My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 189 The Graveyard of Giant Ships

The Mediterranean sun cleaved through the azure sky and fell upon the slipways of the port of Piraeus.

This port, known as the "Southern Gateway of Europe" and Greece's largest port, should be a bustling hub with countless sails and deafening horns, but now it is permeated with an air of decline.

Everywhere was filled with a strong, pungent smell of petroleum, mixed with the stench of rotting dead fish, making it suffocating.

Along the coastline stretching for over ten kilometers, hundreds of enormous vessels are densely packed together as far as the eye can see.

These supertankers and bulk carriers, with displacements of tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands of tons, are like dying whales stranded on the beach, lifelessly drifting with the waves.

It resembles a graveyard of giant ships.

A Gulfstream business jet landed smoothly on a private helipad on the edge of the port of Piraeus.

As the cabin door opened, Michael Ovitz was the first to step down the gangway. He stood on the tarmac for less than ten seconds before his meticulously combed slicked-back hair was blown into disarray by the hot air.

The shirt was instantly soaked with sweat and clung tightly to the neck.

"My God, this is a giant oven!" He irritably took off his coat, looked around, and frowned as he looked at the lifeless steel behemoths.

"Boss, are you sure the clues Marlon Brando provided are reliable? This place doesn't even have a decent receptionist."

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Lorna Barrett followed closely behind as she disembarked from the plane, a pair of black sunglasses perched on her nose. She also seemed slightly uncomfortable in the face of this industrial wasteland-like scene.

"Michael, this isn't Hollywood." Qin Han was the last to step off the gangway, feeling the heat and pungent smell that hit him, and he also felt quite uncomfortable.

Behind him, Bruno, leading six fully armed elite members of Han's security force, quietly followed.

Qin Han's gaze swept past the dilapidated dock and landed on the row of rusty giant oil tankers on the sea. He realized that he had come at the right time.

He stepped forward and patted Michael on the shoulder: "The more dilapidated this port is, the more desperate the ship owners here are, and the more bargaining chips we'll have when we sit down at the negotiating table later."

Just then, several black Mercedes-Benz cars drove in from outside the port, kicking up clouds of dust.

"A Hollywood producer? The last Californian who came here with a private bodyguard was to rent a luxury yacht with a pool so he could host those naked parties on the Aegean Sea."

From the back seat of the middle Mercedes, a thin, slightly hunched old Greek man emerged.

His messy, white hair was blown by the sea breeze like a bird's nest, and his old face, which resembled withered tree bark, had a pair of shrewd eyes.

This is Alexei, the right-hand man of the legendary Greek shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis, and the mastermind behind the underground transactions in the port of Piraeus.

The old man squinted, first scanning Rona's curvaceous figure, then looking at the six fully armed security personnel.

"If you're looking for sets for a movie, I suggest you go to the passenger terminal across the street. This heavy industrial area isn't suitable for your delicate cameras."

"If you're here to buy a yacht, then you should go and take a look at the small boat dock outside."

Qin Han strode up to Alexei, looked down at the old man, and said, "Mr. Alexei, if I were here to buy a yacht, I wouldn't have let my plane land in this pile of rust that reeks of poverty."

He took an envelope out of his pocket and stuffed it into Alexei's arms.

The old Greek man lowered his gaze slightly, and with his thumb he opened the seal, revealing a neatly bundled stack of hundred-dollar bills.

"Ma Long told me that collecting consultation fees upfront is your rule here. I don't want to be the one breaking the rules, but please understand the limits."

The sight of ten thousand dollars in cash brought a satisfied glint to Alexei's eyes.

In this recession that has swept the global shipping industry, shipowners across Greece are struggling to secure bridge loans of a few thousand dollars.

The bank employee knelt down.

Cash is more powerful in this port than Zeus in mythology.

He casually slipped the envelope into the inside pocket of his suit: "That madman Marlon Brando wrote in the letter that there's a young beast from Hollywood coming to Europe to hunt for food."

"It seems that the savage living on that tropical island occasionally tells the truth. Forgive my rudeness just now, Mr. Qin."

The sea breeze here always makes people irritable.

He took half a step back and made a "please" gesture.

"Get in the car. The port is not the place to do business. Mr. Onassis's private club has the best Bordeaux wines in all of Europe."

Twenty minutes later, the convoy drove away from the dilapidated industrial area and stopped in front of a luxurious villa built on the edge of a cliff and made of pure white marble.

The interior of this private high-end club belonging to the shipping magnate is even more luxurious than that of Beverly Hills.

Thick Persian carpets covered the floor, and priceless medieval oil paintings hung on the walls. Standing in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, one could take in the entire view of the port of Piraeus.

The extreme luxury and the lifeless graveyard of giant ships outside the window create a strong sense of irony.

Several waiters in tuxedos silently served red wine and cigars, then vanished like ghosts, leaving this...

A spacious reception room was reserved for the important figures who were about to clash.

Alexei took a catalog from a drawer of a boss's desk and placed it on the crystal coffee table: "Mr. Qin, since you have brought enough sincerity, I will not beat around the bush."

He turned to the first page of the catalog, pointing to a brand-new, sleek supertanker: "This is a new ship that was just launched last year from Hyundai Shipyard in South Korea, a 150,000-ton vessel. It has a double-hull structure and the latest high-powered diesel engines. It was originally commissioned for a Norwegian oil tycoon, but that unfortunate fellow went bankrupt."

"This ship is currently docked in Rotterdam's port and has never been to sea. If you are interested, I can put in a good word for Mr. Onassis and give you a 20% discount. For just twenty million US dollars, you can take this future maritime behemoth away."

Michael, sitting next to him, felt his heart skip a beat when he heard the number.

Twenty million US dollars!

Even if you drained all of Hans Films' cash reserves, and factored in the anticipated releases of Rocky and American Graffiti, you still couldn't afford many of these films.

Qin Han didn't look at the exquisite picture book. Instead, he stared through the floor-to-ceiling window at the rusty old oil tankers in the bay.

"Mr. Alexei, do you mistake me for one of those Wall Street newbies eager to get into the shipping industry and build a modern fleet?"

"I don't need the latest technology from South Korean shipyards, nor do I care whether it's a double-hull structure or not, and I don't care how much fuel the diesel engine can save."

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, raised his arm, and pointed to the sea. "That's what I want."

Those old giant oil tankers, some of which were launched more than ten or even fifteen years ago, still had design concepts from the 1960s. They were huge and cumbersome, and had extremely poor fuel economy.

In this shipping era where new technologies are constantly emerging, these old relics have been abandoned by the mainstream market.

Alexei stared wide-eyed in disbelief, as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world. "Mr. Qin, you must be joking?"

"Those pieces of junk? You won't make a penny on shipping by buying them! Just replacing parts and repairing the hull will cost an astronomical sum!"

This is the consensus among all normal shipping professionals at present, but Qin Han is not someone who really wants to enter the shipping industry.

Since the Suez Canal was forced to close in 1967 due to the last Middle East war, Greek and Norwegian shipping magnates have been frantically borrowing money from banks to build these supertankers of 200,000 to 300,000 tons in order to round the Cape of Good Hope and transport crude oil back to Europe and the United States.

It was thought that the demand for oil would grow forever, like a volcanic eruption, but what happened?

New ships are being launched like dumplings being dropped into a pot, resulting in a catastrophic overcapacity! Freight rates have now plummeted to levels that can't even cover ship payments.

There isn't even enough money to pay the employees.

By continuing to buy new ships and increase their competitiveness, the industry leaders can still get business and barely survive.

But those old antiques outside the window are, to their owners, complete liabilities!

The exorbitant daily port berthing fees, the maintenance costs for the most basic equipment, and the terrifying interest from bank loans mean that every extra day they stay here is like sucking the blood out of ship owners!

"Mr. Alexei, let's be more explicit: many ship owners would be willing to pay extra to get rid of these things as soon as possible."

"So, I'm not here to buy a boat." Qin Han stood up from the sofa, like a cheetah about to launch a fatal attack: "I'm here to help them stop the bleeding."

"I want to buy twelve old oil tankers with a displacement of over 200,000 tons in one go. I don't care if their boilers have problems or how high their shipping costs are."

"I will buy out these liabilities outright with cash, at a price slightly higher than the scrap metal dismantling price! Not only that, I will also cover the port berthing fees owed by these wrecked ships."

"In exchange, ownership of these twelve ships must be transferred to an offshore company within 48 hours, and you are responsible for refueling them, performing basic leak-proofing checks, and enabling them to sail out of the Mediterranean on their own."

This was a completely thuggish logic of price-cutting, but at this moment in the port of Piraeus, it was a beacon of...

A lifeline of light.

Alexei felt his brain was a little oxygen-deprived: Scrap steel prices? Asset buyout?

A few years ago, during the shipping boom, anyone making such a request would have been tied to stones and sunk into the Aegean Sea by angry shipowners.

But in this current recession-stricken period where the industry is facing collapse, as long as someone is willing to put up real money to tow away those "vampires" that are devouring cash every day, let alone scrap steel prices, even if they have to pay for fuel, ship owners on the verge of bankruptcy will sign contracts with tears in their eyes.

"Why?" Alexei stared intently at Qin Han. "Mr. Qin, since you're knowledgeable in this field, you should know that these dilapidated ships are completely uncompetitive in the shipping market. What are you trying to achieve by spending so much money to buy a pile of scrap metal?"

Qin Han chuckled to himself. What's the point?

Because he doesn't need to rely on these dilapidated ships to compete with modern new ships on the high seas and vie for freight rates.

All he needs are huge oil tanks that can float on the sea!

These old oil tankers, which the Greeks consider garbage, can simply fill up with crude oil in the Middle East beforehand, then find any area in international waters to stop and wait quietly.

Months later, when the Fourth Middle East War ignited the Sinai Peninsula, there was no need for long distances or high speeds; all that was needed was for them to be able to transport hundreds of millions of barrels of crude oil to American ports without leaking.

This investment, bought at scrap steel prices, will open the door to the highest echelons of power in Washington for him!

"That's not your concern, Alexei." He lay back down on the sofa, resuming his nonchalant demeanor.

"Maybe I just want to drag them back to Hollywood, detonate them in the Pacific Ocean, and make a disaster blockbuster that could win an Oscar for Best Visual Effects?"

This playful response finally shattered Alexei's desire to continue probing.

The young man in front of them was not some Hollywood nouveau riche on vacation in Europe. He had figured out the Greek shipowner's weakness and was wielding an irresistible cash weapon.

Alexei took a deep breath, feeling the envelope containing ten thousand dollars inside his suit jacket become somewhat hot.

This bundled acquisition involving twelve giant oil tankers, with such stringent conditions and bizarre circumstances, was beyond the authority of an assistant.

"Mr. Qin, your methods, like your vision, are unfathomable." He stood up, his attitude becoming even more respectful: "This is no longer a business I can decide on my own."

"Please allow me to temporarily excuse myself so I can personally report your scrap metal procurement plan to Mr. Onassis."

"Of course." Qin Han gestured for him to proceed.

Alexei strode out of the reception room, the heavy double doors slowly closing behind him.

In the luxurious room, only Qin Han, Michael, and Luo Na remained.

Michael, who had been silent the whole time, finally let out a long breath, feeling that his back was soaked with cold sweat.

"Boss—twelve giant oil tankers—" Michael's voice was a little dry. "Even at scrap steel prices, this is an astronomical figure that will drain our entire fortune. If anything goes wrong, Hans Films will go bankrupt immediately."

Qin Han did not try to soothe Michael's anxiety. His gaze passed through the floor-to-ceiling windows and fixed on the enormous ships in the harbor that were baking in the scorching sun.

"There won't be any problems, Michael, because we're about to become the rule-makers."

"Have Andrew go to the major ports in Hong Kong and Southeast Asia immediately and recruit experienced sailors with high salaries. As long as they keep their mouths shut, offer them double the market rate."

"Have them ready at any time. Our 'shadow fleet' is about to set sail."