Chapter 385: Financial Titans Crumble! Imperial Assets Reduced to Bargain Prices!

The top‑floor office.

Lu Qingjun's eyes widened as he stared fixedly at the K-line Chart on the main monitor, where the line first plunged straight down and then was abruptly lifted by massive buy orders into a slight upward curve. His mouth opened wide enough to fit an egg and stayed that way for ages, his throat feeling like it was on fire.

"Bro… this… this isn't buying stocks, it's like printing money… and it's printing pounds! To buy this much in a single day, how much does it cost?" he muttered to himself, feeling his whole understanding of "money" utterly overturned, as if he were in a bizarre dream.

He even began to wonder whether, back when he was sun‑drying salt at Lu Tai, he had already advanced every bit of wealth he would ever see, so that today he could witness such an incomprehensible miracle with his own eyes.

Li Junjie clutched the notebook filled with calculation formulas, his knuckles turning white. He had completely given up on recording, because no numbers could accurately depict the scene before him.

His mind raced with calculations: British Aerospace, the British Empire's most important defense contractor, saw its market value evaporate by sixty percent in just half an hour. Meanwhile, Xinghan Group, with an investment of just under ten billion pounds, easily secured more than ten percent of its shares.

Barclays Bank, the three‑century‑old financial giant, saw its share price slashed in half, as fragile as a sheet of paper. He could even picture the once‑imperious British gentlemen now in the Trading Hall, screaming in despair, pounding their chests and stamping their feet—a scene surely more terrifying than hell itself.

These enterprises, usually untouchable and regarded as the empire's cornerstones, are now being slapped with the cheapest of labels in the most humiliating way, and bought in bulk by mysterious buyers from the East.

This is no longer a simple commercial transaction; it is a naked transfer of wealth, a handover of imperial authority, a silent rewrite of history.

Li Junjie's heart hammered wildly; this was no "financial war" at all, but a money‑forged, subversive revolution.

He watched Lu Qingshan's calm silhouette and felt he was not a mortal but a deity wielding thunder and reshaping the cosmos.

"Boss," Ye Ning's voice carried a barely perceptible tremor, a mix of extreme excitement and shock. Even her usually ice‑cold eyes now blazed with fierce fire, as if they could illuminate the collapse of the entire London Financial City. "Our Liquid Capital has been consumed by more than seventy percent. The other side… offers no decent resistance. In fact, they have even joined the sell‑off; panic has spread to every corner like a plague, swiftly devouring the last of reason."

Yes, no resistance.

The sinking of the "Sheffield" ship was like a world‑shaking blow, piercing the confidence of the Bank of England and every conglomerate.

Yesterday they were fighting desperately to defend the market; today they themselves became cost‑unconcerned escapees, fearing the sinking behemoth would drag them into the South Atlantic abyss.

All of London now reeks of a rotting blend of despair and chaos, the air seemingly saturated with the acrid smell of money burned to ash.

"Where's the money from Wilson's side?"

Lu Qingshan asked lightly, as if it were just an ordinary deal, his tone so flat it was unsettling.

He didn't even turn around, simply gazing out the window, letting the morning sun wash over his profile, carving a chiseled outline, his deep eyes reflecting the city's entire network.

"Everything is in place, ready to deploy at any moment, a total of fifty billion pounds."

Li Zhi'an replied, his voice tinged with restrained excitement. He knew the real harvest was just beginning, and this capital would be the final straw that breaks the camel's back.

"Then proceed," Lu Qingshan said, walking to the tea table, pouring himself a cup of already‑cooled tea, and downing it in one gulp.

The icy tea slid down his throat, yet it could not chill the barely perceptible edge glinting deep in his eyes.

A faint smile curled his lips, tracing a meaningful arc. "Tell David, today I will make the London Exchange's turnover a Creating History moment. I will make all of London remember today, remember this unprecedented financial feast led by Eastern hands! I will make everyone who ever looked down on us pay a heavy price for their arrogance!"

The words, broadcast via the internal channel, carried Lu Qingshan's all‑piercing calm and authority, reaching every ear in the Trading Hall, including David Cohen's.

David, after hearing it, was momentarily stunned, then burst into a wild laugh, his hoarse, manic cackle sounding like a beast finally breaking free of its bonds.

He grabbed the phone and roared into the entire hall: "Everyone hear! The boss said! Today we will Creating History! This is our era! This is Xinghan's era!" He pointed at the screen's wildly plunging red numbers, his eyes flashing with greedy excitement, every vein bulging from over‑circulation. "Money enough! Bullets infinite! Buy the entire London Financial City for me! Let those arrogant British know who the real player is! Who truly dominates this financial world! Purchase all their industrial lifelines and financial hearts, leave nothing behind!"

At 4:30 p. m., the closing bell finally rang. Its deep, resonant toll, at that moment, seemed to carry both a sense of release and a weighty proclamation, echoing through the empty Trading Hall.

The Trading Hall lay in utter ruin.

The clatter of keyboards finally ceased, replaced by the sounds of countless people collapsing into chairs, gasping for breath.

The air was thick with a pungent mix of coffee, sweat and adrenaline, plus an indescribable fatigue.

Many even fell straight under the tables, like soldiers who had fired their last bullet, sprawled in a heap as they slept.

Everyone looked as if they'd just been pulled from water, drenched, yet their faces bore a strange, post‑apocalyptic satisfaction and an almost fanatical reverence for that Eastern boss.

They had personally taken part in and witnessed an unprecedented financial miracle, a wealth transfer worthy of the annals of history.

They knew that from now on they would forever remember this day, remember the man who painted a five‑pointed star over the London Financial City sky—a legend who, with money, trampled an old‑world empire beneath his feet.

Ye Ning carried a freshly compiled report, her steps heavy as she entered the top‑floor office.

Her hand trembled slightly, not from fatigue but from the world‑shaking power contained in that report.

She inhaled deeply, striving to calm the turmoil within; she knew every word of that report would leave a bold, vivid mark in future history books.

"Boss, today… we have invested a total of one hundred thirty‑eight billion pounds."

She swallowed, her voice dry and hoarse yet crystal clear, reporting today's results with weighty gravitas. Each figure was like a massive stone dropped into a calm lake, stirring monstrous waves and tolling the final death knell of the empire of the setting sun.

"We now hold eighteen percent of British Aerospace, becoming the largest shareholder!" she declared, her tone firm, her eyes flashing with triumph.

"We hold fifteen percent of Rolls‑Royce, becoming the largest shareholder!" The engine supplier for the queen's carriage, now also bearing Lu's name!

"We hold seven percent of British Petroleum!" The once‑global energy giant has been quietly infiltrated.

"We hold eleven percent of Barclays Bank, becoming the largest shareholder!" This three‑century‑old financial fortress now flies the Xinghan banner!

"We hold twenty‑two percent of British Steel Company, becoming the largest shareholder!" The industrial backbone of the British Empire has now changed hands!

…

A succession of "largest shareholder" declarations hammered like a sledgehammer against Lu Qingjun's and Li Junjie's hearts, making them feel as if they were hearing a myth, each word reverberating deafeningly.

In a single day, with under 140 billion pounds, they almost captured half of the British Empire's industrial and financial might, the enterprises once hailed as the "jewels on the Crown," all into their coffers!

This is no simple investment; it is a whale‑swallowing, moth‑eating of an old empire, a total dismantling of its core interests, a ruthless trampling of its century‑long glory!

Lu Qingshan listened, then calmly nodded, as if everything had been within his foresight, his unruffled face showing no hint of exhilaration.

He didn't look at the world‑shaking report; instead he walked to the massive World Map, his gaze landing on the tiny red dot marking London.

He picked up a red marker, lightly touching the tip to the side of that London dot, calmly and firmly drawing a dazzling five‑pointed star. That star seemed to symbolize his spoils, the territory he had seized with his own hand, and the indelible mark of Eastern power on the Western heart.

"Very good."

He set the pen down, turned, and looked at the crowd, a faint yet meaningful smile finally appearing on his face.

That smile carried the composure of strategic planning and the confidence of future control.

"Now," his voice bore a depth and coldness that seemed to pierce history itself, as if foreseeing the coming storm, "we can sit down with the Vice Prime Minister and discuss the 'price' properly. Tell him my bill is due. And this bill isn't cheap; it will likely stay with him for life."