Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

Alexander Wilson.

Sixty-two years old.

On Forbes' real-time list, his apparent net worth is listed as $14.7 billion.

This figure has grown steadily over the past two decades at a rate of 8% to 15% per year, like a carefully nurtured tree with roots that have spread into energy, mining, biopharmaceuticals, and global real estate.

Now, this tree is going to be uprooted.

The diagnosis was issued six days ago.

Pancreatic cancer, stage IV, with liver metastasis.

Three top medical centers—MD Anderson, Mayo Clinic, and Royal Marsden—gave almost unanimous assessments: with aggressive treatment, the expected survival is twelve to thirty-six months.

The most heartbreaking thing is that not a single institution is willing to use the word "cure".

Wilson sat on the other side of the long table, wearing a dark gray cashmere sweater, without a suit or tie.

His hair was dyed, but the new growth at his temples was already completely white.

It was still dark six days ago.

“Speak,” Wilson said, his voice devoid of any extra emotion.

This is a skill he honed over sixty years of life and forty years of business experience—the more desperate the situation, the more you need to make the other person feel that you still have a hundred options.

The middle-aged man sitting third from the left cleared his throat.

His surname is Li, and he is a business consultant for DaYang. He has been doing cross-border consulting in Zurich for fifteen years, specializing in serving clients who want to enter DaYang but don't know how.

"Mr. Wilson, we have already reviewed the basic situation. Regarding the acquisition of Da Yang citizenship—firstly, it needs to be made clear that there is no channel for 'purchasing citizenship' in Da Yang. Citizenship cannot be obtained directly through investment, donation, or any other form of financial arrangement. This is clearly stated in the legal text, and there has never been a precedent in practice."

Wilson's expression remained unchanged.

Consultant Li continued, “Investment immigration is also not feasible. Da Yang does not have an investment immigration visa program like other countries. There are channels for long-term residency permits, such as the ‘Alien Permanent Resident Identity Card’—commonly known as the Da Yang Green Card—but a green card is not citizenship. Based on the Quedexia personality model we obtained through certain channels, holding a green card is unlikely to allow you to enjoy… the medical resources you need.”

Consultant Li's pause was subtle.

Everyone here knows what "needed medical resources" refers to.

Across the long table, a lawyer wearing gold-rimmed glasses opened the documents in front of him: "Consultant Li, could you elaborate on the case of Allan Zeman, regarding the Outstanding Contribution Pathway?"

Consultant Li nodded.

Allan Zeman, of German descent, has been a businessman in Hong Kong for over forty years and is known as the "Father of Lan Kwai Fong." After Hong Kong's return to China, he invested heavily in the local economy. In 903, he took over Ocean Park, which was on the verge of bankruptcy, and transformed it into a world-class theme park within ten years. At the same time, he actively participates in social welfare, making numerous donations and engaging in practical work in areas such as education, healthcare, and youth development.

He paused, as if emphasizing what he was about to say: "In 919, he obtained citizenship in Taiyang. The official explanation was that he made outstanding contributions to promoting cultural exchanges between China and foreign countries by investing in Taiyang for a long time, revitalizing the regional economy, and actively participating in social welfare activities. This is one of the very few publicly known cases of citizenship obtained without blood ties or marriage in the past two decades."

The lawyer pressed further, "How long will it take?"

“It took about four years from initiation to approval. But the groundwork—his business and social activities in Hong Kong—lasted for more than thirty years.”

The lawyer took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said nothing more.

Consultant Li turned to Wilson, his tone more cautious: "Mr. Wilson, Allan Zeman's case illustrates a fact—the path to outstanding contributions does indeed exist. But it has several characteristics: First, it requires long-term, continuous, and visible social contributions; second, it requires a clear investment or industrial layout that aligns with national strategic needs; third, it requires a certain amount of time to accumulate. With your resources and team's capabilities, you can achieve the first two. But the third..."

He stopped.

Wilson added for him: "There's not enough time."

Consultant Li did not deny it.

The room was silent for a few seconds.

The wind rippled the surface of Lake Geneva outside the window, and the snow-capped peaks of the Alps gleamed a cold white in the sunlight.

Wilson raised his hand, and the private wealth advisor sitting to his right immediately opened another document.

"Mr. Wilson, if we proceed with the highest priority, our investment plan in Dayang can be implemented in its first phase within six to eight months. Specific plans include: establishing a biomedical R&D center in the Guangdong-Hong Kong-Macao Greater Bay Area with an initial investment of US$800 million; investing US$600 million in a new energy battery materials project in the Chengdu-Chongqing region; and establishing a dedicated industrial fund in the Yangtze River Delta region with a scale of US$1.5 billion, focusing on semiconductor equipment and industrial software. All of these projects align with Dayang's current national strategic priorities, have clear industrial synergy value, and can create substantial employment and tax revenue."

He turned a page and continued, “On the social welfare front, we can establish a special charitable fund with an initial investment of $300 million, focusing on rural healthcare and basic education. We can implement this through official channels such as the Da Yang Red Cross Foundation or the Da Yang Education Development Foundation to ensure the visibility and credibility of the project. In addition, we can cooperate with the Da Yang Academy of Sciences or the Da Yang Academy of Medical Sciences to establish a special funding program for cancer research—this direction has a natural fit with your personal medical needs.”

He closed the file, glanced at Wilson, and then quickly looked away.

"The total budget for all the above projects is initially estimated to be between three billion and three billion US dollars. The implementation period is eight to twelve months."

Wilson did not respond immediately after hearing this.

His gaze fell on the dark brown wood grain on the table, as if he were looking at a frozen river, or something else entirely.

Three seconds later, he spoke: "Three billion?"

"Yes, sir."

"not enough."

Consultant Li was taken aback for a moment.

The private wealth advisor was also taken aback.

Wilson's gaze shifted from the wood grain to the seven people across the long table.

“Rebuild it with a budget of $10 billion. Don’t worry about cost, focus on speed. Do whatever projects are fastest, most eye-catching, and most visible. R&D centers, industry funds, charitable donations, scholarships, museums, hospitals—buy whatever you can, build whatever you can.”

"If 10 billion isn't enough, then add more."

The room was silent for a few seconds.

The private wealth advisor was writing something rapidly in his notebook, his head down.

The lawyer put down his water glass and carefully began, “Mr. Wilson, regarding the timeline—even if we push all projects forward at top speed, the approval cycle for the Outstanding Contribution pathway remains unpredictable. It’s not a quantifiable process, but rather…”

“I know,” Wilson interrupted him, “so I need you all to advance all possible routes simultaneously. What else is there besides outstanding contributions?”

Another lawyer opened the folder in front of him: "Bloodline or marriage pathway. According to Tayang's nationality law, having a direct family relationship with a Tayang citizen or being married to a Tayang citizen is one of the legal conditions for applying for citizenship."

Wilson turned his gaze to him.

"Specific conditions?"

The lawyer glanced down at the documents: "The spouse must be a citizen of Taiyang, the marriage must have lasted for at least five years, and the applicant must have resided continuously in Taiyang for at least five years. In addition, the applicant must renounce their original nationality, have a stable source of income, and comply with Taiyang laws, among other standard conditions. The time requirements for this process are very clear, with almost no room for shortcuts."

Wilson listened and remained silent for three seconds.

Then he turned his head and looked at his personal assistant sitting in the first seat on his right—a young man in his early thirties who had been with him for eight years after graduating from Cambridge, silent, efficient, and never asking a question.

"Please have a marriage lawyer come over." Wilson's voice was flat. "I want a divorce... After that, arrange a new marriage for me. The other party must be a citizen of Da Yang. The terms are negotiable."

Across the long table, the lawyer with gold-rimmed glasses took them off, then put them back on, his voice strained: “Mr. Wilson, regarding the marriage pathway, there’s a prerequisite that needs clarification—the marital relationship must be genuine, continuous, and for the purpose of cohabitation. If it’s deemed a ‘sham marriage for the purpose of obtaining citizenship,’ not only will the application be rejected, but you could also be blacklisted for immigration. The review process is extremely rigorous, including but not limited to interviews, on-site visits, and cross-verification of the social relationships of both parties. The feasibility of this pathway…”

“I know,” Wilson interrupted him again. “So, your living arrangements, lifestyle, and social activities after marriage will all be arranged according to the standards of a real marriage. Where to buy the house, what account to use for daily expenses, how to participate in social activities—you should start planning these details now.”

He looked at his assistant: "First, a divorce lawyer, to be on duty today. Second, a matchmaking agency—no, a marriage counseling agency, or a more suitable channel—to screen eligible citizens of Da Yang. List their age, education background, social status, and family situation. Third, the Da Yang residency arrangements should proceed simultaneously."

“Sir,” the assistant suddenly whispered.

Wilson tilted his head, and his assistant held a tablet in both hands, facing him.

Wilson glanced at it a few times, gestured, and the screen opposite quickly played the BBC live broadcast, the video recordings from wards 7 and 12 of the Cancer Hospital in X Province.

After the video finished playing, the conference room remained silent for a full two minutes.

“Tell Isabella,” Wilson finally spoke, his voice half a tone lower than before, “that she hand over the Greenwich villa, the Kensington apartment, the gallery in Mayfair, the trust share in the Bahamas, the two paintings she bought at Sotheby’s, and every car, every piece of jewelry—everything she’s taken from me over the past twelve years.”

The assistant was taking notes rapidly on the tablet.

Wilson continued, "Tell Alexander."

This is his eldest son, 34 years old, with a Harvard MBA, who now manages several family funds in Europe.

“Make him hand over his two apartments in London and New York, his shares in his company in Zurich—the three cars under his name, and the property in Paris under his wife’s name.”

“Tell David to hand over 40 percent of the company’s shares, the house in Palo Alto, and his winery in Napa Valley.”

“Tell Caroline to hand over the trust beneficiary rights, the Upper West Side apartment, the Hamptons holiday home, and the Ferrari in her name.”

“Mr. Wilson,” the lawyer put down his water glass, his voice a little hoarse, “such a request… is probably not so easy for them to accept.”

“Yes, it’s difficult,” Wilson said calmly, “but they will accept it.”

"Because they know that if they accept, they can at least retain what I've given them over the years—degrees from Harvard, Stanford, and Columbia; connections they've built in London, New York, and Silicon Valley; Alexander's reputation in the private equity world; David's technological insight in Silicon Valley; Caroline's connoisseurship in the art world, and so on..."

"Otherwise, if I make up my mind, they will absolutely lose everything—including the opportunity to sell their asses in Queens!"

The meeting room was silent for a full two minutes.

After a long silence, the lawyer's voice finally rang out again, "So... regarding the second point—the choice of a new marriage partner, do you have any specific preferences?"

Wilson thought for a moment.

"Household registration in Y City".

113 Viciousness

At 10 a.m., after delivering his 42nd order, Zhang Qiliang dropped off at the entrance of the logistics park station.

When it landed, Zhang Qiliang was holding a vase in addition to the delivery box.

The bottle is not large, with a radius of just over fifteen centimeters and a height of about half a meter. There are several fine crackles on the bluish-gray glaze, indicating that it is quite old. The bottle is filled with damp soil, and a small piece of withered stem and leaf is still sprouting on the surface.

This is what I saw when delivering the last few orders.

On the seventh-floor windowsill of an old residential building, a man was sweating profusely as he struggled with a vase.

Upon inquiry, it was learned that the lease was about to expire, and the older brother wanted to tidy up the house so as not to cause trouble for the landlord. This vase was one of the items to be disposed of.

Zhang Qiliang put down the takeout and casually took the vase from him.

Firstly, this old building doesn't have an elevator, and the man doesn't look like a strong person. The vase itself isn't heavy, but it's filled with mud. Carrying this thing down seven floors would probably leave him panting and holding his back all day.

Secondly...

After taking off his work clothes and changing into casual clothes, Zhang Qiliang held the vase firmly in his arms and took flight once again.

The direction remains the mountains to the north.

Without the little one to take care of, Zhang Qiliang was much faster.

In less than three minutes, he had crossed the last ridge and landed on the emerald green lake, a dozen meters away from yesterday's fishing spot.

There is a short-stalked osmanthus tree here.

It's a shrub, still a slender seedling, only forty centimeters tall, but it matures quite early and has already bloomed several clusters of small, pale yellow flowers, like millet grains, dotting the leaf axils.

This little seedling wasn't very lucky—the heavy rain a few days ago probably caused some loosening of the mountainside, and it was uprooted. Most of its roots were turned out of the soil, lying crookedly in the pile of rubble. A few of its leaves, which were still relatively intact, drooped and looked listless.

When Zhang Qiliang saw the vase, it reminded him of it.

Our meeting is fate; since you can't eat it, then... it's still a living being after all...

Zhang Qiliang squatted down, placed the vase on the stone, and carefully poured the old soil out of the vase to the side.

The soil was hardened, dark in color, and had a musty smell.

Zhang Qiliang gently loosened the old soil around the roots of the osmanthus seedling with his hands, trying not to damage the delicate roots. He carefully separated them section by section until the milky white roots were exposed in the sunlight, fine and dense, like a handful of freshly drawn cotton thread.

After doing all that, Zhang Qiliang walked to the lakeside, picked a spot with soft soil, pointed slightly with his fingertip, and a deep pit immediately appeared on the ground. With another gentle flick of his fingertip, handfuls of fresh soil jumped into the vase.

The soil is black and moist; you can feel the dampness just by standing next to it. It carries the scent of decaying leaves and bits of grass, the fertility accumulated in the mountains and fields throughout spring and summer.

Finally, Zhang Qiliang spread out the roots of the osmanthus seedling in the bottle, added soil layer by layer, gently pressed it down, and then scooped up some lake water and slowly poured it down the side of the bottle.

Water seeped into the soil, making a soft hissing sound, and the wilted leaves seemed to perk up a bit, trembling slightly in the wind.

Holding a living creature in his hands, Zhang Qiliang slowed down his flight.

Reaching an altitude of 3,000 meters, Zhang Qiliang crossed the last mountain ridge.

High-voltage power lines swept past our feet, their towers casting long shadows in the sunlight. Terraced fields stretched out in layers, the rice seedlings just turning green, their tender green ripples spreading across the hillside. A dirt road appeared, thin as a tangled rope, winding its way through the hills, occasionally a tractor chugging along it, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.

Rural areas, country roads, market towns.

The houses have changed from a few scattered buildings to clusters, with tiled roofs and flat cement roofs interspersed, and blue and red corrugated steel sheets reflecting the sunlight.

With more people around, there were people riding motorcycles, going to the market, and squatting at their doorways eating breakfast.

Next, Zhang Qiliang's flight path passed over a county town.

This is a typical small town in the hilly south.

The buildings are not tall, mostly five or six stories high, with white or beige tiles on the exterior walls, some of which have turned gray.

The street was narrow, and the branches of the plane trees on both sides almost touched each other in the middle of the road.

A river runs through the middle of the town, dividing it in two. Neat stone railings line both banks, and a small dock is located every few dozen meters, with stone steps leading all the way to the water's edge. In the distance lies the town center, where several ten-story residential buildings stand out prominently, their rooftops adorned with cell phone towers and solar water heaters.

Zhang Qiliang noticed these things because even at an altitude of nearly three thousand meters, his sword heart still sensed a large area of ​​intense, almost impenetrable malevolent energy.