Chapter 394: Not Even Started the Fight, Yet Want to Flip the Table?

The red encrypted phone, set up specifically for London communications, rang shortly after Lu Qingshan finished speaking.

Wilson's voice came through the handset, suppressed with a blood‑thirsty excitement, speaking at breakneck speed: "Mr. Lu, there's movement in London. My contact placed inside the Rothschild Bank reported that Jacob Rothschild has sent his younger son, also his most trusted heir, Nathaniel, who has secretly flown to Washington."

In the apartment, everyone's gaze converged on Lu Qingshan.

"Washington?" Lu Qingshan's voice was flat, as if merely confirming an inconsequential place name.

"Yes, not New York." Wilson's voice grew solemn, "My informant assesses that Nathaniel's purpose this trip is very likely to lobby Congress and attempt to unite Morgan, Rockefeller, Mellon, and DuPont—the Four Great Families. Your actions in London have already made them feel an unprecedented threat from the East. Rather than waiting for you to knock on each door, they prefer to proactively unite and, on a regulatory level, seal you—the 'outsider'—completely outside the door. That's their specialty."

Wilson added from the other end: "They will portray you as a barbarian from the East seeking to overturn the Western financial order. Once this narrative gains consensus in Washington, what you will face will not only be Wall Street capital, but the entire United States' state apparatus."

"Understood." Lu Qingshan calmly hung up.

"Brother, these bastards are playing dirty!" Lu Qingjun couldn't help but curse, "Can't beat us, so they sue the teacher? And they unite? These foreign devils are really shameless!"

Li Junjie's expression also grew serious; he rapidly scribbled in his notebook: "Defensive alliance of multinational capital… building non‑market barriers through political lobbying… this is classic oligarchic monopoly behavior…"

David Cohen's complexion turned pale, a fine cold sweat beading on his forehead. He knew better than anyone what those four families' names meant in the United States. They were not merely corporations but the spiders weaving the nation's power and wealth web, the true behind‑the‑scenes masters. When they united, even the White House's occupants would have to step aside.

"Boss, this… this is no joke." David's voice was a bit hoarse, even trembling, "If they truly sway Congress and pass some emergency legislation, we might not even be able to get through the exchange doors; all our funds would be frozen!"

Lu Qingshan said nothing; he simply turned, his gaze as sharp as a hawk's, landing on Ye Ning.

"Organize our ammunition. Check how much capital we can mobilize right now."

Ye Ning immediately understood, tapped a few keys on her laptop, and strings of astronomical numbers flashed across the screen. The apartment's air seemed to be sucked out at that moment; everyone held their breath. After a pause, she looked up and announced a figure that made the room's temperature feel several degrees lower.

"Boss, in London, the total market value of the shares we purchased has already exceeded 80 billion British pounds. After deducting that portion, the cash we can mobilize on our books now exceeds 160 billion British pounds."

She paused, seemingly shaken by the terrifying magnitude of the figure, inhaled deeply before continuing: "At today's exchange rate, that's roughly… 1.2 trillion US Dollars. Moreover, as our British pound futures contracts are settled one after another, this number will continue to rise over the next week."

1.2 trillion… US Dollars!

The figure exploded in everyone's mind like a silent nuclear bomb.

"Sss—" Lu Qingjun inhaled a cold gasp, feeling his brain starved of oxygen, a slight dizziness washing over him. He twiddled his fingers, only to realize his mind couldn't comprehend wealth of this magnitude. He recalled that back when he was salting at Lu Tai, from the dawn of Pangu to the end of the world, he could never earn even a fraction of this amount.

"Brother… are we… are we buying the entire Bank of England's vault… no, buying all of the United Kingdom, then selling it, and moving it to New York?" he stammered, his voice full of absurdity.

"Thump!" a muffled thud.

David Cohen's legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the expensive carpet. His Versace suit crumpled, his complexion drained, his mouth gaped wide enough to fit an egg, his gaze completely vacant. He had just been bragging about the Saint Remo Apartment's one‑billion‑US‑Dollar threshold, yet this figure could purchase one hundred twenty of such premier mansions, even turn the entire Fifth Avenue into his private garden! He had thought he was hunting alongside a deep‑sea megashark, only to realize he was perched on a volcano about to erupt, capable of destroying an entire continental plate.

Amid this suffocating silence, where even heartbeats were audible, a jarringly discordant, shrill ringing abruptly shattered the apartment's quiet.

"Ring—ring—ring—! Ring—ring—ring—!"

The source was a "Big Brick Phone" attached to Lu Qingjun's waist. It was the latest Motorola "big brother" that Zhang Qianru had specially procured for him at his request—so rare in all of New York that it now felt like a death talisman.

Lu Qingjun shivered at the sudden ringing, fumbling to detach the prized device, forgetting to pull out the antenna.

"Hello? Who is this? Who are you looking for?" he barked, his voice rough and gruff, still irritated by the interruption of a sacred moment.

The line on the other end fell silent for a moment, seemingly taken aback by his "raw" way of answering, before a composed, authoritative Mandarin male voice came through.

"May I ask, is this Mr. Lu Qingshan? I am Wang Shanghong of the Foreign Exchange Administration Bureau."

"Wang… Wang what?" Lu Qingjun was momentarily confused, still fumbling, "I don't know you! You've dialed the wrong number!"

He reached for the handset, but the voice on the other end suddenly rose, imbued with undeniable authority and urgency: "I am Wang Shanghong! Put Lu Qingshan on the line!"

"Wang Shanghong?" Lu Qingjun muttered the name, feeling it vaguely familiar yet unable to recall.

Li Junjie beside him turned deathly pale in an instant. He shoved Lu Qingjun hard, his voice changing, filled with extreme terror: "Minister Wang!"

A buzzing sound rang in Lu Qingjun's mind, as if struck by a hammer, and he finally remembered.

Wang Shanghong! The top brass of the Foreign Exchange Administration Bureau! The real big shot in the Capital City who can summon his own senior directly to the office for a "tea" meeting!

His hand trembled, and the "Big Brick Phone"—more expensive than a gold bar—nearly flew out. His complexion drained instantly, and stammering into the microphone he shouted: "Minister Wang! Hello! Hello! I… I I I…"

He spent ages trying to say "I" but couldn't form a complete sentence, finally like a hot‑potato, he cupped the phone with both hands and, in a rush, thrust it toward Lu Qingshan.

"Brother! Looking… looking for you!"

Lu Qingshan looked at his vacant, comical demeanor, chuckled slightly and shook his head, taking the phone. He already had a faint premonition that this call, arriving at this moment, was no accident.

Before he could speak, on the other end Wang Shanghong already, in an extremely serious, even slightly urgent tone, preemptively said: "Comrade Qingshan, is now a convenient time for you to talk? What I am about to tell you is of great significance!"