiling, all neatly covered with gold bricks. Brick after brick, yellow‑golden, each stamped with different banks' badges. That thing doesn't just dazzle; it devours light! All the lamps' beams that enter are sucked in, then reflected back as a golden glow that makes your soul tremble. I had only one thought at the time."

"What?" Li Junjie adjusted his glasses, his pen already hovering over his notebook, ready to record this historic impression.

Lu Qingjun swallowed, his face serious, and said, "Legs go weak. Really weak. I thought then, if any of those frames collapsed, you wouldn't even need a smash—just the shockwave from that mountain of gold bricks cascading down could flatten a person into a sheet of gold leaf embedded in the floor."

"Hahaha!" David Cohen erupted in a burst of laughter, tears streaming, "Flattened into gold leaf? Oh my God, Qingjun, that's the most luxurious, most spectacular way to die I've ever heard! I'm in! I'll apply right now to lie underneath! Please be sure to use that batch of gold bricks stamped with the Rothschild badge to flatten me!"

The tense atmosphere in the conference room loosened considerably after his outburst. Even the usually composed Li Zhi'an's face showed a rare hint of a smile.

Li Junjie scribbled rapidly in his notebook: "... Analysis of the concrete impact of massive wealth on human psychology: Preliminary conclusion—evokes primal physiological awe (legs going weak), sensory deprivation (light devouring) and a value reassessment of death forms (gold‑leaf theory)..."

Lu Qingshan looked at his brother's unremarkable yet genuine demeanor, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. He walked back to the conference table and poured Lu Qingjun a cup of hot tea: "Calm your nerves. You'll get used to scenes like this in time."

"Brother, that's way too thrilling," Lu Qingjun gulped a large mouthful of tea, exhaled a long sigh, "This life is worth it."

Just then, Ye Ning approached holding a document, her expression returning to its usual cool composure.

"Boss, the final batch of supply orders has been settled through Mr. Wilson's channel. Steel, cotton, sugar— all futures contracts have been closed, converted into physical settlement orders, and handed to him," she reported succinctly, "According to the agreement, our task is complete. What remains is between him and the United Kingdom military."

Lu Qingshan nodded. This marked that staggering 95‑billion‑dollar contract, from Xinghan Group's perspective, as fully executed. The gold and assets were safely pocketed, while the hot‑potato problem was tossed to the newly‑minted Savior Wilson.

"Very good." Lu Qingshan lifted his tea cup, his voice low yet carrying throughout the office, "Let everyone relax. Over in the Trading Hall, this afternoon's tea is on me, and dinner at Elena French Restaurant is booked; the wine supply is ample."

"OHHHHHH!" A long‑suppressed roar erupted from the Trading Hall, clearly David had broadcast the good news over the internal line.

After the clamor, the conference room fell quiet again.

Lu Qingshan, however, showed no sign of relaxation.

In the days that followed, he reverted to that 'idle' state. He no longer stared at the market screens nor inquired about specific settlement details; instead, he walked hands behind his back each day like a retired senior official, strolling around the Trading Hall downstairs.

He would randomly stop behind a trader, stare for a moment, then abruptly ask questions completely unrelated to the current work.

"Shanxia, you used to work at the Tokyo Exchange?" he asked a bespectacled Japanese youngster.

"Yes... yes, boss. I did Nikkei index futures for three years," the youngster said, his back so straight from nerves he nearly knocked the keyboard off the desk.

"Hmm, then are you familiar with Japan's semiconductor industry? Companies like Toshiba, Hitachi, for example."

"... I know a little."

"How about the company called 'Kyocera'? The one that makes precision ceramics."

The youngster froze. Kyocera? They make precision ceramics; that doesn't seem closely related to semiconductors, does it? He stammered for a while, unable to give a clear answer.

Lu Qingshan didn't wait for his reply, nodded, and drifted over to another trader handling the Europe Market.

"What do you think of Germany's automotive industry? Aside from Mercedes and BMW, their component suppliers like Bosch and Continental Group— which do you think has the most potential?"

The elites in the Trading Hall felt they were undergoing a series of unscheduled, boundless 'boss pop‑quizzes.' Everyone tightened their nerves, and after work they frantically studied, fearing they'd be caught in a knowledge blind spot.

Li Zhi'an watched his boss's actions thoughtfully. He wasn't as boisterous as David, nor did he try to build a logical model like Li Junjie; he simply observed in silence, sensing that the boss was like a giant net quietly unfurling, gathering all seemingly unrelated information fragments to weave the next objective.

That afternoon, after another stroll, Lu Qingshan returned to the top‑floor office. He didn't sit; instead, he walked straight to the massive World Map. Li Zhi'an followed behind, daring not even to breathe heavily.

He saw his boss's finger start from London, glide lightly across the Atlantic Ocean, skip North America, then head straight down, sweep over the Equator, and finally, at the southern tip of South America, tap lightly on a narrow country's outline.

"Zhi'an."

"Boss." Li Zhi'an instantly straightened, his heart inexplicably racing.

"From today onward, allocate part of your workload to David," Lu Qingshan said evenly, his voice carrying an unquestionable command, "Form another team, twenty‑four hours, keep me on all news concerning Argentina. Any information—military, political, economic, even a port's weather forecast for the coming week—I need to know it immediately."

"Argentina?" Li Zhi'an's pupils snapped shut, countless thoughts flashing through his mind.

"Yes." Lu Qingshan gave no further explanation, merely turning his gaze outward, watching London's gloomy sky, a hint of a knowing smile curling his mouth, "Especially, monitor every wisp of wind over the South Atlantic closely."