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Late autumn of 1990, Beverly Hills, Los Angeles.

Lin Xiu stood in front of the Yongren Group headquarters building, gazing up at the behemoth made of glass and steel.

The 28-story building gleamed in the sunlight, like a sword piercing the heart of Los Angeles.

She tightened the belt of her beige trench coat, her palms sweating.

"Ms. Lin, the chairman is waiting for you." The Chinese assistant, dressed in an Armani suit, politely led her into the private elevator.

The elevator ascended silently, and Lin Xiu looked at herself through the mirrored wall...

At thirty years old, her face is well-maintained, and her Chanel suit accentuates her slender figure, showing no trace of the disheveled girl on the smuggling boat years ago.

Only she knows that the scar on her left side, grazed by a Coast Guard bullet, still aches faintly on rainy days.

With a "ding," the elevator stopped at the top floor.

The assistant pushed open the heavy mahogany door: "Chairman, Miss Lin has arrived."

Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and Suning stood at the intersection of light and shadow, his black suit outlining his tall and imposing figure.

As he turned around, a dark glint flashed from the jade ring on his little finger.

"Ah Xiu, long time no see." He greeted him with a smile in Hokkien, his voice as mellow as aged whiskey.

Lin Xiu was momentarily dazed.

Three years ago, in the sweltering cargo hold, it was this voice that encouraged her to get through the last twelve hours of the flight.

Back then, Suning was just like her, an illegal immigrant covered in fishy smells, but now she is the "chairwoman" of a business empire.

“Brother Su is a big shot now.” She deliberately used the title from back then, placing her Hermès handbag on the leather sofa. “I saw the news about Yongren Group in the newspaper and came here specifically to congratulate him.”

Su Ning gestured for her assistant to step back and personally poured her tea.

Amber-colored liquid flowed from the purple clay teapot, and the aroma of tea filled the air.

"I heard you recently won your lawsuit? You get the Mike family's house now?"

Lin Xiu's fingertips paused slightly on the teacup.

After a two-year and four-month inheritance battle, the lawyers hired by the Mike family nearly drove her to the brink of despair.

Those nights spent crying alone in cheap motels, those nightmares of being surrounded by reporters and questioned about whether she had murdered her husband—all of these now condensed into a ripple on the surface of a teacup.

“American law is fair.” She raised her exquisitely drawn eyes. “As long as there is sufficient evidence.”

The two exchanged a smile, each reading unspoken words in the other's eyes.

Of the many stowaways on the same ship that year, less than half survived.

Who among those who have managed to gain a foothold in this new continent hasn't gotten their hands dirty?

"I remember you mentioned on the ship that you wanted to come to America to become a doctor," Su Ning asked casually, sipping her tea. "Has that come true now?"

Lin Xiu took out a gold-embossed business card from her handbag and pushed it across the table: "I've changed careers! I opened a beauty salon! 'New World Beauty SPA,' with two branches in the San Gabriel Valley."

The business card has a small "MD" logo printed in the bottom right corner...

Medical Doctor—a title she bought with Mike's inheritance.

Suning raised an eyebrow: "It seems Mr. Mike left you more than just a house."

“It’s just the rights that a legal marriage entails.” Lin Xiu’s fingernails lightly scraped the rim of the glass. “But Brother Su’s business is growing bigger and bigger, he’s even taken over the Bellini family’s shipping routes…”

She deliberately emphasized the word "take over".

The office suddenly fell silent.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, a helicopter was flying over Los Angeles, the roar of its rotors sounding like distant thunder.

“Ah Xiu,” Su Ning slowly put down her teacup, “you came to see me not just to catch up, right?”

Lin Xiu suddenly smiled.

She got up and walked to the window, looking down at the panoramic view of the city: "It's a misunderstanding! I really just wanted to catch up with an old friend."

"Do you regret it?"

"what?"

“If you hadn’t come to the United States, you might already be married and have children in China.”

"Los Angeles is a paradise that everyone dreams of, how could I possibly regret it?"

"But the development speed in China is the fastest."

"Perhaps China will be very prosperous in the future, but for now..."

Su Ning's eyes became thoughtful.

After a three-second silence, he suddenly burst into laughter: "As expected of Ah Xiu! I could tell you were no ordinary person back on the ship."

He opened his desk drawer, took out a document, and said, "Take a look at this."

The document outlines the expansion plan for the "Oriental Pearl" supermarket chain, highlighting prime locations in New York, Chicago, and other cities.

Lin Xiu quickly scanned the numbers, her heart pounding...

These stores' projected annual profits are all followed by at least six zeros.

“I need reliable people to manage the East Coast operations.” Su Ning’s voice was close to her ear, his warm breath brushing against her earlobe. “You own property in New York, and you’ve studied American law for the past two years… Would you consider a partnership?”

Lin Xiu stared at the design drawings of a shop on Fifth Avenue in New York on the document, which was only three blocks away from her newly purchased apartment.

Her three years in the United States taught her the most valuable lesson: in this dog-eat-dog world, you either become the predator or the prey.

"Why did you choose me?" she heard herself ask.

Su Ning's fingers traced the back of her hand, the jade ring as cold as a snake: "It's simple! I believe you have the value to help me."

The sunlight outside the window suddenly became dazzling.

Lin Xiu realized that she was standing on the edge of a cliff. One step forward might lead to an abyss or a smooth road to heaven.

She recalled overhearing two Chinese employees discussing the Yongren Group's "shipping accident" in a restroom stall at the beauty salon yesterday...

Three workers fell into the sea, and their bodies have not yet been found.

"Deal," she heard herself say, her voice as distant as someone else's.

Suning's smile widened.

He pressed a hidden button under the table, and the side door of the office slid open, revealing a small wine cellar.

"Have a celebratory drink? 82 Lafite, a 'trophy' from Bellini's ship."

Lin Xiu followed him toward the wine cellar, her high heels clicking crisply on the marble floor.

In the instant the shadows rolled in, she suddenly turned and glanced out the sunlit window...

There was a seagull soaring across the sky, just like the one that circled over the smuggling boat three years ago.

……

1993, Los Angeles, Yongren Group Headquarters
Suning stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the container clusters of the Port of Los Angeles.

Yongren Shipping's cargo ship is slowly entering its berth, its deck piled high with inexpensive goods from China...

Toys, clothing, and small appliances will be shipped to "Oriental Pearl" supermarkets across the United States, turning into a steady stream of cash flow.

"President Su, this is the financial report for last quarter." CFO Lin Anna handed over a document. "Retail sales grew by 12%, and shipping profits remained stable, but... the market is almost saturated."

Su Ning didn't turn around, but gently stroked the jade ring on her little finger.

"What new things are Americans buying?" he asked.

“Computers.” Lin Anna pushed up her glasses. “IBM, Apple, Compaq, now every household wants to buy a PC.”

Suning's lips curled up slightly.

"Then we'll sell PCs next."

1993, Silicon Valley, CyberTech
Richard Wu glared at the Chinese visitor before him and sneered, "Yongren Group? Aren't you guys a groceries and shipbuilders? What do you know about microprocessors?"

Suning's assistant, Peter Zhou, maintained a professional smile: "Mr. Wu, we are willing to acquire Cyber ​​Technology at market price and retain your technical team."

"Bullshit!" Richard slammed his fist on the table and stood up. "My company is worth $5000 million! You think you can swallow it up for $2000 million? Dream on!"

Peter Zhou didn't waste any words. He simply pulled out a copy of the Los Angeles Times from his briefcase. The front page prominently featured the news of Yung-Jen Shipping's acquisition of Pacific Shipping, accompanied by a picture of the scene of the yacht explosion of the former Pacific Shipping CEO.

“Market prices can change, Mr. Wu,” Chen Zhiming said softly, “especially… when something unexpected happens.”

Richard's face turned ashen: "Get out!"

Three days later, at 2 a.m., Richard Wu's Porsche lost control and crashed into the guardrail on Highway 101. Police reported "brake system failure," but no skid marks were found at the scene.

On the same day, CyberTech's CTO, Mark Lee, received a package...

Inside was Richard's bloodstained tie and an acquisition contract.

Mark signed the document with trembling hands.

1994, Las Vegas Electronics Show.

The Yongren Electronics booth was packed with people. A huge screen flashed advertising slogans:
"Yongren PC – American prices, Chinese efficiency!"

On the booth, rows of black-cased computers were priced at only $499, a third cheaper than IBM computers.

Consumers went on a buying spree, and the media rushed to report on this "rising star in the industry."

No one noticed that several expressionless Asian men were standing in the corner of the booth, the outlines of gun holsters vaguely visible under their suits.

1995, Compaq headquarters, Houston.

Frank, Compaq's supply chain director, stared at the report, cold sweat pouring down his face.

"Another batch of motherboards has been seized by customs? This is the third time this month!"

His assistant whispered, “The port controlled by Yung-Jen Shipping… their people said that if you want to clear customs smoothly, you have to pay a ‘priority handling fee’.”

Frank laughed angrily: "This is extortion!"

That night, Frank's legs were broken by three masked men in the parking lot.

The following day, Compaq announced that it would "temporarily suspend the production of low-end PCs due to supply chain adjustments."

……

1995, Yung-Jen Electronics Strategic Conference.

Suning looked at the data on the big screen: Yongren PC market share 15%, annual revenue 8 million US dollars.

“That’s not enough,” he said coldly. “In 1996, we need to achieve 30%.”

Lin Anna hesitated, then said, "IBM and Dell have started to fight back; they're lobbying Congress to investigate our 'dumping practices'..."

Su Ning laughed: "Then let them investigate."

He opened the drawer and took out a stack of photos...

The photos show Senator Howard gambling heavily in a Macau casino, as well as his hotel room records with underage girls.

"The rules of Silicon Valley need to be changed."

……

1995, Los Angeles, Yongren Group Board of Directors

The data curve on the projector soared...

Yongren PC's market share has exceeded 15%, its shipping business controls three major ports in the western United States, and its retail chain stores are located throughout the United States.

But the atmosphere in the meeting room was unusually heavy.

“Last night, our warehouse number 3 in Long Beach was burned down,” said Chen Tiesheng, the security supervisor, his voice hoarse. “The surveillance footage showed it was people from the Mexican ‘Sonora Gang.’”

"Three supermarkets in New York were vandalized, resulting in a loss of two million dollars." Retail Director Anna Lin pushed up her glasses. "It was done by the Italians."

"The servers at our Silicon Valley factory were hacked, and the blueprints were leaked." The CTO's face was grim. "The IP address was traced to an internet cafe controlled by Vietnamese gangs."

All eyes turned to the man at the end of the long table.

Su Ning slowly turned the jade ring on her little finger, then suddenly smiled: "It seems that someone thinks Yongren's knife is dull."

That night, in an underground boxing ring in Los Angeles' Chinatown.

Under the dim light, twenty elite members of the Five Blessings Gang knelt on one knee.

They were no longer street thugs, but rather impeccably dressed members of the "Yongren Group Security Department Special Task Force".

Su Ning's voice rang out in the darkness: "The Italians want shipping routes, the Mexicans want drug trafficking routes, the Vietnamese want technology..."

He paused, then said, "Then give them to them—with bullets."

A list was circulated:

Salvador Bellini (Los Angeles Mafia boss);

Hector Mendoza (Head of Sonora's drug trafficking operations);
Nguyen Van Hung (leader of a Vietnamese hacker group)...

"I want everyone on this list to disappear within three days." Su Ning tossed down a disposable phone. "Remember, this is business competition, not gang warfare."

"Yes!"

The following day, at the Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills.

Salvador Bale was enjoying his signature lobster pasta when he suddenly realized the sauce tasted wrong—it was too bitter.

He looked up and saw the restaurant manager standing some distance away, his eyes darting around.

“You…” Bell was about to stand up when his heart suddenly clenched with pain.

He collapsed onto the plate, twitched a few times, and then stopped moving.

Two hours later, the Los Angeles Times published a breaking news report:
"Bale, CEO of a well-known restaurant group, died suddenly of a heart attack, suspected to be due to a food allergy."

No one noticed that Pacific Foods, a subsidiary of the Yongren Group, had just acquired the restaurant's seafood supplier.

Hector Mendoza was very cautious.

He never traveled alone; his convoy always consisted of four vehicles traveling together, and the route changed daily.

But he didn't expect that Yongren's assassins had bribed his mistress.

"The goods tonight will go through warehouse number 7; it's absolutely safe," the woman whispered in bed. "The police have already been taken care of."

At midnight, Mendoza's convoy drove into Warehouse 7 at Long Beach Port.

As soon as the warehouse door closed, a dozen masked men wielding AKs suddenly stood up from the surrounding shadows.

"Yongren Group sends its greetings," the leader said, then pulled the trigger.

The gunfire lasted for a full three minutes.

Then, gasoline was spilled and the lighter fell to the ground.

When the fire department arrived, the entire warehouse was engulfed in flames.

The headline the following day was:

"Port oil tank explosion, suspected to be caused by infighting among drug traffickers, resulted in 5 deaths."

Ruan Wenxiong's favorite thing to do is hacking, not fighting.

At that moment, he was hiding in an internet cafe in San Francisco's Chinatown, thinking that no one could find him.

One night, the internet cafe suddenly lost power.

In the darkness, Nguyen Van Hung heard someone say in Vietnamese, "General Su asked, 'Can your keyboard stop bullets?'"

After a muffled blast from a silenced pistol, power was restored to the internet cafe.

The customers complained about logging back in, and no one noticed the "sleeping Asian middle-aged man" slumped over the computer in the corner.

Three days later, Yongren Electronics announced that it had "successfully defended against attacks by overseas hackers and fully upgraded its data security system."

Yongren Group's annual meeting on New Year's Day, 1996.

Suning stood on the stage, with the annual performance results displayed on a large screen behind him:

Retail sales grew by 40%;

The market share of the ocean freight market reached 28%;

Yongren PC ranks among the top five in the United States...

The applause of the audience was thunderous.

No one mentioned the rivals who had "died unexpectedly" in the past six months; no one questioned why the rival gangs had suddenly stopped harassing them; and no one dared to ask why the FBI's investigation into Yongren had all come to nothing.

“Yongren’s motto is—” Suning raised his champagne glass, his smile sharp as a knife, “Harmony brings wealth.”

All the executives present echoed in unison and drank their glasses of wine.

Unseen by anyone, in the shadows of a corner of the banquet hall, several well-dressed "security personnel" were silently wiping the bloodstains from their cuffs.

...(End of chapter)