Chapter 494: Kunlun Roars and the Crumbling Oil Empire

The northwestern wind blew the withered grass around the test stand flat against the ground, and snowflakes struck the bullet‑proof glass like sand, producing a fine rustling.

In the control room no one spoke, only the hum of electricity and the frantic thudding of dozens of hearts.

Lu Qingshan's finger hovered above the red button, his nails trimmed perfectly, not a tremor. Across from him the chief engineer and the chief commander were drenched in sweat, clutching their radios tightly.

"Chief Lu, the wind speed exceeds the limit."

"Ignore the wind." Lu Qingshan said, staring at the dormant steel beast, "Ignite."

His finger pressed down.

Instead of the expected cataclysm, there was first a muffled low growl, as if something deep underground had awakened. Then, the Kunlun engine's exhaust on the test stand erupted a burst of orange‑red flame that instantly shifted to a ghostly blue.

The air was torn apart.

The sound was not a ring but a tremor, numbing chests and making the bullet‑proof glass shudder.

The tachometer on the screen spun wildly, the numbers soaring.

"Thrust eight tons... nine tons... ten tons!" the monitor's voice shifted, a hoarse roar breaking the pitch, "We've broken the design limit! Still climbing! Still climbing!"

Around the exhaust, concentric rings of ghostly blue Mach shockwaves were clearly visible, like spectral eyes fixed on the horizon amid wind and snow. They were the shockwaves generated by supersonic airflow under extreme compression, the brightest gem on the industrial Crown.

"It's done..."

Academician Wang Zhanfeng pressed his whole body against the glass, his breath fogging the pane. He took off his glasses, wiped them haphazardly with his cuff, and tears mixed with the grease on his face streamed down, carving two channels.

"We finally have resolve... we finally have resolve!"

The old man turned, hugging a young male technician, crying like a child. Around them, the usually stoic experts embraced and wept, their hats scattered on the floor.

【7】 Lu Qingshan remained still. He stared at the ghostly blue flame, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, but didn't light it, merely bringing it to his nose to smell the tobacco.

Lu Qingshan didn't move. He stared at the deep‑blue flame, took a cigarette from his pocket, but didn't light it, merely held it to his nose and sniffed the tobacco scent.

This fire has burned through a thirty‑year blockade.

Meanwhile, across the ocean.

Major U. S. TV networks abruptly cut their regular programming to air an emergency bulletin. The Pentagon spokesperson, solemn, displayed several blurry satellite images, claiming the "Strategic Defense Initiative" (Star Wars program) had achieved breakthrough progress and that high‑energy laser weapons were about to enter combat deployment.

Reagan smiled at the camera from the White House lawn: "We have the capability to intercept any threat in space. Peace requires strength to defend."

It was a meticulously staged drama, the script written by Lu Qingshan, the actor the President of the United States.

Moscow, Kremlin Palace.

The emergency meeting dragged on until dawn. The ashtray was piled with cigarette butts like a small hill. Confronted with the Americans' relentless "space offensive," the superpower's deep‑seated pride was pricked.

"Follow up! Must follow up!" a Marshal banged the table, roaring, "We cannot let the United States monopolize space! Divert funds from civilian projects, at any cost, to fully secure the defense industry!"

The already fragile Soviet Union finances creaked under this straw.

Just over twenty days after the polar bear emptied his pockets for face, in a luxury hotel in Riyadh, Prince Saleman was on the phone with OPEC member representatives, dropping a real nuclear bomb.

"To protect Saudi Arabia's share of the global oil market, we have decided—" Saleman glanced at the telegram from Lu Qingshan in his hand, a cruel smile curling his lips, "no matter the cost, a full‑scale output increase."

The valve was turned open.

Black oil surged into the market like a flood.

At the London Oil Exchange, the Brent crude price board began to plunge.

32 US Dollars.

28 US Dollars.

25 US Dollars.

Traders waved their tickets wildly, a chorus of roars and curses filling the air. But this was only the beginning.

In just four hours, oil prices broke the $20 barrier, finally settling at $18 and still slipping downward.

The Moscow Finance Minister stared at the briefing, his vision blackening, nearly collapsing onto his desk. Seventy percent of the Soviet Union's foreign exchange came from oil and gas sales; this cut struck the main artery, blood gushing.

The ruble's exchange rate began a cliff‑like plunge, bread prices in shops changed hourly, and money that once bought a bottle of vodka could now not even afford a cap.

Over the past month, the Soviet Union's policy of strengthening the military while weakening the populace intensified, shifting light‑industry workers into defense factories, like a massive beast that slammed into a dead end yet kept moving forward, unable to turn back.

Capital City, Fuqiang Hutong.

The world outside was turned upside down, but the courtyard was eerily quiet.

Lu Qingshan held his daughter's small hand, writing on a sheet of rice paper. The ink spread, and a vigorous, powerful "Shi" character leapt onto the page.

"Dad, how do you read this character?" Lu Xiaoxue looked up, a blot of ink on her cheek like a little kitten.

"It's pronounced 'Shi'." Lu Qingshan brushed his daughter's face with his sleeve, "The 'Shi' of the great trend."

"What is the great trend?"

"If you stand atop a mountain and give a stone a light push, it will roll down on its own, unstoppable," Lu Qingshan set down his brush, lifted his daughter onto his knees, "Even a tiger or a Lion, if they stand in front, they'll be crushed into mush."

The radio was broadcasting international news, the announcer speaking clearly: "Due to fluctuations in international oil prices, the Soviet Union's domestic economy has experienced severe turbulence..."

Lu Qingshan reached out and turned off the radio.

"Dad, why is Jin Hu barking?" Lu Xiaoxue pointed to the yard.

The usually gentle big dog was now crouched toward a corner beyond the courtyard wall, emitting a threatening low growl, its back hair standing like steel needles.

Lu Qingshan's gaze hardened, patting his daughter's back: "Jin Hu is warming up his voice. Go find Mom; she'll get you that chocolate you brought back from the United States."

After sending his daughter away, Lu Qingshan stepped into the courtyard.

The person beyond the wall had left, leaving only a faint footprint and a barely perceptible cologne scent. It was the distinctive aroma of the Soviet KGB.

Ivanov finally caught on.

Whether it was the mole in the chip plant or the so‑called "defective" intel, they were all ruses. Lu Qingshan's true killing move was this invisible oil blade.

A beast enraged by shame seeks to devour people.

That night, a dossier marked "Top Secret" was placed on Lu Qingshan's desk.

"Arctic Fox," Lin Yueqiang said, pointing at the codename, his complexion grim, "Soviet Union's elite mercenary squad, specialized in dirty work. Six members, arrived yesterday."

"Six men, and they think they can overturn Capital City?" Lu Qingshan lit a cigarette.

"Brother‑in‑law, these guys are different. They're all maniacs from the Afghan front, carrying lives in their hands and heavy weapons on their backs. They operate in the shadows while we are in the light; we're too passive." Lin Yueqiang pressed the gun at his waist, "How about we first head to West Mountain for a lay‑over?"

"Avoid?" Lu Qingshan exhaled a ring of smoke, "You can dodge the first day, but not the fifteenth. Only a thief for a thousand days, there's no logic in defending against thieves for a thousand days."

He picked up a pen and wrote a line on a blank sheet of paper.

"Send out the notice: three days later, on the top floor of the Starry Sky Building, we will hold the 'Global Energy and Technology Summit'. Invite reporters from Reuters, AFP, the New York Times, and TASS."

Lin Yueqiang was stunned: "Brother-in-law, what are you..."

"Hang the meat out, and the wolves will appear," Lu Qingshan handed the paper to Lin Yueqiang, "I will gather them together and finish them off in one pot."

Lin Yue'e carried in a plate of sliced apples and happened to hear that sentence. The plate clanged against the table edge with a "ding" sound.

"Qing Shan, you're risking it again?" Lin Yue'e's eyes were red; she walked over and tightly grasped Lu Qingshan's hand, "We now have enough money, our reputation is established, why still gamble with our lives?"

Lu Qingshan reversed his hand to grip his wife's hand; it was somewhat cold.

"Yue E, this isn't about money," Lu Qingshan looked into his wife's eyes, "Some dogs, if you don't wound them or kill them, they'll keep staring at our daughter. If we don't settle this now, Xiao Xue will spend her whole life living in the shadow of a bodyguard."

Lin Yue'e bit her lip, tears swirling in her eyes, and finally nodded, "Then promise me you'll come back safely to have dinner."

"Don't worry," Lu Qingshan smiled, picked up an apple and shoved it into his mouth, "This apple is sweet; I plan to keep my stomach full and eat a few more."

Three days later, a torrential rain.

The autumn rain in Capital City carried a bone‑deep chill, as if it were going to drown the city.

The Starry Sky Building stood alone in the rain curtain, like a massive stone monument. The venue originally scheduled for the summit was empty, the reporters had been stopped outside a checkpoint several kilometers away.

Lu Qingshan stood alone before the floor‑to‑ceiling window on the top floor.

He wore a black Mao suit, idly handling the huge original diamond 'Eastern Star' in his hand. In the dim light, the diamond refracted a cold, sharp glare, brighter than the lightning outside.

Below, Qian Weiguo led a group of veterans who had returned from Africa to visit relatives, now nailed into every corner of the building like nails. What they held in their hands were not iron shovels, but heavy firepower equipped by headquarters.

"Boss, the fish are in the net," Qian Weiguo's hoarse voice came through the earpiece, "Six of them, all in the first‑floor lobby. They're swift; our infrared sensor almost couldn't keep up."

"Bring them up," Lu Qingshan adjusted his collar in the reflection of the glass, "Don't fight on the first floor; that's the souvenir stall. If we break bottles and jars, we'll have to pay compensation."

"Understood."

At that moment, a blinding flash of lightning tore the night sky, followed immediately by a thunderclap.

"Bang!"

The building's power system suddenly cut off. The entire structure instantly fell into a death‑like darkness.

In the darkness, Lu Qingshan did not move. He still faced away from the door, watching the dense rain streaks outside the window.

Several red specks of light, like the fangs of a venomous snake, silently crawled up his back and finally converged at his heart.

"Mr. Lu, Moscow sends its regards."

A cold voice sounded behind him, thick with a Russian accent.

Lu Qingshan slowly turned around.

Using the lightning outside as illumination, he saw six shadows standing at the doorway. They wore night‑vision goggles, and their MP5 submachine guns were pointed at his chest.

"Ivanov sent you?" Lu Qingshan raised the diamond in his hand and shone it toward the red laser point, "The stone is fine, but unfortunately you can't take it alive."

The lead mercenary sneered, "The dead don't need stones."

"Indeed," Lu Qingshan casually tossed the diamond onto the ground, producing a crisp sound.

"Make a move."

He whispered a sentence.

It wasn't addressed to the mercenaries, but to the true hunters lurking in the darkness.