Handong: Sha Li wants political achievements? I'll shut down the entire province.

The rough rubber soles of the military boots ground against the floor tiles, producing a dry and harsh "hissing" sound.

Zhou Yuan's cold smile was more pungent than the gunpowder smell from the barrel of a gun.

The scent of that custom-made cologne, which used to cost tens of thousands of dollars a bottle, in the lobby had long since changed.

The cold sweat pouring from the armpits of these Middle Eastern princes fermented into a pungent, sour odor.

The fumes made people's stomachs tighten and caused them to vomit acid.

The muscles at the base of Aziz's thigh instantly twisted into a tight knot.

The intense cramping made it impossible for him to stand, and with a "thud," his knees slammed onto the hard marble.

The dull thud of bones hitting bricks was enough to make your teeth ache.

"I'll order! I'll order myself!"

Aziz's Adam's apple bobbed wildly, as if he were swallowing shards of glass.

His hand trembled as he reached into the pocket of his expensive white robe and pulled out the solid gold and diamond-encrusted satellite phone.

My fingers were shaking so badly it looked like I had severe Parkinson's disease; I entered the wrong password three times in a row.

He was so anxious that the veins on his forehead throbbed, and his eyes were bloodshot with madness, as if he had been driven to the brink of despair.

"Connected! Connect me to the Commander of the Royal Guard!"

Aziz roared into the microphone at the top of his lungs, his voice split in two like a rooster whose neck had been broken.

"Burn all of the Rothschild family's oil refineries in Riyadh, along with their underground storage tanks, to the ground within ten minutes!"

The commander on the other end of the phone seemed stunned, still stammering as he tried to confirm.

In his desperation, Aziz slapped himself across the face, leaving five bright red finger marks.

"Are you fucking deaf?! If you don't blow up their factory, Master Yan will cut off Saudi Arabia's lifeline today! Go now!"

The old rich man next to him, seeing this, was so frightened that his dentures were dangling from his mouth.

He scrambled towards his assistant behind him and snatched the communicator.

"We'll bomb them too! Sink those 100,000-ton cargo ships owned by European bigwigs in Dubai port with missiles!"

In just ten minutes.

The hall was filled with heavy breathing and shouts of commands in various accents.

Spit flew everywhere.

Within half an hour of making those dozen or so phone calls.

Thousands of miles away in the Middle Eastern desert, dozens of striking orange-red mushroom clouds rose into the sky.

European old-money families have been operating energy infrastructure and refining hubs for over a century.

Amidst the deafening explosion, it was reduced to a sky full of flying steel debris and billowing black smoke.

After finishing their phone calls, the wealthy men collapsed, exhausted, onto the cold floor.

They thought that by submitting this blood oath, tinged with the smell of gunpowder, they had finally obtained their ticket to meet God.

They were like stray dogs wagging their tails and begging for mercy, staring longingly at the private elevator deep in the lobby.

The camera rapidly ascends along the elevator shaft.

The CEO's office is located on the top floor of the Lingxiao Building.

The air here is bitterly cold.

The central air conditioning tirelessly spewed out strong cold air, keeping the temperature locked at sixteen degrees Celsius.

Yan Qingfeng wasn't wearing a suit jacket, just a black shirt.

He sank deep into the large leather sofa, closing his eyes to rest.

Her thick eyelashes didn't tremble at all, and even her breathing was steady without a ripple.

He was holding a glass of expensive whiskey.

Long, slender fingers slowly swirled the glass.

The hard ice ball struck the crystal glass, producing a crisp, clear "clink, clink" sound.

In this deathly silent office, it was as if the death knell of capital was tolling.

"Bang."

The heavy solid wood door of the office was pushed open.

Su Jianxin was wearing a bespoke suit and pushed up his reflective gold-rimmed glasses.

He strode to the sofa, his leather shoes making no sound as they touched the Persian carpet.

On the face of this seemingly refined scoundrel, the bloodthirsty fervor of someone finally getting revenge was barely contained.

"Master Yan, it's done."

Su Jianxin's voice was very low, but it trembled with excitement.

"The Middle East is ablaze. The centuries of hard work of old Loeb and his team have been reduced to a pile of mud by these turbaned tycoons."

Yan Qingfeng did not open his eyes.

He simply brought the glass to his lips and took a sip of the strong, spicy liquor.

His throat burned from the alcohol, and he exhaled a breath of cold air that smelled of malt.

"How badly has the stock market crashed in Europe?" Yan Qingfeng asked casually.

His voice was devoid of any warmth, as if blowing up the assets of several countries was nothing more than crushing a few ants in his eyes.

Su Jianxin licked his chapped lips and swallowed a mouthful of bitter saliva.

"It's plummeted to the depths of hell. The speed at which assets evaporated almost brought even Wall Street's supercomputing center to a standstill."

He pointed downstairs.

"Those dozens of dogs in the lobby have all pledged their allegiance. They're now crowding around the elevator entrance, waiting for your summons."

Yan Qingfeng finally stopped swirling the wine glass.

He slowly opened his eyes, and in those dark eyes was nothing but arrogant superiority.

"Summoned?"

Yan Qingfeng snorted coldly and slammed his wine glass heavily on the crystal coffee table.

With a muffled "bang," the ice cubes in the glass tumbled and rolled.

"Who do they think they are? They blew up a few run-down factories and think they can see me?"

Yan Qingfeng raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, his tone revealing a nonchalant annoyance.

"I'm not in a good mood today. I don't want to see any guests."

Su Jianxin paused for a moment, his pupils behind his glasses dilating slightly.

But he immediately lowered his hands and bowed his head respectfully.

"So, Master Yan means to kick them out?"

"Kicking them out is too lenient. Once they come to Handong, they'll have to learn the rules here."

Yan Qingfeng stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the city that belonged entirely to him.

"After the Dafeng Factory was bulldozed, wasn't that empty lot just paved with marble tiles?"

He tapped twice on the glass with his long, slender fingers, the sound icy and chilling.

"Let them go there. Line up and kneel down properly."

"Let them bask in the sun and get rid of that stench of rotting corpses that devour people without spitting out the bones."

Su Jianxin gasped.

My thigh muscles tensed up involuntarily.

In the sweltering heat of 35 degrees Celsius in Handong, how could dozens of royal nobles worth hundreds of billions be forced to kneel in the square as punishment?

This isn't business; it's tearing off the mask of the world's top elites and crushing it underfoot.

But he dared not hesitate for a moment and immediately turned around: "Yes, Master Yan."

Half an hour later, at the former site of Dafeng Factory in Guangming District.

The scorching sun beat down relentlessly overhead, and there wasn't a breath of wind in the air.

The asphalt road was writhing with heat, and the newly laid black marble tiles were scorching hot.

You can even see wisps of white light rising from the brick surface.

Dozens of Middle Eastern crown princes and oil tycoons who usually have eight bodyguards holding umbrellas when they go out.

They were now desperately lined up in two long queues, kneeling on the exposed square.

The temperature is too high.

Their expensive, handmade white robes were already completely soaked with sweat.

It clung to the wet, sticky fabric of his fleshy back, outlining his disheveled appearance.

Sweat streamed down his forehead and into his eyes.

The high concentration of salt made my eyes hurt as if they were being scraped by razor blades.

The veins of blood were popping out one by one, and tears streamed down my face uncontrollably.

But not a single person dared to raise their hand to wipe their sweat.

Even more dangerous is the knee.

The weight of over 200 pounds pressed down on the cartilage of his knee, pressed firmly against the dark floor tiles that were tanned to nearly 60 degrees Celsius.

The sensation of pan-frying a living person directly cleaved through the brain along the nerve endings.

"Sizzle—"

You can even hear the faint evaporation sound of moisture from the skin evaporating when it comes into contact with the scorching hot tiles.

Aziz bit his lip tightly, his teeth drawing blood from his chapped lower lip.

The taste of blood filled his mouth. He swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva, and his whole body trembled with pain.

Several transparent blisters the size of walnuts had been burned into the skin and flesh of my knee.

The blisters burst under the weight of the body, and yellow tissue fluid flowed out, coming into contact with the hot floor tiles.

A faint smell of burnt flesh gradually filled the air.

Several elderly nouveau riche men experienced stomach cramps caused by the intense heat.

The acid kept rising upwards, and he could only open his mouth wide and gasp for breath like a fish dying of thirst.

But the "Dark Sword" mercenaries on both sides were carrying assault rifles, their dark muzzles gleaming coldly.

Anyone who dares to move will have their spine broken by a rifle butt.

Zhou Yuan, with a cheap cigarette dangling from his lips, slowly walked out from under the parasol in the shade.

His rough military boots pounded on the scorching hot tiles as he walked up to Aziz, who was at the head of the line.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, blowing a thick cloud of white smoke directly onto Aziz's sunburnt, purplish-red, fat face.

"You can't even handle this?"

Zhou Yuan's rough voice was like a piece of iron being sanded on sandpaper, full of mockery.

Aziz was in so much pain that he couldn't speak and could only shake his head in agony.

Zhou Yuan, with a cigarette between his fingers, pointed to the sky above, distorted by the heatwave, and grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth.

"Don't blame your brothers for not reminding you, you'd better keep your knees on tight."

"President Su just received an internal call. Those financial giants on Wall Street are going crazy because they can't get a share of the nuclear fusion project. They're chartering over a dozen private jets and heading to Handong."

Zhou Yuan bent down and patted Aziz's face, which was covered in cold sweat.

"If you dare to fall, you'll have to give up this prime location. When those old devils from Wall Street arrive, they won't even leave you a place to kowtow to Master Yan."