Chapter 460: Above the Ruins, a New Order Is Established!

The fillet steak that Lu Qingshan casually tossed back lay quietly at the center of the silver platter. Premium Wagyu, cooked with precision and still exuding an inviting aroma, now resembled an unclaimed corpse, full of irony and ominousness.

The ten‑minute countdown began.

In the circular hall, there was no ticking of clocks, only the frantic drumming of dozens of hearts in their chests. The sound was dull and oppressive, mingled with heavy breaths made rough by Fear, like distant rumbling thunder before a storm.

White‑bearded Feng Hais lay slumped on the sofa, his hands—once capable of deciding the livelihoods of tens of thousands and signing hundred‑billion orders—now clutching the fabric over his chest, his throat emitting a wheezing gasp as if invisible water weeds had tangled his neck, pulling him into a cold abyss.

DuPont of the French Bank kept wiping his forehead with a silk handkerchief, yet the cold sweat spurted out like a broken faucet, never fully wiped away. He stared at Lu Qingshan, his gaze like that of a prehistoric beast that had clamped onto its own throat yet hesitated to bite, watching the prey's dying fear with a cold, amused look.

Time, minute by minute, burned their nerves like scalding molten iron.

Each second, for these former European "gods," was a soul‑level torment.

Finally, someone broke down.

The Xi La ship magnate who had previously collapsed sprang up violently. His expensive Jeniya handcrafted suit was now creased like a rag pulled from mud, stained with dust and traces of Lafite.

He scrambled forward toward Lu Qingshan, and three steps away his knees gave way with a "thud," both knees slamming into the hard marble floor, producing a sour‑tinged, muffled clang.

"Mr. Lu! I agree! I agree to everything!" he sobbed, his face streaked with snot and tears, none of the majesty of a shipping emperor left, like a gambler who had lost everything kneeling before a casino boss. "Thirty percent! No! Forty percent! I'm willing to commit forty percent of the family's assets into your fund! I only ask you… I only ask you to lift your hand, let my ships pass the Suez Canal! Let those damned American warships be released! Those ships… are the lifeblood of generations of our family!"

His wail, like a fuse, instantly ignited the already taut string in the hall, named Rationality.

"I agree! The Fiat Group agrees too!" an Italian elder shrieked, his obese body unleashing surprising strength as he shoved aside a companion blocking his way, rushed to the ship magnate's side, tried to kneel, but his pampered, stiff body made the motion comically clumsy, nearly toppling over.

"And us! Anderson Family, willing to hand over all shares of the North Sea Oilfield! We beg you!"

"We're ready to surrender Brazil's Vale iron ore! And my granddaughter, who just graduated from Oxford, is beautiful!"

"The African diamond mines! From now on they're all yours! Just spare us!"

The scene instantly spiraled out of control.

This was no longer a round‑table meeting deciding the World Financial New Order.

It turned into a frantic, absurd yet tragic auction of their families' fates and dignity. They no longer fought to preserve honor, but to win the right to kneel before Lu Qingshan and beg for survival.

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru stared dumbfounded at the spectacle. Each of those names had once been figures they were supposed to look up to in textbooks, even without the right to do so. Now they resembled a pack of hyenas fighting over scraps, grotesque and without any restraint.

Zhang Qianru felt a chill surge from the soles of her feet up to the crown of her head; instinctively she clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her flesh. The statutes of International Law and the Geneva Conventions that filled her mind now seemed a pile of ridiculous waste paper. She finally grasped the boss's meaning—that the victor's words become the new law.

Li Junjie's breathing grew rapid as he stared intently at Lu Qingshan's immovable silhouette, like the mythical Sea‑Calming Needle. A shiver mingling Fear and frenzy coursed from his spine through his whole body. This is true power! This is true authority!

Amid the chaos, Jonathan Rothschild moved.

He pushed aside a Belgian banker about to kneel, and step by step approached Lu Qingshan.

He did not kneel.

He merely bowed deeply, his head—proud for fifty years—lowered for the first time before anyone, almost to the dust, nearly level with his knees.

"Mr. Lu." His voice was hoarse yet strikingly clear, like a cold blade that instantly cut through all wailing and pleas, "We accept all your conditions."

The entire hall fell silent at once.

Everyone halted, looking at Jonathan and at Lu Qingshan, awaiting the final verdict that would decide all their fates.

Lu Qingshan stared at the bowed man, whose body trembled slightly with humiliation, his face expressionless.

He merely gave a slight nod, a gesture akin to accepting a servant's humble loyalty.

Then he turned and began issuing the first batch of new commands to build the new world.

"Zhang Qianru."

"Here! Boss!" Zhang Qianru snapped upright, her voice trembling with intense excitement.

"The arbitration court charter, I want the final draft before dawn," Lu Qingshan's voice was cold, without a hint of warmth. "Contact their legal team, start a video conference immediately. Tell them to ready the family seal. Tonight, have the document signed for me."

"Understood!"

"Li Junjie."

"Boss!"

"Notify the Merger and Acquisition teams in Hong Kong Island, London and New York to prepare the acquisition plan immediately. By tomorrow noon I want a detailed 'Equity Swap' list. Starting from the port, I want to see our Star‑Han flag planted at Xi La's Piraeus Port while I'm having lunch."

"Yes!"

"Ye Ning."

"Boss."

"Notify the fund to halt Short Selling." Lu Qingshan paused; several people in the hall caught a glimmer of hope, thinking the torment was over.

"But," Lu Qingshan's voice rose again, like a Siberian cold front that froze and shattered that fleeting hope, "post all sell orders on the limit‑down board. Tell them, anyone who hesitates even a second when signing the agreement will be the first to vanish from this world."

"Received."

The three commands, concise and crisp, were like three merciless surgical blades, precisely cutting open the decayed body of the old world and beginning to shape the skeletal framework of the new world.

Having issued everything, Lu Qingshan strode toward the exit.

The group of European "gods," like the Red Sea before Moses, instinctively and fearfully stepped aside, clearing a path for him.

He reached the doorway, then halted.

He turned back, his gaze sweeping over the massive banquet table in the hall, laden with delicacies.

He walked over, ignoring the succulent lobsters, pricey caviar, and golden roast suckling pig.

He picked up a clean fork and, from an unremarkable silver plate nearly forgotten in a corner, speared a freshly boiled, still steaming, modest little potato.

He held the potato up to his nose and sniffed it.

Then he looked toward the corner, at the chef who had stood there like a wooden statue from start to finish, a Michelin three‑star French chef.

"This one tastes good."

Lu Qingshan's voice was low, yet each word struck like a hammer to everyone's heart.

He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, gazed at the "gods" whose faces were ashen, like walking corpses, and said slowly:

"Tell your master."

He paused, his eyes scanning the desperate faces, a cold curve forming at the corner of his mouth.

"From today onward, that's all that will be on their menu."

Having said that, he didn't even look back and walked out of the gilded, resplendent funeral hall.

Outside, the night in the Alps was deep. An old era had completely died.