My Realistic Simulation Game

Chapter 128 Gathering: The Chinese Have Never Knelt
Ulaanbaatar.

Zhang Weijun counted the cash in his hand, a satisfied look on his face.

"Damn... I never expected this..."

He murmured to himself, his eyes shining, "I bought the goods for less than 500,000 and sold them for more than 2 million, making a net profit of more than 1.5 million!"

He grabbed a pair of jeans with the "Jeanswest" logo printed on them. The fabric was thick and the fit was crisp, giving it a "stylish" feel that was different from the coarse fabrics used in Mongolia.

This brand... has anyone seen it in Mongolia before?
But those wealthy Mongolian lords and the families of Soviet officers robbed it like it was free!
America truly is a beacon of light!

These Jeanswest clothes and pants, with just a slight American style, sell so well.

"It seems we'll have to rely on Far East trade from now on. Even if we only stay in this small place like Mongolia, we can still make a living!"

Zhang Weijun was secretly pleased with himself.

Just then, the thick curtain of the yurt was suddenly flung open, and a blast of cold air, along with wind and snow, rushed in.

Bao Ri rushed in, his body radiating cold air, his face anxious and panting heavily: "Brother Jun! Something's happened! Something terrible has happened!"

Bao Ri, panting heavily, spoke hurriedly.

Zhang Weijun's heart skipped a beat. He instinctively swept all the money on the table into the briefcase next to him and asked warily, "What's wrong? Has the Mongolian anti-smuggling team come knocking?"

"It's Moscow. Something's happened in Moscow."

Bao Ri sat on the carpet, took a sip of milk tea, and panted, "Boss Qin asked us to go to Moscow. Apparently, the local gangs there are too rampant and are affecting the normal operation of local businesses."

"Baori, what do we have to do with the gangs in Moscow? Our distribution area is in Mongolia, not Moscow." A short man in a black jacket said dismissively, "Boss Qin occupies the best spots himself, and now that something's happened, he wants us to help him? There's no such thing as a free lunch."

“Dunzi, you can’t say that.” A young man wearing glasses shook his head and said solemnly, “Moscow is now the leader of the K3 line, the bellwether. If Boss Qin can’t keep those Caucasians from acting so arrogantly in Moscow, this fire will spread to Mongolia sooner or later!”

"By helping Boss Qin, we're helping ourselves! If we cut off this source of income, none of us will have anything to eat!"

"Dahua is right!" Zhang Weijun suddenly stood up, his sharp eyes sweeping over his men. "Dunzi, don't you fucking forget! Where did all the money we made this time, these pants, this leather jacket, come from?"

"These are goods from Far East Trading. Without Boss Qin's goods, how will you treat your father's leg? How will you buy medicine for your mother?"

Upon hearing the words "Mom and Dad," Dunzi's arrogant expression vanished instantly, replaced by a look of struggle in his eyes. Finally, he gritted his teeth and said, "Brother Jun... I... I was wrong. Boss Qin, we have to help!"

"We must help!" Zhang Weijun said decisively. He lifted the curtain of the yurt and looked out at the rows of yurts in the snow and the vast grassland in the distance. "Baori, has the news spread yet? Are there many people going to Moscow?"

Bao Ri nodded emphatically: "Many, a lot. I've inquired. Yekaterinburg, Novosibirsk, Irkutsk... any middleman who's made a name for himself on the K3 line has heard the news."

"Many people have already set off for Moscow! If they're too late, they might not even get a hot bowl of soup!"

Zhang Weijun's eyes sharpened, and he turned around abruptly: "Brothers, let's set off immediately for Moscow!"

This scene is unfolding at various stations along the K3 route.

The wind was biting cold at Yekaterinburg train station.

Zhu Dayong led more than ten henchmen, looking menacing.

"Brothers, you fucking listen to me!"

"Why were we able to gain a foothold in Yekaterinburg this time? Why were we able to get along so well? Who was it because of us?"

"It's because of the goods from Far East Trading, and because of the channels that Boss Qin provided us!"

Standing on the platform, Zhu Dayong took advantage of the break while waiting for the train to speak to all his underlings:

"This trip to Moscow isn't just to support Boss Qin; it's to earn a living for ourselves."

"If we don't beat those sons of bitches to a pulp, then we Chinese in the Soviet Union will be nothing but fat sheep to be slaughtered, unable to move an inch."

"Fuck you!"

"Kill those Caucasians!"

The henchmen were enraged, waving their fists and their eyes filled with hostility.

Just then, a train bound for Moscow, belching thick smoke, slowly pulled into the station.

"Get on the train!" Zhu Dayong waved his hand, leading everyone to rush into the carriage.

There were many middlemen doing business in Yekaterinburg who had heard the news from Moscow and were excited by the sight of Zhu Dayong and his group.

Some people were eager to try and get on the bus, but they didn't have the guts.

Qin Yuan's reputation in the Soviet Union is now more prominent than that of any other black marketeer.

This call for all the middlemen on the K3 line to go to Moscow must be something big.

Several days later, the number of Chinese businessmen gathering in Moscow was increasing.

Even the slow-witted Caucasian, Baliev, noticed something was amiss.

"What's going on? Didn't they usually send groups of Chinese people every two weeks or a month?"

"Moreover, the Chinese who come here usually bring a large amount of goods, but now..."

Baliev's cold gaze fell on Zhu Dayong and his group, who had just gotten off the train.

"Why didn't these people bring any goods? And why are there so many of them?"

Upon closer inspection, it turns out that more than two hundred people have arrived at the Yaroslavl train station in the past few days.

Moreover, there is no sign that this growth is slowing down.

Almost every day, the trains that stopped brought some Chinese people from all over the Soviet Union.

All of this is so strange.

“Gri, go grab a Chinese man and ask him what kind of devil they’re up to,” Baliev said, his eyes fierce as he looked at one of his bald men.

He sensed that something was wrong.

But he could never have guessed that the Far East Trading Company was behind all of this.

He could never have guessed that Qin Yuan, an ordinary businessman, possessed such a high level of influence and influence on the K3 line.

"Everyone."

A large warehouse specially approved by the Soviet Ministry of Trade for trade in the Far East.

At this moment, four or five hundred people have gathered here.

Among these people, the majority were local Moscow traders, followed by traders who came from all over the country in response to the call.

People from Beijing, Tianjin, Shanghai, and Northeast China—people from all over the country are represented.

Qin Yuan stood on the platform on the second floor of the warehouse, his gaze calmly sweeping over the throng of people below.

Standing beside him were Binzi, Wu Weiguo, Chen Jianhua, and others.

"Binzi, it's your turn." Qin Yuan's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable authority.

Binzi took a deep breath and nodded.

He was nearly two meters tall, with a burly physique. At that moment, he was wearing a tight black sweater, his muscles bulging, making him even more imposing.

He strode to the edge of the platform, his sharp gaze sweeping across the entire arena like that of a hawk.

The once noisy warehouse instantly fell silent!

Hundreds of eyes were focused on him!
"Everyone, thank you for coming!" Binzi met Qin Yuan's gaze and said in a deep voice, "Why have you all come to Moscow from all directions today? To make money?"

"That's right. We traveled thousands of miles to this frozen Soviet Union for nothing more than the pursuit of wealth."

He abruptly changed the subject, his tone turning icy: "But some people don't want us to get rich; some people want to treat us like easy prey, like lambs to the slaughter!"

“In the past, some young men felt that setting up a street stall in Moscow was hard work, it was shameful to resell goods, they couldn’t speak the language, and they didn’t earn much money, so they had crooked ideas.”

"They started seizing territory, collecting protection money, and even robbing and kidnapping."

"But is there any point in doing this?"

"People from Beijing fight people from Shanghai, and people from Northeast China fight people from the South. They fight back and forth, and they all end up bleeding and sweating. No one can be sure of gaining an advantage."

"And lawless people like Kayo will ultimately not escape death."

Binzi's gaze was cold and stern as he carried the manuscript Qin Yuan had given him.

When the topic of Jiadai came up, the entire warehouse fell silent, as if the temperature had dropped several degrees.

"However, after the Jia Dai incident was resolved, the local gangs grew rapidly. These people thought that every one of us black marketeers was carrying gold, and they wouldn't let us leave without robbing us of our money."

"Today it's him, tomorrow it'll be you. I think everyone who comes to Moscow has been extorted by those Caucasians and Slavs, right?"

Pang Ge and Wang Laizi, their faces bruised and swollen, shouted from the crowd, "Brother Bin, what do you say we do? We'll all follow you and Boss Qin."

The two of them had suffered a great loss, something that had never happened in Yanjing City before. They wouldn't be able to swallow their anger until they got their revenge.

"Yeah! Fuck them!"

"Kill them!"

The crowd was instantly ignited!
Binzi pressed his hands down, signaling everyone to be quiet, but his voice became even more impassioned: "Everyone, we are all Chinese. We have been poor, we have been tired, and we have been looked down upon abroad!"

"But when have we ever knelt down?! When have we ever been bullied like this?!"

"Today, my elder brother has gathered everyone here to tell those Caucasian bastards, and to tell all the bastards in Moscow who want to trample on our heads!"

Binzi spoke each word clearly and forcefully: "Yaroslavl Railway Station is not a Caucasus Station! Nor is it a Chechen Station!"

"From today onwards! It will be called—China Station!"

"This is the first stop for us Chinese people when we set foot in Moscow!"

"This is the first stop where we will never bow our heads or kneel down!"

"China Station! Chinese People! We Will Never Kneel!"

"China Station! Chinese People! We Will Never Kneel!"

The shouts were deafening, like a mountain collapsing and a tsunami crashing!
Standing beside Qin Yuan, Chen Jianhua listened to the deafening roar and looked down at the faces contorted with rage, his own face burning with rage.

His previous idea of ​​"keeping the peace" now seemed so pale and ridiculous.

Qin Yuan patted him on the shoulder and comforted him, "Jianhua, you are a scholar. You have never been on the front lines of a fight and don't understand the nature of those wolves."

"Appeasement? Backing down? That will only make them think you're weak and easy to bully, and they'll take advantage of you!"

"There's only one way to deal with this kind of person—"

Qin Yuan's voice immediately turned cold: "Strike them, strike them until they are hurt, strike them until they are afraid, strike them until they tremble at the mere mention of Chinese names!"

"Only in this way can our business be safe and sound!"

Only then can we deter those restless reptiles lurking in the dark corners of Moscow!

(There's also an extra chapter for those who have 1683 to 1883 monthly votes. Don't wait, it'll be very late.)

(End of this chapter)