Chapter 474: This Deal Is Good, Truly Endless!

In the top‑floor office of the Starry Sky Building, it was so quiet that the faint sound of a city bus passing on Chang'an Street outside and the pulse of the awakening city beneath could be heard. Lu Qingshan hung up on Jonathan, casually set the black satellite phone on the massive mahogany desk, where it gave a dull, light clang. He did not act immediately; instead he lifted a cup of Longjing that had gone completely cold and took a slow sip. The tea was bitter, its aftertaste sweet, just right to dilute the lingering hint of blood from the recent trans‑Eurasian deal.

He needed more detailed, more precise intelligence, like a surgical scalpel, to cut open the mysterious nation of Saudi Arabia wrapped in gold and oil.

Picking up another dedicated line to London, he dialed out.

On the other end, Li Zhi'an's voice carried the rapid tempo of the London Financial City and an unmistakable excitement, answering almost instantly: "Boss, you're looking for me?"

"Zhi'an, check Saudi Arabia's recent arms‑purchase trends, especially contacts with both the American and Soviet sides. I want the most detailed data, from what brand of coffee their negotiators prefer to the weapon lists and hidden clauses each side offers. I need everything. The faster the better."

"Understood!" Li Zhi'an's efficiency was astonishing, as if he commanded not a financial team but a global intelligence network. In less than half an hour, the encrypted line rang again, urgent and sharp.

"Boss, the situation is more interesting than we imagined." Li Zhi'an's voice held a spectator's amusement, "Saudi Arabia now looks like a wealthy young lady pursued simultaneously by two muscular strongmen—caught in a dilemma yet enjoying it. I just obtained an internal equipment assessment report; it's like a world's fair. Beside a U. S. –made F‑15 fighter sits a French Mirage 2000, and the runway hosts Britain's 'Gale'; in the tank line, Britain's 'Chief' and the U. S. M60A3 are cramped together like two feuding in‑laws. Their air‑defense is a disaster—Soviet SAM missiles and French 'Roland' missiles are deployed at the same base, and the logistics chief, because the parts are incompatible, has already pulled out half his hair."

"To clinch the next deal worth hundreds of billions of US Dollars, the Americans have poured money into inviting Prince Saleman to a secret military base in the Pacific to observe a Militia‑III intercontinental missile test, hoping to scare the prince into kneeling and signing a check with top‑grade nuclear muscle."

"The Soviets are not to be outdone; they are more direct and brutal. KGB agents contacted the prince's aide directly, inviting him to the Afghan front line to see their Mi‑24 'Doe' armed helicopter and T‑72 main battle tank in action, how they drive guerrillas armed with American weapons into the mountains. The Kremlin Palace announced that if Saudi Arabia agrees, the price will be cheaper than selling to India, and they can even throw in a few battalions of 'military advisors' to teach them how to fight, hand‑over‑hand."

Lu Qingshan listened quietly, his fingers rhythmically tapping the smooth mahogany desk, producing a "thud, thud, thud" sound.

"What does Saleman say?"

"He's agreed," Li Zhi'an said with genuine admiration. "The prince is no simple man; he can't offend either side and says he wants to go see for himself, to experience it. But the itinerary isn't set yet; he seems still weighing options. After all, both parties sell things that are pricey and incoherent, like two itinerant quacks—one peddles strength pills, the other ancestral plasters—neither can cure the root, and buying them is just a bottomless pit that never fills."

"Got it." Lu Qingshan hung up, a knowing smile curling his lips.

He now fully understood Saudi Arabia's predicament. They were like a starving patient who would shove any medicine into their mouth, ending up with all their internal organs in disarray.

And he could be the one to sort out their prescription, concoct a comprehensive cure, and collect the consultation fees as a god‑like physician whose purse never runs dry.

Not long after, the black satellite phone rang again, the caller ID showing a Swiss bank's encrypted line.

"Mr. Lu," the voice on the other end was Jonathan Rothschild's, suppressing countless humiliations yet forced to sound twelve‑fold respectful, "we have already made contact with Prince Saleman's office. The prince has shown great, beyond‑expectation interest in your invitation."

Jonathan paused, his tone turning oddly strange, as if recounting something he himself could not grasp: "The prince's exact words… he has long admired your 'legendary deeds' in the European financial market and has always hoped for a chance to ask you in person how to make those 'arrogant, greedy Western bankers' learn true humility. So he has formally notified the American and Soviet sides, citing 'ill health and the need for convalescence' to cancel all trips, and plans next week to fly to the Capital City on his private jet under the pretext of private tourism."

Lu Qingshan couldn't help but burst into a laugh.

This Prince Saleman was truly a clever fellow. He didn't fail to understand the U. S. –Soviet games; he was simply too lazy to watch their drama and came straight to the director—himself.

"Very well," Lu Qingshan leaned back in the wide leather chair, his body completely relaxed, speaking in a tone as if ordering a subordinate, "tell the prince that Huaxia has fine tea, the Great Wall, and a complete Solution that will let him sleep soundly while his neighbors stay awake. I'll wait for him."

The call ended. Lu Qingshan could almost picture the twisted, humiliated face Jonathan wore inside the castle by the Geneva lake.

This game of chess hadn't even begun, yet the opponent's commander had already stepped onto the board's center he had drawn—perfectly ideal.

Things progressed unusually smoothly; just as Lu Qingshan was about to inform Old Chen and Wang Shanghong of the good news, another satellite phone—never before rung, darker in color and with a military‑grade feel—suddenly emitted a sharp, piercing ring on his desk.

That phone was the dedicated line he had given Lu Qingjun, linked to an independent military communications satellite, signifying the highest level of emergency.

Lu Qingshan's mind jolted, and he answered the call at once.

"Brother! It's me! Qingjun!"

The voice on the other end was set against a battlefield‑like din of roaring heavy machinery, the screech of diamond ore breaking, and unintelligible African dialects, yet Lu Qingjun's voice was unusually clear, full of the excitement of a youngster discovering a new continent for the first time.

"I'm in South Africa! Brother! You won't believe what I've seen! Diamonds! Mountains of diamonds! The Kimberley Mine we acquired is the world's largest—practically a Treasure Basin! I just picked up a random stone in the pit; the Belgian technician on site said, once polished, this raw gem could sell for one hundred thousand US Dollars! One stone, one hundred thousand US Dollars, brother!"

Lu Qingshan could vividly picture his foolish younger brother's dancing, wide‑eyed excitement, and smiled, "Well done. Don't just keep picking stones—how's your official business coming along?"

"All set, all set!" Lu Qingjun's tone turned serious immediately, "I met the head of the local branch office, reconciled the accounts, and everything is being handed over per your instruction. But… brother, I've run into something strange, something huge!"

"Speak."

"This diamond mine had long been harassed by the neighboring Angola's civil war. After we took over, Li Zhi'an sent a South African security firm from London that was very professional, like an army, keeping armed raiders at bay. Today, a man claiming to be from Angola's 'Anmeng' organization contacted me through a black foreman at the mine. He said their leader wants to see you."

Anmeng, the Angola Completely Independent National Alliance.

Lu Qingshan's eyes narrowed instantly, and the tapping on the desk stopped dead.

"Their leader says that if you're willing to help them win the war in Angola, overthrow the current pro‑Soviet government, they'll trade all Angola‑located diamond mines, oil fields, and exclusive rights to any undiscovered mineral deposits for the next fifty years as payment!" Lu Qingjun's voice trembled with extreme tension and excitement, his tone lowered as if fearing nearby ears might hear the earth‑shaking secret, "Brother! It's the whole country's fifty years!"

Lu Qingshan fell silent.

In the office, only the sunlight streaming in from the window cast long golden patches on the carpet, while dust floated slowly in the light shafts.

In his mind, a massive World Map unfolded instantly. Middle East oil, South African diamonds, Angola oil and diamonds… points that had once been unrelated were now wildly linked by a line called "arms".

He had originally only wanted to sell some obsolete weapons to Middle‑East tycoons, earn a bit of foreign exchange, and give the cash‑strapped state a lifeline.

But now a larger game—directly involving a regime change of a nation and capable of reshaping the whole African geopolitical landscape—had abruptly been delivered to his desk by his foolish younger brother, still thrilled over a stone, in the most unimaginable way.

After a long pause, Lu Qingshan finally exhaled a breath of stale air. He turned his seat, looked out at the magnificent, rugged city skyline, watched the endless red torrent flowing along Chang'an Street, and, with a tone half‑laughing, half‑matter‑of‑fact, said softly into the phone:

"This deal is good, truly endless."