Chapter 375: Harvesting London, Sword Pointed at Argentina!

One week later.

The top-floor office at William King Street 81 finally reverted from a boiling War Command Center back to the quiet it should have been.

The teleprinter's clacking stopped, and the roar of the transoceanic phone vanished. In the air, the burnt aroma of espresso and adrenaline was replaced by rekindled sandalwood and lingering tea fragrance.

But this quiet was not relaxation; it was the brief hibernation of a beast after a feast, licking its claws and teeth.

Lu Qingjun, David Cohen, and Li Junjie sat side by side on the sofa, backs as straight as three primary‑school pupils waiting for their report cards. In the past seven days they had lived through the craziest and most glorious stretch of their lives; each had lost a layer of flesh, yet their eyes shone terrifyingly bright.

Li Zhi'an stood nearby, posture upright; his team had already, at Lu Qingshan's order, begun indiscriminate monitoring of all information from the South Atlantic.

Ye Ning stood in the center of the office, holding a thin folder. No joy or sorrow could be read on her face, but deep within her ever‑calm eyes lay a ripple she herself had not yet sensed.

"Boss, all Settlement and asset transfer procedures have been fully completed."

Ye Ning opened the folder, her voice cold and crisp, like a precise scalpel ready to dissect the final outcome of this earth‑shaking gamble.

"First, the gold. According to the contract, Sashun and the Rothschild family, via the London Bullion Market Association, mobilized a total of six hundred tons of gold. At present, this gold has been fully transferred into the secret vault we established at the Swiss Bank, inspected and accepted by Lu Qingjun and A Biao's team; the accounts are clear, with not a fraction off."

"Six hundred tons..." Lu Qingjun subconsciously repeated, his Adam's apple rolling, as if he were back in that dazzling, stagnant underground vault, feeling his calves grow a little weak again.

David Cohen opened his mouth, quickly doing the mental conversion. Six hundred tons of gold, at current market price, is a fortune that could drive any sovereign state mad. And this was only the beginning.

Ye Ning ignored their commotion, continuing her report in her flat, unvarying tone.

"Next are the assets of Yih He, Taigu, and Hutchison Whampoa on Hong Kong Island. This part is more complex; we partnered with Hong Kong Island's legal and accounting teams for a nonstop twenty‑four‑hour audit. After stripping away all bad assets and financial traps, the Quality Assets we actually received include…"

She paused briefly, turned the page.

"All shares of the Kowloon Warehouse Group under Yih He Trading House, plus its thirty‑seven commercial properties and lands in Central and Causeway Bay. This includes the Yih He headquarters building on Bida Street."

"Taigu Group's aviation business on Hong Kong Island, including its 45% stake in Cathay Pacific, 30% stake in Dragonair, and the full suite of airline catering, maintenance, and ground services at Kai Tak Airport. Additionally, the entire property rights of the Taigu City project."

"Hutchison Whampoa's Federal Real Estate, plus its sixteen cargo terminals and associated warehousing logistics centers in Kowloon and the New Territories."

Each time Ye Ning listed an item, a gasp of cold air rose from the office.

These are not cold numbers; they are Hong Kong Island's beating pulse! They are the foundation that the Yingzi Consortium has relied on for a century to control the lifeline of that Far‑East financial hub.

Kowloon Warehouse's real estate, Taigu's aviation, Hutchison Whampoa's shipping… Lu Qingshan, with a single contract, almost overnight uprooted these century‑old British‑capital foundations and transplanted them under the Xinghan Group's domain.

"My God…" David Cohen clutched his heart, feeling the numeric sensitivity of his Jewish lineage completely overloaded and short‑circuiting, "Boss… did we just… buy half of Hong Kong Island?"

Li Junjie stared blankly at Ye Ning, his mind a void. He finally understood what the boss meant by "cleaning the gateway" and "changing the heart". This was not a business acquisition; it was a regime change.

Ye Ning closed the folder and gave the final summary.

"According to our actuaries' preliminary valuation, the total market value of all assets we acquired—including gold and Hong Kong Island operations—is roughly… about fifteen hundred billion pounds sterling."

"Thump!"

This time David Cohen couldn't shield his heart; his eyes rolled, and he slid straight off the sofa, collapsing onto the carpet, muttering unconsciously, "It's over… my brain's burning… these numbers are scorching my mouth…"

Lu Qingjun and Li Junjie hurriedly scrambled to help him.

Fifteen hundred billion pounds!

The contract listed nine hundred fifty billion, but that was the "payment" to Lu Qingshan. Yet the actual value of these assets, after this tally, inexplicably surged by nearly six hundred billion!

What does that mean? It implies that Iron Lady not only used the empire's future orders and reputation to pay for Lu Qingshan's purchase of the three firms' assets, but also, because of the transaction's coercive urgency, allowed Lu Qingshan to secure an epic bottom‑buy at a massive discount.

The whole office, only two people remained composed.

One was Ye Ning; after reporting the numbers, she simply stood there quietly, as if what she had just recited were not a fortune capable of overturning the world but a supermarket shopping list.

The other, naturally, was Lu Qingshan.

From start to finish he sat quietly behind the tea table, his face as still as an ancient well. He didn't even glance at Ye Ning's report, focusing solely on using the tea tongs to lift a tender green leaf from the tray into the Yixing teapot.

It seemed that, in his eyes, the fifteen hundred billion of wealth mattered less than the fresh pot of tea before him.

He lifted the kettle, pouring scalding water into the pot; the leaves swirled, and tea fragrance filled the air.

Only then did he slowly raise his eyes, glancing at the still‑lying David Cohen on the floor, then at the flustered Lu Qingjun and Li Junjie beside him, a slight curl at the corner of his mouth.

"What, fifteen hundred billion pounds, and that scares you so?"

His voice was flat, yet like a bucket of cold water poured over everyone's excited heads.

David Cohen jolted, scrambled to his feet, brushed dust from his coat, his face wearing an exaggerated post‑disaster grin, "Boss, this isn't fear—it's bliss that's knocked us out! I just felt I'd seen God, and He even asked me if I needed help counting the money."

A stifled burst of suppressed laughter rose in the office.

Lu Qingshan poured a cup of tea for each person and handed them over.

"Money is just a number. Its only meaning is what we can do with it."

He lifted his own teacup, his gaze passing over the crowd to the massive World Map on the wall. His eyes lingered not on London nor Hong Kong Island, but on the vast expanse of the South Atlantic.

"Security."

"Present, boss." Li Zhi'an stepped forward immediately.

"British Special Mixed Fleet, where are they now?"

Li Zhi'an hesitated briefly; he hadn't expected the boss's first question after the trillion‑worth report to be this. Yet he answered at once, "Based on the public navigation data and unofficial sources we monitor, the fleet's main force just passed the Azores and is racing southward. It should need another week to reach the Ascension Island supply base."

"One week…" Lu Qingshan lightly tapped the table, as if calculating something.

He turned his gaze again to David Cohen.

"David."

"Boss! Your command!" The just‑revived David instantly stood at attention.

"I want you to use all our channels to investigate something," Lu Qingshan's voice lowered a few degrees, bearing an unquestionable command, "The 'Flying Fish' anti‑ship missile produced by France's Dassault. I need to know, over the past three years, which countries they exported this missile to, the exact quantities, models, and… delivery dates."

"Flying Fish Missile?" David looked baffled; what does that have to do with their business?

He said no more, but nodded heavily, "Understood! I'll handle it right away!"

In the office, the atmosphere that had relaxed from the massive wealth solidified once more.

Everyone stared at Lu Qingshan, at his side profile so calmly terrifying.

They suddenly understood.

In this earth‑shaking gamble, the first half they won was money, the assets.

And in the second half, the boss wants to win—perhaps it's war?!

Lu Qingshan set down his teacup, rose slowly, paced to the window, and looked down at the ancient financial city beneath his feet.

"War is the most expensive business in the world."

He spoke leisurely, as if talking to himself.

"Because it consumes not only steel and lives."

"And… time."

"Now, time is on our side."

He turned, his gaze sweeping over his core team, finally landing on Li Junjie's face, which looked a bit pale from overthinking.

"Junjie, write it down."

"At my card table, the greatest trump card is never how much money you have in hand."

"But rather, it's what you can make your opponent anxious about."