Old Mo, eating fish in a courtyard house, reigning supreme in Hong Kong.

The atmosphere in the Kremlin meeting room was icy, with the two sides of the heavy walnut table clearly defined.

The Chinese diplomatic representative sat calmly to one side; opposite him, a group of high-ranking Russian officials were tense, their eyes revealing barely suppressed greed and impatience.

The US and British special envoys were present and watched from the sidelines, remaining silent throughout. Occasionally, they would exchange glances, both conveying a subtle sense of helplessness.

They knew very well who Lao Mo was and dared not compete with China for the Star Sea opportunity. They came here purely out of consideration for international relations.

The head of the Russian delegation, a high-ranking official from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, tapped his fingertips heavily on the table, preemptively offering a carefully crafted tempting offer, deliberately softening his tone and adopting an attitude of magnanimity and generosity:

"Comrades from China, we are being completely frank. As long as you are willing to open up Martian resources and share cultivation techniques, Russia is willing to permanently and freely supply Siberian crude oil and rare metal minerals, transfer all heavy machine tools and military production lines to China, and even designate special border trade zones and remove all trade restrictions."

As soon as he finished speaking, he leaned back slightly in his seat, thinking that the offer was tempting enough.

The Chinese representative smiled slightly and said, "Your terms are very tempting, but I'm sorry, this is not something we can decide."

Upon hearing this, the Russian representative immediately flew into a rage, unleashing a barrage of threats and revealing his fangs: "If you insist on monopolizing the opportunity on Mars and refuse to cooperate, our hundreds of thousands of armored units and various troops will continue to be stationed on the border, conducting regular live-fire military exercises. At that time, the cooperative relationship between our two countries over the years will likely be difficult to maintain."

With both soft and hard tactics employed in turn, the Russian high-ranking officials all appeared arrogant, convinced that China could not do without Russia's heavy industry and energy supplies, and would inevitably compromise and concede under military deterrence and the lure of abundant resources.

The Chinese diplomat simply shook his head: "The Mars terraforming and spiritual cultivation are opportunities pioneered by Mr. Chen Yinmo, and are only open to the Chinese people. We have no right to share them with the outside world. There is no need to discuss this matter further."

"No right to make decisions?"

The Russian military commander slammed his fist on the table and stood up abruptly, his voice rough and loud.

"Why should you monopolize the resources of this planet? All nations of Earth should share the benefits of this interstellar space! If you refuse to budge, then we'll have to find another way!"

Seeing this, an academician from the Russian delegation, who specializes in literature and is good at writing poetry, stood up. He held a neatly written letter in his hand, his face full of arrogance. He planned to use poetry to highlight Russia's strength and accuse China of "monopolizing the land of immortals," using words to create momentum and occupy the high ground of public opinion.

"Since negotiations have failed to reach a consensus, I have spontaneously composed a long poem to express the aspirations of our great nation and to urge the Chinese side to think twice before acting."

He cleared his throat and began to recite his own long Russian poem aloud, which was simultaneously translated and broadcast throughout the room.

"A thousand miles of frozen soil form a steel wall, and the iron brigade presses down on all sides."

Oil fields, like mountains, conceal fertile soil; longbows, like arrows, quell the desolation.

How can one region be allowed to monopolize the starlight and sever the hopes of the masses?

A thousand giant ships patrol the blue sea, and a million mighty soldiers cover the cold frontier.

If I obtain the secret to immortality in the future, I will shatter the Milky Way and create an imperial capital!

The poem was full of arrogant militarism, every word of which proclaimed Russia's strong military power and claimed that it would not hesitate to use force to seize Martian spiritual energy and cultivation methods. The Russians present applauded and cheered after hearing it, and their expressions became even more arrogant.

The Chinese representatives almost laughed after hearing this. However, they were professionally trained. No matter how funny it was, they wouldn't laugh unless they couldn't help it.

The British envoy suppressed a laugh and quietly whispered to Mi Fang, "These people have no idea of ​​Mr. Chen's power. A mere mortal steel army is meaningless in the face of a Star Sea powerhouse."

The US envoy nodded slightly and replied in a low voice, "When Mr. Chen arrives later, their arrogance will likely be completely crushed."

The Chinese diplomats, too lazy to argue any further, simply called Old Murdoch.

"Mr. Chen, the Russian side is putting pressure on us with military exercises and is also trying to force us to give up the opportunity to launch Mars by writing a long poem. They are currently making a show of force in the meeting room."

The phone call had barely ended when the sky above churned and the entire city was bathed in rosy light. A tall, slender figure appeared out of thin air in the center of the meeting hall, stepping on a stream of light.

Old Mo was dressed in a plain-colored long robe, his aura was gentle and restrained. He did not deliberately release his pressure, but it made all the metal objects in the hall tremble slightly, and the air became stagnant and heavy.

The Russian academician who had just been reciting poetry felt a sudden pang of unease upon seeing the newcomer, but he still mustered his courage and raised his voice to question, "Are you Chen Yinmo, the one who monopolizes Mars? Every word of my poem is true. Opportunities in the stars should be shared equally across the globe. Why are you selfishly guarding this celestial planet?"

Old Mo glanced indifferently at the letter on the table covered with poetry, chuckled softly, and said in a voice that, though not loud, clearly echoed throughout the hall: "It's written with great spirit, but unfortunately, it's shallow in vision and confined to the mundane world. It's utterly laughable."

As soon as he finished speaking, he raised his hand and waved it lightly. A wisp of pure starlight energy landed on the paper, and all the Russian poems on the paper instantly faded and dissolved, leaving the white paper empty.

"Your poems praise steel-clad warriors and ordinary guns, thinking you can use them to coerce me. But your invincible million-strong army and thousand warships are like ants before the extraterrestrial Scorpion Star fleet."

Old Mo raised his hand and pointed to the void outside the window. A projection appeared out of thin air, replaying the scene of the Scorpion Star Expeditionary Fleet invading the solar system: hundreds of interstellar warships and tens of thousands of mechs filled the sky, and the Scorpion Star Tribulation Transcending Great Power activated the Evil Energy Giant Hand, which was enough to tear apart the continent.

Then the scene shifted, and five golden beams of Nascent Soul powerhouses swept across the starry sea. In the blink of an eye, the entire Scorpion Star Fleet was reduced to ashes, leaving not even a trace of debris.

The projection faded, and the hall fell into a deathly silence. The Russians, who had been so spirited just moments before, turned pale and their legs trembled slightly.

Old Mo continued, casually reciting a short poem. In just a few words, he completely overwhelmed the opponent's lengthy and elaborate poem, exuding the majestic aura of the Great Dao of the Heavens:

"Don't you like writing poems? I'll give you one too."

How can ordinary iron shake the heavens? How dare a remnant army seize the immortal realm?

I moved the red earth to nurture life, and with a snap of my fingers, I transformed the Milky Way into a vast wilderness.

A million soldiers are but grass and a thousand warships are but a speck of dust.

If greed leads to wrongdoing, the nation will perish in an instant.

These four short sentences, each word like a thunderclap, clearly point out the insurmountable gap in strength between the two sides: Russia's proud armor, missiles, and fleet are nothing but insignificant dust in the eyes of a powerful being capable of transforming planets and destroying interstellar civilizations. If Russia insists on using force to provoke, it can wipe out all threats in an instant.

After finishing his recitation, Lao Mo looked coldly at the Russian high-ranking officials: "Siberian oil and heavy machine tools are within my grasp. The Martian veins were reshaped by my own hands, and they are only for the benefit of the Chinese people."

Your attempts to seize what does not belong to you, using border troops as leverage and empty rhetoric to create momentum, are tantamount to a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

"Today I will show some leniency and not pursue your actions of mobilizing troops and exerting pressure. If your border troops are not completely withdrawn within three days, and you dare to covet Mars by force again, I will turn all your military equipment and fortifications into ashes beneath the Siberian permafrost."