Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 120 The Mayor's Wife Made of Water and Director Qingshan

"The main hall of the Qingshan Society, inside the lobby."

The elites, who had just experienced the event, were now wolfing down their food around the steaming table.

Lawson's consciousness had returned; he was holding a glass of whiskey and slowly walking down from the second floor.

He was in an excellent mood at that moment.

After going downstairs, he raised his glass high.

The hall immediately fell silent; everyone stopped eating and looked at him nervously.

"Everyone."

Aoyama smiled sincerely and looked specifically at the three Silver Kings whose warehouse he had just robbed.

"I propose a toast to the most resilient pillars of San Francisco: Mr. James, Mr. McDonald, and Mr. Vlad!"

The three Silver Kings were startled and looked up, flattered.

"And a toast to everyone here."

Aoyama looked around and said, "Thank you for letting us get through this damn night safely."

"And a salute to us for the close cooperation that is about to begin!"

"Cheers!"

"Cheers, Mr. Aoyama!"

Like all the survivors, the three Silver Kings raised their glasses in trepidation.

"He was actually quite polite."

A silver tycoon muttered under his breath.

"Nonsense! Each of us paid 50,000 silver dollars for admission, how could he not be happy?"

"makes sense!"

Another day passed.

The California National Guard still hasn't arrived!
The anxiety is getting stronger.

"Damn it, how much longer do we have to wait?"

A silver lord stubbed out his cigar in frustration: "Barkley, did you even send that damn telegram?"

Barkley looked worse than if his mother had died.

He stammered, "I swear, something must have happened in Sacramento, it must have!"

Crestwood slammed his cane on the floor: "A bunch of useless trash!"

Some people went up to the third-floor balcony and looked outside.

The intersection in Chinatown looks like a bloody totem pole.

Several corpses were suspended by ropes from a makeshift wooden frame, swaying gently in the morning breeze.

They were the Irish rioters who tried to storm Chinatown last night.

This scene made the wealthy businessmen's hearts clench.

On the one hand, they felt a strange sense of satisfaction; these damned scum deserved it!

On the other hand, they felt an even deeper fear of the young Chinese man sitting deep inside the main hall!
Before yesterday, the name Qingshan meant absolutely nothing to them.

Now, he is their only lifeline, but also another knife hanging over their heads!

"At least he kept his promise."

A businessman muttered to himself, trying to reassure himself: "We paid money, so he protects us. It's fair, isn't it?"

Henderson sneered: "My newspaper, my life's work, he just stole it away with a fucking 20,000 silver dollars!"

"Shut up, Henderson!"

Barkley growled, "Whether your lousy newspaper is still around is another matter, but the thugs outside don't know who you are. You should thank God you're alive!"

"My fucking assets, my factories, my bank vaults!"

Another wealthy businessman, clutching his hair, wailed, "Those Irish bastards, and those damn Mexicans, they'll rob and burn everything!"

Anxiety continues to spread.

They are the elite of San Francisco, but now they are trapped in the city's sewers, helplessly watching their empire being torn apart by a pack of mad dogs!
Their protector, the Chinese man, seemed completely unconcerned.

Night falls again.

The atmosphere of despair reached its peak at the dinner party.

The food provided by Aoyama Club is far from exquisite, consisting of large chunks of grilled meat, large barrels of dark beer, and unlimited whiskey.

Although it wasn't very delicious, at least it filled my stomach.

These elites completely abandoned their usual decorum and frantically poured alcohol into their mouths.

"cheers!"

"Fuck the National Guard!"

"Once I get out of here, I'm going to skin all those Irish bastards and make them into riding boots!"

Drowning one's sorrows in alcohol only makes them worse.

Mayor Samuel Black barely ate anything, just drank his wine in a somber mood.

His eyes were fixed on Crestwood, who was talking and laughing loudly with several wealthy businessmen not far away.

Crestwood was clearly drunk too. He patted Barkley on the shoulder and shouted, "Barkley, you did a great job. Once this is over, you're fucking the mayor. Samuel? Ha, that coward, he's only fit to be a doorman at his wife's gallery!"

A burst of shrill laughter erupted at the dinner table.

Samuel Black's hands were already clenched into fists under the table.

His wife, like a soulless statue, remained deaf to the insults her husband suffered, mechanically poking at the food on his plate with her silver fork.

Samuel Black gulped down the last of his drink, stood up, and grabbed his wife's wrist.

"Penny, let's go."

Ignoring the surprised looks from others, he pulled Penny along, weaving through the drunken crowd, and headed towards the backyard of the main building, Aoyama's private area.

In Qingshan's room, a faint scent of sandalwood lingered.

Lawson's consciousness was attached to Qingshan's body, and he was wiping a revolver that had just been delivered from Ross Precision Machinery in its experimental stage.

"Mr. Mayor."

Without even looking up, he said indifferently, "The banquet isn't over yet. Aren't you going to keep your masters company?"

This sarcastic remark shattered Samuel Black's last shred of reason.

"Mr. Aoyama!"

He was panting heavily when he shoved Penny in front of him: "I know you're not an ordinary Chinese person. You're someone who's going to do great things. You want Chinatown, no, you want more than just Chinatown!"

Lawson stopped what he was doing.

He raised his eyelids, his deep eyes locking onto him: "Go on."

“Crestwood! He treated me like a dog, a puppet idiot! Even that bastard Barkley wanted to take everything from me!”

Lawson smiled, closed the revolver, and placed it on the table.

"So what do you want me to do, Mr. Mayor? Cry for you?"

"No!"

Samuel was nearly insane: "Help me get rid of him, get rid of Crestwood!"

Penny Black shuddered almost imperceptibly.

Lawson observed the couple with great interest.

The legendary incompetent mayor is actually quite ruthless.

He stood up and walked up to the mayor. The imposing height of the mayor made Samuel involuntarily take a step back.

“Mayor, do you know what you’re saying? That’s a fucking senator. Kill him? San Francisco will be turned upside down, America will be turned upside down. That’s too risky.”

"No!"

The mayor panicked and grabbed Lawson's arm: "If he doesn't die, my time as mayor is over. Do you think he'll let me off the hook once he gets out? Or let you off the hook?"

"But once he's dead, that piece of trash Barkley will be nothing. I'll still be the mayor, the only one in power in San Francisco. Then, all of San Francisco's policies will support you. The land you want, the citizenship rights for Chinese laborers you want—I can help you negotiate all of that!"

Lawson stared at him coldly, unmoved.

"I see no sincerity in you, Mayor."

"Sincerity, is that it?"

Samuel Black's face flushed red: "Sincerity, I'll give you that!"

He gritted his teeth, grabbed Penny's shoulders, and forcefully pushed her into Qingshan's arms.

"Mr. Aoyama, I've had too much to drink. My wife admires you a lot. Let her have a few drinks with you. I'm going now, ugh!"

He feigned drunkenness, turned around, and staggered out of the room as if fleeing a fire he had started himself.

The door was slammed shut.

Penny Black stood frozen in place like a beautiful sculpture whose soul had been taken away.

Her dark green velvet dress appeared thin and fragile against the backdrop of the towering green mountains.

Lawson spoke calmly, his voice devoid of emotion: "Your husband is using you as his last bargaining chip. It seems that on the mayor's scales of value, you and the future of San Francisco together are just equal to the life of a senator."

Penny's eyelashes trembled violently.

She raised her eyes, and there was neither fear nor pleading in those beautiful eyes.

All that remains is a bone-chilling numbness and indifference, as if the body has been hollowed out.

"The mayor and I are only husband and wife in name. My father's bank received policy benefits, and I received the title of mayor's wife. That's all."

"Ah."

Lawson chuckled and circled her once. "A very fair deal. Until your husband feels there should be something extra in it."

He thought the woman would cry, beg for mercy, or even become hysterical.

But she didn't have any of those.

Lawson suddenly felt a bit bored; he had seen far too many of these numb souls.

He is not one to force others to do things against their will.

If you insist on doing this, what's the difference between that and killing fish?
He casually picked up a bottle of wine from the table, but noticed Penny's gaze.

She was staring at an oriental landscape painting hanging on the wall.

"You like art?"

Lawson suddenly spoke.

Penny seemed surprised by his question and paused for a moment before replying, "Yes."

"I especially love art."

Lawson continued the conversation for her.

A hint of surprise finally flashed across Penny's eyes.

He's just a Chinese gang leader, a thug who takes advantage of the chaos during the riots, yet he understands art?

"how do you know?"

"Although I don't understand your white people's complicated ways."

Lawson walked up to her, grabbed her chin, and forced her to start talking: "But at the dinner party just now, you stared at that fat banker's jewel on his chest for three seconds, and then stared at his wife's hat covered in feathers for five seconds. I guess you weren't looking at the person, you were looking at the colors and the combination."

Penny's breath hitched.

Which genre do you prefer?

Lawson looked at her with amusement.

The question was so abrupt that Penny instinctively revealed her deepest secret: "I like the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. But now, I'm more interested in the French Impressionists, like Monet."

In 1878, the term Impressionism was essentially synonymous with lowbrow scribbling to the San Francisco elite.

"Monet?"

Lawson chuckled and released his grip: "You mean that madman who drew a pile of hay dozens of times? And those blurry sunrises?"

"That's not blurry!"

For the first time, Penny's numb mask cracked, and her voice rose involuntarily: "That's light, that's air, that's a fleeting emotion, you don't understand!"

"I don't understand anything."

Lawson rudely interrupted her, but the mockery in his eyes turned into something deeper: "All I know is that if a painter can't even see what the hell he's painting, then he's a piece of trash."

"you!"

Lawson changed the subject: "You like them, not because of the light, not because of the bullshit air, but because of anger."

Penny was completely stunned, somewhat incredulous.

"You like them because they dare to smash all that lofty classical beauty, they dare to use the crudest brushstrokes to depict vulgar dancers and dirty streets, they dare to give the middle finger to all of Paris, to the whole world, and say 'Fuck you!'"

He stared into her eyes and said, word by word, "What you like is that kind of defiance. That kind of 'I'm going to draw it this way, what the hell are you going to do about it' attitude. You think that's what's real."

Penny's delicate body began to tremble involuntarily.

This man, this barbaric and rude Chinese man, used blunt language to reveal a secret that even she herself dared not admit.

At that moment, she felt as if she had been seen through! Not in her body, but in her soul!

A strange sense of excitement swept over her.

Lawson is very satisfied with her current state.

His fingers gently traced her cheek, the cool touch like confirming the texture of a work of art: "You see, I may not understand art, but I understand you."

“You are beautiful, Mrs. Penny. Like a doused ember, cold on the outside but with a core that can burn a person to ashes. I admire you, from the bottom of my heart.”

Half a day later, Mak Ling was called in.

"Change it."

Lawson exhaled a smoke ring.

Mai Ling knelt on the ground, silently cleaning up the mess.

She dared not look at the woman on the bed, but the damp smell stung her nose like needles.

Mai Ling felt a mixture of envy and jealousy towards the mayor's wife. It was the third day of the San Francisco riots.

The California National Guard still hasn't arrived!
This fact was firmly etched in the minds of every elite member of the Aoyama Club headquarters.

Hope, which just two days ago made them feel superior and complain about their food, has now been completely extinguished.

Pure fear fermented wildly within the building.

Those gentlemen who usually wield power in the financial exchange and city council are now pacing aimlessly in the hall or gathering in small groups to whisper among themselves.

Is San Francisco really doomed?!
Amidst this suffocating anxiety, Aoyama was leisurely sitting on the sofa.

On the table in front of him were only a pot of freshly brewed hot tea and a city plan map of San Francisco.

Sitting opposite him was San Francisco Mayor Samuel Black.

This incompetent mayor, at this moment, is shining with excitement, as if he has found the only job he can understand.

He excitedly poked at the map with his finger: "Yes, Mr. Aoyama, you're absolutely right. This whole area, from Sacramento Street to the south of Market Street, is a complete cesspool. There's no planning at all, and those damned Irishmen and Italians are burrowing through it like rats!"

Lawson took a sip of tea and drew a circle on the map with a red pen.

“The streets here are too narrow; even carriages can’t pass. In the future, I will raze this place to the ground and build a central avenue that is at least eighty feet wide.”

"Genius!"

The mayor slapped his thigh excitedly: "A boulevard, just like Paris! God, I've always said we should learn from Paris. It's not just for hygiene, but for the face of the city!"

"of course."

Lawson tapped the blueprint with his fingertip: "It's also for better management. Think about it, Mr. Mayor, if the streets are wide enough, a Gatling gun can silence all the bastards on the street."

The mayor's smile froze for a moment, but quickly returned: "That's right, that's right, Manager, hahaha, Mr. Aoyama, you really should go to West Point. Once this period is over, I will definitely..."

“I happen to own a construction company.”

Lawson interrupted him: “Rockstone Construction, we have plenty of manpower. We can handle all this demolition and reconstruction work.”

"It's all yours!"

The mayor almost lunged forward to grab Lawson's hand: "As soon as this riot is over, I guarantee that all of San Francisco's municipal projects will be awarded to your company. You are our savior!"

"boom!"

Senator Crestwood slammed his silver-tipped cane against the redwood floor.

The buzzing in the hall immediately stopped.

Everyone turned to look at them.

Crestwood's face was grim, his eyes fixed on Lawson with hatred.

He's had enough!

I've had enough of this absurd city planning game.

“Mr. Aoyama, I don’t care about your damn construction company, nor do I care what that idiot mayor promised you.”

Crestwood slowly stood up: "I'll ask you one question. A yes or no question."

"Forget your losses, forget your Chinese brothers, forget all the bullshit grudges between us. Do you personally have the ability to pin all those thousands of Irish bastards and Mexican drug addicts to the ground and stuff them back into their cages?"

"Can you quell this rebellion?"

The hall was deathly silent!
The bankers, judges, and members of parliament present all stared wide-eyed at Lawson in disbelief.

They wouldn't even dare to think about this problem.

"Are you kidding me, Senator!"

"He said it himself that night: he could only manage to kill a thousand people if he rushed out; there were at least two or three thousand thugs outside!"

"Yeah, how could he possibly do that? How many people does he have under his command?"

"This is sending him to his death!"

That's what they say, but these people wished that the Chinese man would be provoked and then rush out to be killed!
Regardless of which side wins, as long as one side dies, they will have plenty of opportunities for revenge!

Lawson simply sat there quietly, without rushing to answer.

He picked up a cigar, and Mak Ling immediately stepped forward to cut it open and light it for him.

"call!"

Thick smoke rose, blurring his Asian face.

Time seemed to stretch out at that moment.

Just as the watch merchant was on the verge of collapse, Lawson finally spoke.

"Ability?"

He asked softly, "Yes, there is."

"Did you hear that, you bunch of idiots!"

Mayor Samuel Black quickly jumped in to praise him: "I knew it, I knew Mr. Aoyama had a way. Do you think an ordinary person would dare to brag like this at a time like this? He's risking his own life!"

At this moment, the incompetent mayor actually became Lawson's most steadfast believer.

Lawson took a puff of his cigar, letting the shocked and ecstatic gazes overwhelm him.

He slowly exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling before adding leisurely, "I have the ability. But I won't do it."

The expression of ecstasy froze on the wealthy businessman's face.

"My brothers."

Lawson tapped his chest with his cigar: "Their lives matter too. They're not meant for you pampered good-for-nothings, just waste material to wipe your asses. I'm taking you in because we're all human. That's the greatest mercy I can show."

"Don't expect me to fight thousands of lunatics for your assets and interests."

A banker stammered, "We can keep giving money, lots of money, really!"

Lawson scoffed, too lazy to even answer him.

"What about the conditions?"

Restwood gritted his teeth and spoke again.

“Name your price, Mr. Aoyama. We don’t talk about mercy, we don’t talk about any bullshit kinship. We talk about a deal.”

"What do you want us to give? What price do you want us to pay to help quell this riot?"

Lawson smiled; he had been waiting for these words for three whole days.

He stood up, stretched, and strolled to the window, looking at the corpses of his men who had hanged themselves at the street corner.

"The price?"

He turned around, his gaze slowly moving through the crowd, finally settling on Barkley.

Barkley shuddered under his gaze.

"I don't have any particularly grand ambitions, it's just that..."

He pointed to the main office of the Qingshan Society where he was.

"This office is too small. Sitting here looking at San Francisco, I always feel a bit cramped."

“I was thinking, if I could work in a different place, somewhere with a better view and a more comfortable chair, like the San Francisco Police Chief’s office in City Hall.”

"In that case."

Lawson smiled, revealing his white teeth: "I might feel better then. If I'm in a better mood, I might be more willing to take action."

After the silence came the volcanic eruption!

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Barkley exploded on the spot!

"Police chief? You?"

"You fucking Qing Dynasty citizen, someone who isn't even a citizen and doesn't even have the right to vote, and you fucking want to be the police chief of San Francisco?"

"This is impossible!"

He roared hysterically, "This violates the Federal Basic Law, this violates the California Constitution, this is the most, most, most vicious insult to the United States of America!"

"Absolutely not!"

Faced with this hysterical outburst, Lawson frowned and picked at his ear.

“Mr. Barkley, you seem very excited, but what’s the rush? I never said I wanted to be the director.”

He shrugged, looking completely innocent.

"The choice is in your hands, isn't it?"

"As for how to explain it to the federal government, how to account to the public, and how to circumvent your nonsensical legal provisions, that's none of my business."

"These are my conditions. You can decide for yourselves."

Crestwood's face turned green, but he managed to remain calm.

He poked the still trembling Barkley hard with his cane.

"Shut up."

Barkley wanted to yell back, but he could only swallow his words.

"Mr. Aoyama."

The senator slowly began, "We need to discuss this privately."

"Please."

Lawson waved his hand magnanimously.

"I'll give you half an hour."

He turned around and leisurely led Mai Ling upstairs.

No sooner had Lawson left than a storm, even more intense than the riots outside, erupted in the hall.

"crazy!"

An elderly judge trembled with rage: "He's insane, we're insane! Letting a Chinese man be the police chief? This is a scandal like no other in federal history! Absolutely not!"

"I object!"

Another congressman screamed, "This is treason! This is letting the wolf into the house! I'd rather die, I'd rather San Francisco fall, than agree to this absurd condition!"

"If you fucking want to die, don't drag us down with you!"

The businessman jumped up and cursed, "Those bastards outside don't care if you're a member of parliament or not, they'll just rip your guts out and use them as a rope to jump!"

"But he's a Chinese guy!"

"So what? Right now, this Chinaman holds our lives in his hands!"

"Mayor, please say something!"

After his dedication last night, Samuel Black seemed to have unlocked his full potential.

He glanced at the closed stairwell, then at the enraged senator; this was his only chance.

"Guys, this is not a normal time, not the time for us to discuss tax laws in the club! San Francisco no longer has a government, the police system has completely collapsed, and Barkley doesn't even dare to go back to his own office. We are now a bunch of chicks trapped in a cage!"

"Where is the Sacramento National Guard?"

He roared, "Nothing! Nothing at all! We've been abandoned!"

"Right now, there is only one person, only he can keep us alive and save this city. Our first priority is to survive and to quell this damned riot as soon as possible. Nothing is more important than this!"

Senator Crestwood, unusually, did not reprimand the mayor for his lapse in behavior.

He just closed his eyes and kept pressing his temples.

Crestwood only opened his eyes when the mayor finished shouting the last sentence.

"The mayor is right, the National Guard isn't coming."

"so."

Crestwood stood up and looked around the room: "That's just how damn reality is. We have no choice. If Aoyama wants to be the police chief, then let him be the chief."

"But, Senator, what about the federal government?"

"I'll go explain!"

Crestwood slammed his fist on the table and roared, “I’ll tell Washington that I appointed a temporary military commander to suppress an armed rebellion. This is war, and in war, all I care about is winning, understand?”

"What about the citizens?"

"Mayor, go explain!"

The senator pointed at Samuel: "Just tell them this is an angel sent by God, no, just tell them this is the ace you, Mayor, wisely and powerfully invited. They just want security now, they don't fucking care if this ace is yellow or white!"

"It's settled then, let him be the director! Anyway, it's only for this term, just an acting director."

The senator's eyes were sinister: "Once the riots are over, do you think he'll still be able to hold onto his position as bureau chief?"

“It is easier to crush a heretic who does not even have the right to vote than to crush an ant.”

"Now, let him be our mad dog!"

After half an hour.

Lawson came downstairs right on time.

"Gentlemen," he said with a smile, "how have your discussions gone?"

Silence fell over the hall.

The mayor stood up, holding a pen and a newly written authorization letter.

"Mr. Aoyama, according to the Emergency Act, given that San Francisco has fallen into anarchy, organized armed mobs have destroyed our police system, and the city has completely collapsed."

“I, Samuel Black, as the Mayor of San Francisco, now formally authorize Mr. Aoyama.”

"You are granted full authority as acting police chief. You shall command all available forces and restore order to this city at all costs!"

Lawson listened quietly, not in a hurry to take the paper.

He looked at the mayor, then past him, and at the ashen-faced, complex-looking elites behind him.

Finally, the gaze fell upon Barkley, whose face was filled with humiliation.

Lawson grinned.

“A wise choice, gentlemen.”

"However, it's still a little short..."

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(End of this chapter)