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

"Let them come to their deaths."

Yan Qingfeng's words, so cold and devoid of any human warmth, seemed to transform into a rusty iron saw.

Following the radio waves of the top-secret internal report, they directly sawed open the heavy iron door of the secret room of the central government in Beijing.

The confidential room was as stuffy as a stinking swill bucket that had been sealed for half a month.

The power has been out for four days, and the air conditioner is now just a decoration hanging on the wall.

The air was thick with the bitter smell of fermented, spoiled overnight tea.

The strong, sour smell of sweat emanating from several people made one's stomach churn.

General Lei slumped in the rosewood chair, his whole body trembling.

He used to regard Yan Qingfeng as a nouveau riche peasant, and he would always talk about using tanks to flatten Handong.

But now, the muscles in his groin were twisted into a knot, spasming violently and uncontrollably.

The sharp pain of the cramp shot upwards along the nerves.

The pain caused him to frantically chatter his teeth, making a series of small, cracking sounds.

Chu Yunfei's underground gas pipeline network effectively blocked the flow of supplies from the south to the north.

The special grain reserves in the capital have long been depleted; now even a mouse would starve to death.

General Lei's shrunken stomach wall contracted and rubbed violently.

The sour, putrid bile burned and scalded as it traveled up the esophagus.

"vomit--"

He clutched his emaciated stomach, opened his mouth wide, and dry-vomited a mouthful of yellowish-green bitter liquid.

The sour, foul smell instantly filled the air, choking him and causing his face to sting with tears and snot.

Minister Chen, who used to be in charge of finance, didn't even give Yan Qingfeng a second glance.

He was so hungry that his vision was blurry, and he was lying on the table picking at a dry tea leaf and stuffing it into his mouth.

The dry, hard tea dregs stung his throat, making him choke and his eyes roll back in his head.

Old Xu, who was at the top of the list, wasn't much better off.

His crisp Zhongshan suit was already soaked through with sticky, oily sweat.

It was damp and clung to my old skin, and when the cold wind that seeped in from inside the room blew, a chill ran straight through my bones.

Old Xu's ten fingers gripped the mahogany tabletop tightly, his fingernails turning a deathly pale white.

A few streaks of dark red blood seeped from the edge of the nail due to excessive force.

"The old commander... can't hold on any longer..."

General Lei wiped the bile from the corner of his mouth, his voice split in two, like a leaky bellows.

"The guards are so hungry they can barely stand! You'd better call Handong right away!"

"If we keep starving, we'll all be going to meet Marx!"

Xu Laoqian swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with difficulty.

His once-proud official authority crumbled before his emaciated, churning stomach.

Yan Qingfeng stripped her bare, leaving her with nothing but her underwear.

He stretched out his withered hand, trembling, and reached for the red express bus on the table.

My fingers were shaking so badly, like I had severe Parkinson's, that I dialed the wrong number twice.

"Beep—beep—"

The phone is on.

The 33rd floor of Lingxiao Building, Handong Province.

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

The air was filled with the cool, crisp scent of high-grade fir, so strong it made one's hair stand on end.

Yan Qingfeng wasn't wearing a suit jacket; the collar of his black shirt was slightly open.

He sat in that genuine leather boss's chair, a symbol of absolute power.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the dazzling cyber neon lights of Handong shimmer.

He casually tossed a piece of intelligence about the movements of mercenaries in Europe into the shredder.

The "crunching" sound of gears tearing through paper sounded like chewing on human bones.

"Feed." Yan Qingfeng pressed the speakerphone button.

The sound was colder and harder than the ice cubes in the whiskey in his hand.

On the other end of the phone came Xu Lao's heavy, rapid breathing, sounding like he was about to die.

"Mr. Yan... Mr. Yan."

Old Xu forced out those two words, his face turning a deep purplish-red.

All that high-and-mighty official jargon has been swallowed up by dogs; his tone now reveals a humble, almost obsequious fawning.

"We've been without food in the capital for four days. Mr. Yan, could you perhaps loosen the connection on Manager Chu's supply line...?"

Old Xu's voice trembled violently, "Send some mutated rice over to us in the north?"

Yan Qingfeng swirled the wine glass in his hand.

The hard ice cubes struck the glass, making a crisp "clink" sound.

The chilling sound traveled through the radio waves to the capital, startling General Lei so much that his thigh twitched violently once again.

"Mr. Xu, did I hear that right?"

Yan Qingfeng curled his lips into a mocking smile, his tone scraping the other person's face like sandpaper.

"The mutant grains I grow, from this nouveau riche in Handong, are incredibly dirty."

"You gentlemen of the capital have such delicate stomachs, aren't you afraid of getting diarrhea from eating our rice?"

Old Xu's heart suddenly clenched, and he gasped in pain.

His fingernails dug deep into the mahogany table, and even more blood seeped from his curled-up nails.

He endured the humiliation and forced a smile.

"President Yan is too kind! We were blind to your greatness and didn't know the proper etiquette before."

Old Xu nodded repeatedly, as if Yan Qingfeng were sitting right in front of him.

"We are willing to transfer the heavy industry and infrastructure of three northern provinces to the Lingxiao Consortium free of charge!"

"I just want some 'Lingxiao Points' to buy some food to keep the brothers alive, Mr. Yan!"

To make a living, the former capital city even sold off its old industrial assets in the north.

Yan Qingfeng tilted his head back and took a sip of strong liquor.

The spicy liquid burned his esophagus, and he exhaled a breath of cold air with the aroma of malt.

"You're really shrewd, trading scrap metal for my food."

Yan Qingfeng slammed his wine glass down on the crystal coffee table with a loud thud.

"I'll leave you some leftovers, okay?"

His eyes suddenly turned cold, and his killing intent was undisguised and radiated through the screen.

"But I have one condition."

Old Xu swallowed hard on the other end of the phone, his voice urgent: "Please tell me, please tell me!"

"I burned down the power grid of those old money guys in Europe, and now they're acting like mad dogs."

Yan Qingfeng's slender fingers tapped on the leather armrest in a dull rhythm.

"They've put a billion dollars on the dark web to kill me, and they'll definitely send assassins to Handong next."

His voice suddenly rose, exuding an absolute sense of dictatorial oppression.

"If a rat sneaks in from outside, your security and customs in Beijing must pretend to be blind and dead."

"Who dares to investigate the entry history of these assassins? Who dares to use state power to interfere with the security of Handong?"

Yan Qingfeng paused for a moment.

"The next day I made everyone in the North eat their own excrement."

The confidential room was deathly silent.

Old Xu froze, and General Lei and the other roughnecks were so frightened they didn't even dare to breathe.

This is tantamount to completely opening the country's doors.

They allowed foreign mercenaries to come in and fight the Lingxiao Consortium.

Not only do the authorities not care, they also have to act like blind and deaf wooden figures.

"Sir, please sign!"

General Lei's eyes twitched in pain as he pleaded in a low voice.

"If we don't sign, we won't even have tree bark to gnaw on tomorrow!"

"Beep—creak—"

The fax machine rang, and a cold electronic memo came out.

The conditions Yan Qingfeng had just stated were clearly written on it; this was the so-called "non-interference treaty."

Old Xu stared at the paper, his eyes bloodshot.

The feeling of humiliation pierced his heart like a venomous snake.

He put his thumb in his mouth and bit down hard on the soft flesh of his fingertip.

"Hmm!"

The excruciating pain of his flesh being torn apart caused his facial muscles to twitch wildly.

The strong, rusty, and bloody taste instantly filled my mouth.

His bloodied fingers trembled.

On that humiliating and treasonous memorandum, he pressed a bloody handprint firmly.

The red bloodstains spread across the paper, glaringly obvious.

Old Xu picked up the phone, his voice hoarse and cracking.

"Mr. Yan... the formalities are complete. But those assassins from Europe, I heard they're all top-tier outlaws from the dark web..."

Old Xu's tone betrayed his barely concealed fear.

"They're bringing heavy weapons into the country. Don't we need to help stop them from the outside?"

On the other end of the phone, a faint metallic scraping sound could be heard as Su Jianxin adjusted his glasses.

Immediately afterwards, Yan Qingfeng's voice, colder than ten thousand years of ice, slowly entered Old Xu's ears.

"You don't need to worry about that."

Yan Qingfeng snorted coldly, his tone full of ruthless cruelty and arrogance.

"They're just a bunch of wild dogs from the West. I can't even be bothered to call in a guard."

"Perfect, I'll give them to my new old sweeper so he can practice his muscles and joints."