Chapter 389: London Celebration, Sword Pointing at New York!

Lu Qingshan's line "reward according to merit" was like a bomb dropped into a deep lake; as the words fell, the whole office sank into an oddly extreme, ten‑second dead silence.

Even the sound of breathing vanished from the air.

One million pounds?

A month‑long paid vacation?

All expenses covered?

Thirty million pounds… prize pool?

Lu Qingjun and Li Junjie opened their mouths, their brains hammered repeatedly by the string of numbers, completely crashing. Their faces froze, like two weathered stone statues.

Wilson's pupils instantly locked, his breathing halted. As a manager of an old‑guard conglomerate, he knew better than anyone what this meant. This wasn't a reward; it was money being used to rebuild, for each team member, a loyal, immortal golden skeleton from their mortal flesh.

"HOLY……SHIT！"

The first to break the silence was David Cohen in the Trading Hall, who heard the words over the intercom.

A thunderous roar, shattering like stone, pierced the heavy floorboards and exploded in the top‑floor office like a bolt of lightning.

Immediately after, a massive "clang" of tables and chairs being violently overturned came from downstairs, followed by countless people, after extreme restraint, letting loose wolf‑howls and tsunami‑like cheers! Some pounded the desks madly, some leapt onto tables tearing their shirts, and others embraced and wept; the sound seemed ready to rip the roof off Weilian Wang Dajie 81 Hao.

In the office, Ye Ning's usually calm, pretty face went pale as blood drained from it. She stared at Lu Qingshan, her lips trembling slightly, as if to speak, but not a single word came out.

It's not that she hasn't seen money; she handles funds that easily reach tens of billions, and Lu Qingshan's several rewards have exceeded ten million Hong Kong dollars.

But the "one million pounds" belongs to her! And especially the "control over thirty million pounds" represents an absolute, unconditional trust that transcends money! That trust is thousands of times heavier than the thirty million pounds themselves!

"Boss…" Li Zhi'an's voice was hoarse. He lunged forward a step, feet together, body upright like a spear forged in blood and fire. He had no extra words, only a solemn, deep bow to Lu Qingshan.

This wasn't subordinate respect for a superior; it was a veteran's pledge, a death‑soldier's loyalty.

"Bro… one million… pounds?" Lu Qingjun finally regained his voice, stammering as he turned to Lu Qingshan, eyes bulging like copper bells, Adam's apple throbbing, "Is… it really pounds? Not Hong Kong dollars?"

He squeezed his own thigh hard, a sharp pain shot through, making him grit his teeth, confirming he wasn't dreaming. One million pounds! If he swapped all those salt clods he dried on Lu Tai for gold, he still couldn't pile up that much! In this life, no, not even in the next, could he earn that much!

Lu Qingshan watched everyone's unruly behavior, gave a faint smile, and finally fixed his gaze on Ye Ning.

"Thirty million, how to split it, you decide. If it's not enough, come find me."

His tone was as relaxed and casual as saying, "You set the dinner menu."

Those words became the final straw that broke Ye Ning's mental defenses.

Her eyes instantly reddened, a thick veil of tears quickly spreading; those eyes that always glittered with logic and data now filled with indescribable emotion and shock. She bit her lip tightly, trying not to let tears fall, but her slightly trembling shoulders revealed the turmoil within.

Why did she resolutely join Xinghan from the Far East Association? Wasn't it because she was tired of greedy faces and ruthless suspicion?

But the man before her gave her something she had never hoped for: a hundred percent respect and trust.

"Boss," she inhaled deeply, her voice trembling with an unmaskable quiver, almost off‑key, "I…"

"This is what you and the team deserve." Lu Qingshan cut her off, his tone calm yet unquestionable, "London's victory, you are the greatest contributors. I never shortchange my own."

At that moment, the office door was flung open, and David Cohen burst in like a red whirlwind. His hair was a mess like a chicken coop, two buttons of his shirt were undone, his face a twisted blend of ecstasy, worship and madness, tears and snot smeared across his face.

He "plopped" with a splash, sliding to kneel before Lu Qingshan, his movements fluid as clouds, clearly rehearsed countless times in his mind.

"BOSS! My god! MY GOD!" He clutched Lu Qingshan's thigh tightly, sobbing and wailing, "One million! One million pounds! I've calculated, I could buy a villa with a pool in Miami, a red Ferrari, and throw dozens of yacht parties! I declare, from today, my life belongs to you! Whatever you point east, I will never go west; whoever you tell me to bite, I will never let go! Don't just say London and New York, if you want to strike the Moon, I'll be the vanguard, planting the flag!"

This comical yet sincere scene made the previously heavy atmosphere in the office instantly dissipate like smoke.

Lu Qingjun let out a "pfft" laugh, and Li Junjie's mouth corner couldn't help but grin wildly.

Even Ye Ning, whose eyes were red, couldn't help but burst into laughter at his lively antics.

Lu Qingshan looked down at the "Human Pendant" clinging to his thigh, smiled helplessly, and patted his head: "Alright, get up, stop dribbling saliva on my pants."

He turned to Ye Ning and Li Zhi'an: "Tomorrow night, in the main conference room, we'll hold a celebration banquet. Bring the best chef, invite everyone in the company, and don't leave until drunk."

"Yes!" Ye Ning and Li Zhi'an answered in unison, their voices filled with post‑catastrophe joy and boundless anticipation for the future.

Lu Qingshan walked to the massive World Map, his gaze shifting from the freshly drawn dazzling five‑pointed star representing London to the light dot across the Atlantic Ocean named "New York."

His eyes became deep and sharp again. What he wanted had never been just money, but to use money to forge, for himself and his country, an invincible Financial Army.

He turned, facing the team behind him, now fully won over and high‑spirited, and slowly raised his tea cup as if lifting a trophy of victory.

"Tonight, we celebrate with pounds."

His voice wasn't loud, yet it rang clearly in everyone's ears, carrying a domineering aura that seemed to devour heaven and earth.

"Rest well, replenish your spirit."

"Because next time," the curve of his mouth was cold and confident, like a king reviewing his elite troops, "in New York, we will open champagne with US Dollars."