Chapter 459: International Law? Let Me Teach You! Only What the Victor Writes Becomes Law!

The ancient telephone that linked London had its handset gently placed back by Jonathan Rothschild.

In the deathly silent hall, that faint clack, like the muffled thud of a tombstone hitting the ground, struck the heart of every European "god".

Jonathan did not move; he simply faced away from the crowd, his shoulders trembling slightly, like a statue silently weeping.

In the hall, dozens of men who had once turned clouds with a wave of their hand and rain with the other now resembled puppets whose souls had been drained. The white‑bearded Feng Hais slumped into the velvet sofa, his vacant eyes staring at the puddle of red wine on the carpet that was already thickening, his mouth repeatedly muttering "Thirty percent… thirty percent…" as if possessed. DuPont, a director of the French Bank, nervously kept readjusting his tie, but his hands shook so much that even a simple motion was impossible, as if he could already see the invisible shackles around his neck.

They all heard Jonathan's final, sobbing wail.

Our era in Geneva… has ended.

An era, tonight, after this man entered this ancient castle, drifted away and ended.

Amid this desperate dead silence, Jonathan's body suddenly shivered. He slowly turned, his handsome face still bearing fresh tear tracks, yet the heir's panic and fragility in his eyes were fading at a visibly rapid pace.

In its place came a deeper, spine‑tingling calm—a final dignity belonging to the defeated.

He pushed through the crowd and approached Feng Hais.

"Uncle Hais," his voice hoarse yet no longer trembling, "my father said that in three hundred years, our family has lost so completely for the first time."

Feng Hais slowly lifted his head, his sharp eyes clouded with turbidity.

Jonathan looked at him and at everyone, conveying word for word the final, most humiliating directive from London.

"My father asked me to ask him, as the defeated side, what must we do to preserve the family's final dignity."

……

In the study, Lu Qingshan stood before the ancient parchment map.

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru had recovered from their initial shock, now sitting upright like two elementary students waiting for the teacher's assignment, even their breathing had softened.

"Boss…" Zhang Qianru finally mustered courage, breaking the silence, "Um… the arbitration tribunal's charter… the legal basis section, which international convention should we cite? The United Nations Charter or the Hague Convention?"

She asked cautiously, fearing her question seemed too foolish. In her view, creating a new law was no less difficult than creating a new world.

Lu Qingshan did not turn around, simply saying lightly, "No citation needed. We ourselves are the convention."

Zhang Qianru's breath caught.

Lu Qingshan turned, looking at the Princeton‑graduated legal prodigy, a teasing smile on his face, "What, your professor never taught you that every law originally is just a sentence written on paper by the victor? We win, our words become the new law."

He walked to the desk and sat down, watching Zhang Qianru, already nervous enough to sweat, and continued in a tone almost like casual chat, "The tribunal's official languages shall be Chinese, English, French, Russian, and Spanish. Use Song typeface and Roman typeface for the text, to appear solemn. Don't forget to place Xinghan Capital's logo on the charter's front page, gilded, so the whole world can see who is setting the rules."

Zhang Qianru opened her mouth, feeling her legal worldview being torn down and rebuilt by the boss in an extremely plain and brutal manner. So the end of law is power.

Li Junjie, listening nearby, felt his eyelids twitch; he thought the boss wasn't building a tribunal but registering a multinational corporation, even the logo's craftsmanship already planned. Yet deep inside, a frenzy rose—this is true authority!

At that moment, the study's door was pushed open by Li Zhi'an.

"Boss," he reported, "they want to see you."

Lu Qingshan nodded, stood up, and smoothed his collar.

"Let's go," he said to Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru, "to see how those shareholders from the old era are preparing to welcome their new boss."

In the corridor, the oil paintings hanging on the walls, the subjects' arrogant gazes, seemed to dim at this moment.

When Lu Qingshan entered the resplendent circular hall again, all the European "gods" instinctively rose.

They no longer argued or complained, just stood silently there like a group of prisoners awaiting judgment.

Lu Qingshan did not walk to the main seat but casually positioned himself in the hall's center. He looked around, seeing faces filled with humiliation, Fear and bewilderment.

"It seems everyone has reached a preliminary consensus," his voice was low yet clearly reached each ear.

No one answered.

"Very well," Lu Qingshan nodded, as if pleased with the silence, "since everyone is a businessman, let's talk business."

He raised his first finger.

"First, regarding that historical debt. I've changed my mind."

Everyone's hearts rose to their throats.

"I won't calculate interest in that complicated way," Lu Qingshan said, "your families will become the first founding Partners of the Global Stability and Development Fund, contributing capital together. As for the amount…"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Feng Hais, DuPont and others.

"Let's calculate it as thirty percent of each family's current total assets. Remember, this is an investment, not a fine. It's a contribution to the prosperity of the new world."

Feng Hais's body jolted violently; he instinctively clutched his chest, feeling his heart gripped by an icy hand. Thirty percent! That meant nearly a third of the German Industrial Union's centuries‑long accumulation would be taken away in a single night. This was no longer cutting flesh; it was extracting a third of his marrow!

Lu Qingshan extended his second finger.

"Second, regarding that arbitration tribunal. I hope this charter can be jointly signed by all of you, formally submitted to the United Nations, and publicly endorsed."

"A new era needs new rules. And you will be the witnesses and… the first Sponsors, recorded in history."

DuPont's complexion was paler than the plaster statues on the wall. He lowered his head, looking at his hands as if he could already see them shackled by invisible irons.

This is not sponsorship; it's making them forge a timeless shackle for themselves! To have them openly admit they are sinners and endorse the very tribunal that judges them!

Lu Qingshan raised his third finger, the last one.

"Third, and the most crucial point," his voice turned teasing, "to promote the global economy's 'deep integration,' Xinghan Capital will conduct a strategic equity swap of the core assets you each hold worldwide—ports, mines, energy pipelines, and media groups."

"We are not acquiring; we are cooperating for mutual benefit."

The words hung in the air.

The entire hall was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

A Greek shipping magnate's legs gave way, collapsing to the floor; he seemed to have already seen the ports his family controls worldwide change hands overnight.

These three demands: one seeks money, one seeks fame, the third takes away the very lifeline they depend on for survival.

Lu Qingshan watched the disheartened "gods", seemingly pleased with their reaction.

He slowly walked to the massive round table laden with exquisite canapés, picked up a clean plate, then a silver serving fork, lifted a slice of prime filet steak, and placed it on the plate.

He brought the steak to his nose, inhaled, glanced again, then, in front of everyone, casually tossed the costly steak back onto the plate.

He looked up, gazing at the pallid Jonathan Rothschild.

"Mr. Jonathan."

Qiao Nasen's body shuddered.

Lu Qingshan picked up a napkin, wiped his fingers that hadn't touched any food, and spoke slowly in a tone almost regretting:

"The dishes have gone cold."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the entire room, his voice suddenly turning cold.

"I don't like eating cold rice. I give you ten minutes to make a choice. Otherwise, I don't mind turning you also into cold meals."