Courtyard House: Home Alone

Silence fell over the room. Hans's breathing was heavy, like a bellows being pulled.

"Ten thousand more?"

"Thirty thousand vials of penicillin and five hundred kilograms of sulfanilamide powder." Chen Gongshu paused, "On the condition that the gold must be deposited into a designated account half a day in advance, to be held in custody by a Swiss bank."

"This is impossible!" Hans's voice suddenly rose. "The reputation of our German Empire—"

"It's precisely because I trust your country's reputation that I'm offering this price."

Chen Gongshu interrupted him, "Mr. Hans, with the war situation in Europe tense, your country's need for medicine is probably more urgent than that of these people in the concession, isn't it?"

Lin Yifan "saw" Hans's shoulders slump. The sound of a ship's horn came from outside the window, long and desolate, like some kind of countdown.

"...When is the day after tomorrow?"

"Three o'clock this afternoon. The location will be announced tomorrow." Chen Gongshu's voice carried just the right amount of urgency. "If Mr. Hans hesitates, the shortfall of ten thousand guns can be made up to the French tomorrow."

"I promise!"

Hans practically gritted his teeth as he uttered those three words, "But I want to see Mr. Tang in person!"

"The old man is seriously ill and will not see any visitors."

Chen Gongshu's voice turned cold. "Mr. Hans, the line of people in the concessions wanting to get their hands on the 'ghost' goods could stretch from the Haihe River to the French Concession. If you don't trust us, you can leave now."

Heavy breathing came through the communicator, followed by Hans's barely audible voice: "...Okay. Thirty thousand guns the day after tomorrow."

Lin Yifan's lips twitched slightly. Just as he had expected, the pressure of the European battlefield had left the Germans with no other choice. He extended his mental energy to the fourth floor and "saw" Chen Gongshu handing a gold-embossed contract to Hans, whose signing gesture was somewhat ruthless, the pen nib almost tearing through the paper.

"Young master, the Germans are gone." Chen Gongshu's voice was weary. "Was the last one the American, Smith?"

"Hmm." Lin Yifan turned his attention to the east side of the third floor, to Smith's room. Everyone else had left, leaving him alone leaning against the sofa, seemingly lost in thought.

"Contact him immediately. Find out what equipment they have this time, where it is now, or when it will arrive in Tianjin. Tell him that we will increase his quota to 50,000 units and 1,200 kilograms of sulfanilamide powder."

Chen Gongshu's voice came through the communicator, tinged with hesitation: "Young master, you want to take away the French share..."

"Yes, the point is to make him feel like he got a good deal."

Lin Yifan's gaze fell on the deepening twilight outside the window. The cargo ships on the Haihe River had already lit up their lights, like floating stars. "The Americans are neutral now, selling goods to both sides. Their equipment is what I really need."

The communicator made a clicking sound, a series of clicks. A moment later, Chen Gongshu's voice came through: "Mr. Smith, Mr. Tang's representative would like to speak with you… Yes, now… Okay, in ten minutes."

"Young master, the Americans agreed, that was great."

Lin Yifan's lips twitched slightly. A swift and decisive response often implies ulterior motives. He extended his mental energy towards the east side of the third floor, "seeing" Smith getting up from the sofa and walking to the full-length mirror to adjust his tie. It was a dark red silk tie, gleaming like blood amber under the light.

The figure in the mirror swayed slightly. Smith's fingers paused for a moment at his bow tie before he pulled a pen from his inner suit pocket and twirled it twice in his palm—it was Parker's latest vacuum-filling fountain pen, with a line of small characters engraved on the clip, clearly visible under the "gaze" of his mental power: "Presented to those who have made outstanding contributions to the Allied medical cause."

Lin Yifan frowned slightly. The origin of this pen was more intriguing than Smith himself.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, lighter than those of the British, more steady than those of the French, carrying a certain trained rhythm. When Chen Gongshu opened the door, Smith was already standing there, carrying a brown leather briefcase, the worn leather revealing the fine texture of the canvas underneath.

"Mr. Zhou?" Smith's Chinese had the flat, straightforward accent of the Midwestern plains, with no rising intonation at the end, as if stating a given fact. "I'm short on time, so let's get straight to the point—I can provide the list of equipment you want. But I need to see samples first."

Chen Gongshu stepped aside to let him in, his gaze falling on the briefcase: "Mr. Smith, please have a seat. Samples are certainly available, but before that, I'd like to confirm one thing—besides the power plant and steel mill, does your company provide equipment for a pharmaceutical plant?"

Smith paused for a moment as he sat down. He raised his eyes, a sharp glint in them: "Mr. Zhou, the equipment for the power plant and steel mill was already ordered, but there was no mention of equipment for the pharmaceutical plant. So..."

"Isn't it because you want to increase your share of the medicine? Old Master Tang wants to expand the pharmaceutical factory, so you can get more medicine, right?"

Chen Gongshu poured him a glass of water, with fine water droplets condensing on the glass. "He knows that the economy in America is in a slump right now, and there are factories closing down everywhere."

These devices would be scrap metal in America, but here, they can be traded for life-saving penicillin.

Smith's Adam's apple bobbed. He took the glass of water but didn't drink; he just stared at the water droplets sliding down the glass, as if watching some fleeting opportunity.

"Pharmaceutical manufacturing equipment..." he began slowly, "fermentation tanks, centrifuges, freeze dryers—we have all of those. But there's one condition: I want exclusive distribution rights for the Americas."

Chen Gongshu's smile remained unchanged. "Time."

"Three months."

Smith looked at Chen Gongshu, waited a moment, and said, "I need to contact the United States. Adding transportation and such, three months isn't a long time. Even if there were readily available supplies, from sending a telegram to loading and transporting by ship, it would still take one and a half to two months to get to Tianjin."

"The Japanese are cracking down hard on direct shipping routes now, so sea freight can only go through Manila, therefore..."

"Okay, we'll do it your way. Before he passed away, Mr. Tang instructed that if you can handle it well, he would give you the agency rights for the Americas."

"If you resell the medicine to the Japanese, we will unilaterally terminate our cooperation. Also, I wonder where Mr. Smith's first batch of equipment is?" Chen Gongshu asked.

Smith's fingers paused for a moment on the glass. "If Mr. Zhou could provide a sample first, to prove that your penicillin does indeed reach the same purity as the sample," he said.

Smith pulled a business card from his pocket and pushed it to the center of the coffee table. "The fleet can depart from there tonight, as it has already reached the waters off Hong Kong. The equipment can be delivered to Dagu Port within forty-eight hours."

"Okay, given Mr. Smith's cooperation, Chairman Tang has also given me a special privilege, which is to appropriately increase your share of this batch. Specifically, the penicillin will be increased to 50,000 vials, and the sulfanilamide powder will be increased to 1,200 kilograms."

I hope Mr. Smith will expedite the shipment of the pharmaceutical equipment. I believe that if we cooperate well, you will receive a larger share later.