Chapter 388: This Is Extortion? No, It

Ye Ning expressionlessly opens the door, gestures "please" to the Prime Minister's secretary whose face is ashen. Allen Green seems to have had all his qi and backbone instantly drawn out; his steps float as he walks out, his shoulder even slams heavily against the solid doorframe, emitting a sour‑tinged muffled clang. He is completely unaware, as if it isn't his body, just a lost, staggering disappearance at the end of the corridor.

The faint creak of the hinge, like a rest placed over this brief yet heart‑pounding duel.

In the office, a strange dead silence settled.

Lu Qingjun and Li Junjie stand like two statues with their acupoints pierced, staring dumbly at the tightly shut door, unable to recover for ages. Lu Qingjun moves first; he lifts a hand to his nape, as if a cold wind is blowing there.

"Brother… why do I feel that the one surnamed Green, when he left, his calves were still twitching?"

He smacks his lips, lowers his voice, as if revealing some earth‑shattering secret, "When I was a kid watching cricket fights in the village, the losing cricket looked just like this—its hind legs drooped, it was lifted away, not even a cry left in its gut."

Li Junjie adjusts his glasses; the gaze behind the lenses burns with fervor and haze. He flips open his notebook, the pen tip leaving a deep mark on the paper, yet no character is written.

He mutters, "No… this doesn't fit game theory. In asymmetric information, the weaker side usually drags out the conflict to gain variables… why did he collapse so quickly? Could it be… could the boss's aura already interfere with the material realm, imposing mental suppression through subsonic waves or pheromones?"

Wilson stands aside, head bowed. He says nothing, but his chest rises and falls violently.

That scene just now struck him far harder than any previous one. He had once been a member of the Imperial Financial System, and he knows better than anyone the power and prestige the name Allen Green represents. It was the last, and most stubborn, pride of the Sun‑Never‑Sets Empire.

And just now, that pride was trampled underfoot by this Eastern man, in the simplest, most direct—one could even call it crude—way, crushed to powder.

Fear? No, it's no longer fear.

It is a conversion feeling, a trembling‑and‑ecstatic devotion after following a deity and witnessing a miracle. All the rules, prestige, and contractual spirit he once worshipped appear childish and hypocritical before the absolute power displayed by Lu Qingshan.

He lifts his head, looks at Lu Qingshan, his voice bearing an unprecedented, heartfelt respect: "Mr. Lu, will they… agree?"

Lu Qingshan walks to the window, watches the traffic below, the night‑time London still bustling, yet like a splendid shell whose soul has been drawn out.

"They will."

His voice is calm, without a ripple, "Because they have no other choice." He turns, scans the crowd, his gaze deep, as if it can see through all appearances to the essence.

"The sinking of a destroyer knocked down their morale and face. But today's market crash shakes their very state. Even Iron Lady, however hard she pushes, cannot mint pounds to fill this hole, nor can she bear the political fallout of Financial City turning completely into ruins tomorrow."

"My conditions sound harsh, but in fact, they give her the only stepping stone."

Lu Qingshan lifts his teacup, sips slowly, "Announce to the world that we welcome a powerful Eastern Conglomerate as a 'Strategic Investor' to 'help' and 'stabilize' the United Kingdom's economy. That sounds far better than admitting we were beaten, forced to cede territory and pay reparations, handing half a kingdom to us, doesn't it? It's politics, it's humanity."

Lu Qingjun listens, stunned, and after a while suddenly grasps it, slapping his thigh: "I get it! Brother, isn't this… slapping a man and then slipping him a candy, letting him tell others we were just playing around?"

The metaphor is crude, yet oddly apt.

Li Junjie's eyes flash; he quickly writes in his notebook: "On Narrative Reconstruction and Application of Face‑Saving Projects in National‑Level Crisis PR in the Post‑Colonial Era."

Lu Qingshan looks approvingly at Lu Qingjun, then turns his gaze to Wilson. "Mr. Wilson."

"Present." Wilson instantly straightens, like a soldier awaiting orders.

"Just acquiring shares isn't enough; I want absolute control."

Lu Qingshan's voice is light, yet carries undeniable authority, "From tomorrow onward, I want you to mobilize all the connections of the Shason Family to approach the directors, senior executives of the companies we just invested in, even the union leaders."

Wilson's breath catches.

"I need a list." Lu Qingshan extends two fingers, "One list of friends, another of enemies. Who can cooperate, who must leave, who wavers and can be courted. I need to know which director of Barclays Bank has a lover, which senior executive of British Aerospace holds a Secret Account at Swiss Bank, the union leader of the Rolls‑Royce plant, and whether his son wants to attend Eton College."

With each sentence, Wilson's heart sank a notch, yet a morbid excitement surged.

He finally understood: the war of the financial markets was over, but another, more covert, dirtier, and more efficient war had just begun. What Lu Qingshan seeks is not merely equity; he wants control over every screw in these centuries‑old enterprises. That is true "rule," a bone‑deep, no‑corner‑left unchecked domination.

"I understand, Mr. Lu." Wilson nods heavily, no longer a hint of hesitation in his eyes, only absolute execution and fanatical enlightenment, "Within three days I will place the list and detailed data on your desk. Those former 'old friends' will be glad to chat with me."

"Very good." Lu Qingshan nods with satisfaction. He knows that Wilson's knife, sharpened enough, has also learned to actively seek blood.

The office atmosphere, after the new mission was issued, became tight and efficient again. Ye Ning has already begun on another computer pulling the detailed data of those companies, providing data support for Wilson's actions. Li Junjie, like a caffeine‑fueled academic assistant, helps Ye Ning sort and categorize, constantly muttering terms like "organizational behavior," "power‑penetration model," and the like.

Only Lu Qingjun, watching his big brother, scratches his head and finally asks the question he's been holding back: "Brother, about… Rolls‑Royce, we're also major shareholders now. When the Queen goes out, the car she rides, does that count as our property too?"

That question instantly eased the tense atmosphere. Ye Ning and Li Junjie couldn't help but laugh.

Lu Qingshan also laughed, walked to Lu Qingjun's side, patted his shoulder: "In theory, that's the logic."

He turned again, gazing out the window, his sight passing over London's myriad lights, reaching farther. On the huge World Map, the five‑pointed star representing London flickered with dazzling red light under the illumination.

He reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing the map at another light across the Atlantic—New York.

"Ye Ning."

"Boss?"

"Notify everyone in the Trading Hall: after the celebration banquet, grant a month of paid leave, expenses on me, each person a reward of one million pounds, plus give you thirty million pounds of discretionary bonus, rewarding merit."