Chapter 456: Eating Scrambled Eggs, I Trample Europe Under My Feet!

The castle's massive oak door slowly closed behind Lu Qingshan.

Outside the door, the cold wind of the Alps and a group of petrified "gods".

Inside the door, another world.

An endless corridor carpeted with scarlet velvet, its walls lined with oil paintings of rich or noble figures whose haughty gazes silently appraise every intruder; at the far end, a resplendent circular hall gilded in gold and jade, its dome adorned with intricate religious murals, a massive crystal chandelier cascading like a waterfall, flooding the hall with daylight.

At the center of the hall, a gigantic round table was set, with silver cutlery, bone‑china plates, polished tulip‑shaped goblets, each reflecting the host's centuries‑old luxury and refinement.

This should have been a banquet that decides the world's financial order.

At this moment, however, it resembled an exquisitely arranged funeral hall.

The European power brokers in the courtyard finally snapped out of their stiffness, storming in with fury and humiliation; they did not take seats, but gathered in small groups, lowering their voices to argue heatedly in German, French, and Italian.

"Madman! He's an outright lunatic! Jonathan, is this the distinguished guest you summoned?"

"Settle historical debts? Who does he think he is? God?"

"This document must never be circulated! It's a scandal! A scandal capable of overturning everything!"

The white‑bearded elder who had earlier questioned Lu Qingshan in the courtyard, Feng Hais, honorary chairman of the German Industrial Federation, slammed his Electronic Reader onto the table, producing a harsh clang.

"We should have the Swiss act at once! Arrest him! On charges of endangering international financial security! Let him rot forever in a Geneva prison!"

His proposal met with unanimous assent.

"Exactly! This is our territory!"

"He thinks that arriving in an American aircraft will make us fear him?"

Yet Jonathan Rothschild stood pale beside them, silent.

Arrest him? He wants that more than anyone.

But he dares not.

The KGB ace codenamed "Crow" was still warm in the flesh. The Volga sedan that fled the airport struck his face like a resounding slap.

This man was no longer someone they could handle by conventional or unconventional means.

While the hall descended into chaos, a study deep within the castle presented a completely different scene.

The fireplace blaze burned brightly, bathing the room in warm light. Ye Ning stood before a massive rosewood desk, expressionless, directing two nervous attendants to arrange the tableware.

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru sat on the sofa before the fireplace, their table holding no wine but a thick stack of documents still warm from the printer; their faces turned pale, lips dry.

"Heavens… they actually funded the Black Shirt Army… and divided mines with a South American dictator…" Zhang Qianru's voice was as thin as a mosquito's, filled with horror.

"What is this," Li Junjie flipped a page, pointing to a line, his voice trembling, "look here—using Jewish refugees' assets to fill the void of war debts… and the perpetrators are another Jewish family…"

Each additional page they read upended their understanding of the world.

Lu Qingshan sat on the head seat, a glass of clear water in hand, ignoring their whispered murmurs. His gaze fell upon a world map on the study wall—a ancient parchment map still labeling the British Empire, French Colonies, and Ottoman Empire.

"The map needs replacement," he suddenly said.

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru jerked their heads up, bewildered.

At that moment, the study door was pushed open.

Li Zhi'an entered carrying a silver tray, followed by the castle's silver‑haired, haughty French chef.

However, the chef's face now bore only humiliation and incomprehension.

Li Zhi'an set the tray before Lu Qingshan, bearing a few extremely simple Chinese dishes: a plate of stir‑fried seasonal vegetables, a bowl of mushroom soup made by the simplest method, and a small dish of golden… scrambled eggs.

"Boss, these are the only 'clean' ingredients we could find in the kitchen," Li Zhi'an reported, "the eggs come from a farmer's chickens beneath the Alps, the vegetables are grown by the monastery's monks. The oil and salt we brought from London."

Lu Qingshan lifted his chopsticks, picked a bite of scrambled egg, and tasted it.

"Hmm, not bad," he nodded, saying in English, "much cleaner than their hearts."

Outside, the French chef's face instantly flushed to a pork‑liver hue.

At that instant, Jonathan Rothschild finally arrived, pushing the door open; he stared at the absurd scene, feeling his blood pressure surge rapidly.

His guests were discussing in the hall how to deal with this devil.

Yet the devil, in his study, leisurely ate a plate… of scrambled eggs?

"Lu!" Jonathan's voice was hoarse with anger, "You must immediately withdraw that document! Cease this madness! Otherwise, we…"

"And if not?" Lu Qingshan set down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth with a napkin, lifted his head, and calmly looked at him, "let the Swiss army come to arrest me? Or find a killer even dumber than 'Crow'?"

Jonathan's breathing halted.

"You think why we could meet in Geneva?" Lu Qingshan rose, walking to the ancient map, "because this is your safe‑deposit box and your lifeline. You stash the plundered wealth of the world here, believing it the safest place."

He reached out and lightly tapped the portion of the map representing Switzerland.

"But you forget, the more precise the clockwork, the easier a tiny grain of sand can turn it upside down."

"I am that grain of sand."

"You are waging war against the whole world!" Jonathan shouted, his fury masking inner fear.

"No." Lu Qingshan shook his head, "I am merely cleaning up some trash for this world."

The words had just left his mouth.

From the hall direction, a sudden commotion erupted, followed by the sharp crash of glassware being smashed.

A Rothschild family butler scrambled forward, his face full of terror.

"Mr. Jonathan! Trouble! Mr. Feng Hais… he just received a call from New York; the German Bank's stock… in after‑hours trading, was… smashed through!"

Jonathan's pupils contracted sharply.

The butler gasped, staring at Lu Qingshan with a demonic gaze, continuing, "Also… also the French Bank, Fiat Group, all… all the top families on your list—their core industries were simultaneously hit by an uncountable massive sell‑order attack from around the globe!"

"He… they say… the attack order came from a newly formed fund…"

The butler swallowed hard.

"Called the Global Stability and Development Fund."

The study was dead silent.

Jonathan's body swayed; he braced himself on the doorframe and didn't collapse. He finally understood that the document was neither a threat nor blackmail.

It was a precise death list that had already begun to be carried out…

Lu Qingshan sat back down at the dining table, lifted the bowl of mushroom soup, and took a leisurely sip.

He looked at the ashen‑faced Jonathan and spoke slowly.

"Now, you can go back and tell your friends."

"There isn't much time left for discussion."

"After all, once daybreak comes, I'm afraid they won't even have the right to discuss it."