The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

"Whoosh!" The scalding hot wok flipped over, and a plate of freshly stir-fried rice noodles was placed in front of Zhang Chang'an.

"Try it. I've brought many people here, and they all say this is the most authentic."

After saying all this, Mr. Charlie Lin, dressed in a traditional Chinese suit, calmly turned around and greeted the other people in the store in English.

Zhang Chang'an picked up the bamboo chopsticks and began shoveling rice noodles into his mouth.

"Eating so fast, is that a habit you developed after coming here?" Charlie said, lighting his pipe.

He was right. Zhang Chang'an ate relatively quickly at the martial arts school and on the film set, but he was never in such a hurry as he is now.

This was his first time entering an anomalous timeline, and time was short. He had spent almost half a month in London during this era, and his habits had indeed changed quite a bit.

Not to mention getting used to the local alcohol and weather, he often just eats bread and the like because he's always rushing to meet business deadlines.

If he hadn't met Charlie, he wouldn't have made a special trip to Chinatown on the Thames to sit down and have a meal of his hometown food.

"Many people here are afraid of me, but behind my back they all curse me for never having been to the East, for being a fake Japanese, a fake Chinese. But young people, London doesn't care about these things."

Here, people are always eager to recommend the most authentic restaurants to me and bring me the most genuine Eastern products. I live more like an Easterner than anyone else.

Upon hearing this, Zhang Chang'an remained noncommittal: "I'm really not interested in this Chinatown boss, but what he said is true, London doesn't care about these things."

Zhang Chang'an was deeply moved at this moment, because he had just returned from a porcelain shop in London, with the payment for that deal in his pocket.

However, more important than all of that was his biggest discovery on this trip: the porcelain shop that had given them a big business opportunity and had them investigate for over a week was selling nothing but fakes.

Made in Persia, imitation porcelain, is like rice noodle rolls dipped in mayonnaise—a genuine Chinese person can spot it at a glance.

Ironically, this shop was the most popular in London's lower-middle-class porcelain market.

And that's precisely why the two Italians were able to sell the goods they took for a high price; they just didn't want to return them.

Now that the perpetrators have been caught and the process has been completed, most of the payment for the goods has become their reward.

Knowing that time was of the essence, Zhang Chang'an went to collect the money overnight. Then, just as he was about to return, he ran into Charlie, who dragged him here to the Chinatown Chinese restaurant.

"There are many people in London who only think about doing business and don't care much about anything else, but there are also quite a few people who break the rules. The pie is too big, and there are always people who want to take a few more slices."

He didn't know why Charlie had called him over. Zhang Chang'an's original purpose was just to get a free meal, but now it seemed that the old man definitely had something else in his words.

"Boss Chen is the one who helps us balance things out."

Upon hearing this, Zhang Chang'an suddenly realized, "How come even he noticed..."

Charlie glanced at his expression and calmly smiled:

"Curious how I know about your company? It's the end of the year, and Christmas is just around the corner."

But if you go to nearby train or subway stations, you'll see many people not going to pray to the Lord, but flocking to Whitechapel. A quick check of their identities reveals everything.

As he said this, his expression suddenly became serious: "Moreover, many people think I'm just a fake doctor who sells opium, but I did study medicine, and my relationship with Boss Chen is better than you imagine."

As he spoke, he took a document out of his bag.

Upon hearing this and seeing his reaction, Zhang Chang'an quickly understood what was going on and immediately took the document.

"Besides myself, I also know some very famous and skilled doctors in London, so misdiagnosis is unlikely."

He has lung disease.

It's not particularly serious, and it wouldn't affect an ordinary person's ability to live to a ripe old age. But he's different.

Charlie said, looking Zhang Chang'an up and down: "When he was young, he was like you, daring and willing to fight, so he has many hidden ailments. In addition, he is also skilled in martial arts."

Zhang Chang'an frowned, finally understanding the reason:

"Whether in the North or South, martial arts must be combined with breathing. Lung disease is no different from an incurable disease for martial artists. It may not necessarily be fatal, but now that I think about it, it may be because of this disease that the boss could no longer control Mike."

Having thought this through, he turned to look at Charlie Lin. Now there was only one thing he couldn't understand: why had Charlie come to him to tell him all this?

Charlie simply replied, "I support you."

He calmly raised his hand and tapped his pipe: "Don't worry, my purpose is pure. I chose you because I have a relationship with Old Chen, and also because I have high hopes for you."

But most importantly, the fact that these people can cause such chaos in the city shows that they are not just businessmen and thugs.

Upon hearing this, Zhang Chang'an already had some guesses: "That councilor from Riverside Street?"

Charlie nodded, while simultaneously rubbing the documents in his hand.

A piece of personal information was immediately displayed below.

"Harold Kane, the newly elected senator from Riverside Street, campaign slogan: nationalism, anti-immigrant. Shareholder of Blood Sands and owner of several horse racing companies."

"They have huge appetites and huge ambitions. You're starting Chinatown, maybe the future..." Charlie said, exhaling a puff of smoke helplessly.

"However, this person's purpose is to spread the danger to Chinese people through the fire. So I can help evacuate the people around and smooth things over with Scotland Yard, but I can't lend you many people."

Zhang Chang'an carefully examined the information on the personal profile while finishing the last two mouthfuls of rice noodles: "I'm not the boss, you don't need to talk to me about this. However, I might really have a favor to ask you for, privately."

Charlie was somewhat surprised. He had only been interested in the young man, Zhang Chang'an, but unexpectedly, things had taken an unexpected turn: "Tell me about it?"

As Zhang Chang'an put down the plate and put on his coat, he said, "I hope you can help me get a train that can transport a lot of things."

………………

"Clang..." The doorbell of Chamberlain's Weapons Workshop rang again. Although he hadn't been there many times, Zhang Chang'an always felt that it was quite familiar.

Amin was unusually not doing anything at the counter, perhaps because it was still too early.

Hearing the bell, he was about to say that they were not open for business yet when he saw the person standing at the door.

"Mr. Zhang... Mr. Zhang." Amin didn't know why Mr. Zhang, who was obviously a newcomer to Louis Company, never acted like an ordinary thug.

Not only can they quickly make money to upgrade their equipment, but they can also come up with improvement ideas that others wouldn't even consider.

At this time, less than a few days after his last visit, he not only came again, but his purpose seemed to be different.

"Is your boss home?"

Amin paused for a moment, but perhaps because he had been in the shop for so long, he had developed a businessman's demeanor and quickly recovered: "Yes, I'm having breakfast upstairs. I can see...you."

Zhang Chang'an nodded decisively, walked deeper into the shop, and began to slowly ascend the stairs.

Soon, because the door on the second floor was not closed, he saw what was inside and the people inside.

"Uncle Li?" Zhang Chang'an's gaze did not immediately fall on the middle-aged white man in the room who was only wearing pajamas but exuded an air of wealth. Instead, he looked directly at the man opposite him.

Wearing a long robe and carrying a briefcase, Uncle Li, who seemed to be about to embark on a long journey, also looked at him. And immediately locked his gaze on the bulging cloth bag that Zhang Chang'an was carrying.

A brief silence fell over the room, broken only by the clatter of the knife and fork in the middle-aged man's hand. His gaze shifted between the two men: "It seems there's no doubt about your sincerity."