The atmosphere in the private booth became somewhat strange because of O'Neill's last sentence.
Interpreter Wang translated O'Neill's demands regarding gold and privileges, and Intendant Li's expression darkened visibly.
As a dignified fourth-rank Intendant of the Great Qing Empire, he was accustomed to hearing the sycophantic flattery of foreign merchants at his yamen.
Although he knew foreigners were greedy, in his view, arriving with bills of exchange for two million taels of silver for the procurement showed great sincerity.
The fact that the other party actually looked down on silver and demanded customs privileges of the Great Qing Empire touched upon his bottom line as an official of the imperial court.
"Mr. O'Neill."
Intendant Li held his teacup, his tone stiff.
"The privileges of the imperial court are not something merchants can demand at will! Customs revenue is the foundation of the state. As for gold, the treasury of the Great Qing Empire has always settled in silver. We have brought silver notes issued by the British-owned HSBC, and I believe they can be cashed for silver at any money shop in San Francisco. Since your Metropolitan Trading Company is being so picky, could it be that you are bullying customers because of your status?"
O'Neill did not get angry after hearing the translation; instead, he let out a hearty laugh.
"Mr. Li, this isn't bullying you. It's basic financial common sense."
O'Neill leaned back on the sofa and crossed his legs.
"Silver is depreciating in Europe and America. The Germans have just received a gold indemnity of five billion francs at Versailles, and they are dumping silver in preparation for establishing a gold standard. If you pay in silver, by the time it reaches the Imperial Bank in New York, its purchasing power may have already shrunk by ten percent. We will never engage in such a money-losing business."
O'Neill looked at Intendant Li.
"As for the privileges, you consider them the foundation of the state. But to us, they are merely collateral. If you do not wish to concede privileges, then find a way to go to London or Wall Street and exchange your silver for gold. As soon as the gold hits our account, the machines will be loaded onto the ships immediately."
Secretary Zhang could not help but speak up from the side.
"Empty words! We haven't even seen the quality of your company's steel furnaces and machines, yet you want us to pay with real gold and silver? What if you are selling us scrap metal?"
O'Neill put his legs down and stood up.
"Mr. Zhang, the Metropolitan Trading Company never sells scrap metal. Since you don't believe us, there is no need to continue talking here."
O'Neill walked toward the door.
"Chen, go prepare the carriage."
O'Neill turned back and instructed Chen Awei.
"Gentlemen, please follow me. I will take you to see our warehouse in this port. Let you see with your own eyes the steel rails from Lex Steel, as well as a generator from General Electric. Seeing is believing."
Intendant Li nodded and stood up.
"That is exactly my intention. Lead the way."
Half an hour later, the carriage stopped in front of Heavy Warehouse No. 6 at Pier 7, belonging to the Metropolitan Trading Company.
A huge wave of the smell of machine oil and raw iron rushed toward them.
Intendant Li and his party walked in and were immediately stunned by the scene before them.
The warehouse area was equivalent to four football fields.
On the ground, piles of steel rails, each like a small mountain, were neatly stacked.
Each steel rail gleamed with a cold metallic luster, and the cut surfaces were incredibly smooth.
O'Neill walked over, picked up an iron rod, and struck the steel rail hard.
"Clang!"
A crisp echo reverberated through the warehouse.
"Mr. Li," O'Neill pointed to the steel rails.
"These are high-carbon steel rails produced by Lex Steel, not the wrought iron that the British use, which breaks easily. Once these rails are laid down, even if a two-thousand-ton freight train rolls over them every day, they won't need to be replaced for ten years. In America, only our blast furnaces can smelt steel of this quality."
Intendant Li stepped forward and reached out to touch the surface of the steel rail.
Cold, hard, without a trace of impurities.
Although he did not understand the technology, he could see that this was definitely top-quality merchandise.
He had seen the scrap metal that foreigners sold to the Great Qing Empire at the Shanghai Arsenal, and it could not be compared to what was before him.
O'Neill then led them to the other side of the warehouse.
There sat over a dozen massive machines covered with tarpaulins. The workers pulled off the tarpaulins, revealing the extremely complex gears and copper coils inside.
"Take a look... a direct current generator from General Electric."
O'Neill patted the machine's cast-iron casing.
"As long as you attach a boiler to drive it, the current generated by this machine can light up a thousand light bulbs. Or drive the lathes in a factory."
Interpreter Wang stammered as he translated.
He had no idea how to accurately express the term "direct current generator" in Chinese.
Intendant Li's gaze changed.
The condescending bureaucratic arrogance was gone, replaced by awe for this pure industrial power.
"If you can truly provide these items in large quantities," Intendant Li turned his head to look at O'Neill.
"I can find a way to satisfy your requirements regarding the exchange of gold. As for customs privileges, I do not have the authority to decide; it must be reported to the imperial court."
"Very good, sir. Business is a process of mutual compromise." O'Neill extended his hand.
"Then, we can return to the office now and finalize the specific list and quantity of items you need to procure. I will send it to New York via a private telegraph line. As long as the boss signs it, the deal is done."
Just as this business negotiation, which concerned the lifeblood of the Great Qing Empire's future Westernization Movement, was progressing on the docks of San Francisco...
...
On the other side of the Atlantic.
Austro-Hungarian Empire, Vienna.
As night fell.
In a private residence belonging to an exiled noble outside the Hofburg Palace, the atmosphere was oppressive.
The oak door of the study was tightly closed, and the firelight from the fireplace shone on the faces of two people.
Antoine, a core figure of the Orléans branch of the House of Bourbon, sat behind the desk wearing a silk robe with a worn collar. His hands trembled slightly as he clutched the telegram that had just been decoded.
His wife, Louisa, sat on the sofa opposite him.
Louisa possessed the lineage of the Spanish House of Anjou. At this moment, this once high-and-mighty duchess was sobbing silently, covering her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief.
"She has moved in."
Antoine's voice was hoarse.
"The telegram from Gaston says that Isabella has moved into that American's private villa in Central Park. No status, no wedding, not even a public appearance."
Antoine slammed the telegram onto the desk.
"My daughter, my most beloved daughter, Antoine's own daughter! Now she has become the mistress kept in a cage by a Wall Street upstart!"
Louisa looked up, her eyes red and swollen.
"Antoine, what should we do? Isabella hasn't even needed to dress herself since she was a child. How can she endure such humiliation? That American... I heard he is a very cruel tyrant."
"What should we do? What can I do!"
Antoine stood up abruptly and paced back and forth in the study like an old beast trapped in a cage.
"She didn't even say goodbye when she left half a month ago! If I hadn't discovered she was missing and gone to Gaston to demand answers, I wouldn't have known she had gone behind our backs and boarded a ship to New York!"
Antoine's fist slammed heavily against the bookshelf next to him.
"This is all the work of that bastard Philip!"
Antoine cursed his own nephew, the current Count of Paris, Louis-Philippe Albert, through gritted teeth.
"For that damn throne, he actually went and bewitched his own cousin! He even brainwashed Isabella, telling her this was for France, for the glory of the House of Bourbon!"
Louisa stood up, walked to her husband, and grabbed his arm.
"But Antoine, Philip promised us. As long as the restoration is successful, he will give Isabella the highest honors. He will also recognize the legitimacy of that marriage."
"Do you really believe the promises of a politician, Louisa!"
Antoine turned his head and looked at his wife with bloodshot eyes.
"We, the Orléans branch, have reached a reconciliation with the Legitimists. Henry V, that old widower without heirs, will be king, and Philip will be the heir. We seem close to the throne. But before that, we need armies, rifles, and the gold to bribe the Paris National Guard!"
Antoine pointed to the telegram on the table.
"Philip has no money, and the Rothschild Family is unwilling to lend it to us. Bismarck is also watching from Berlin. No great European noble dares to marry their daughter to us at this time, and no one dares to invest in us."
"So, Philip set his sights on the New World. On that Felix Argyle."
Antoine slumped into his chair, covering his face with his hands.
"I have two sons and three daughters. Isabella is the youngest and the most beautiful. With her appearance and lineage, she could have been the most dazzling princess in any European court. Now, she has to go to the other side of the Atlantic to curry favor with a merchant who doesn't even have a noble title. This is the tragedy of the House of Bourbon."
"For the sake of a crown, we can even sell our own flesh and blood."
While Antoine was still feeling sentimental, inside the Inner City of Vienna...
A luxurious salon hosted by Austrian bankers was underway.
The hall was magnificent, with gentlemen in tailcoats and noble ladies in corseted gowns dancing to the music.
Waiters carried silver trays piled high with caviar and expensive champagne.
Louis-Philippe Albert, the Count of Paris, was standing at the edge of the hall.
Holding a glass of wine, he was smiling and talking in low tones with a Viennese arms dealer.
Although in exile, Philip still maintained the absolute elegance and composure of an heir to the French throne.
An attendant in a black tailcoat wove through the crowd, walked up to Philip, and bowed slightly.
"Your Excellency the Count, your uncle Duke Antoine has sent a message. He requests your immediate return to the mansion."
The attendant reported in a lowered voice.
Philip's eyes flickered slightly.
"Did he say what it's about?"
"The messenger said there is news from New York."
The corner of Philip's mouth curled up in an almost imperceptible arc.
He immediately turned and raised his glass to the arms dealer in front of him.
"My apologies, sir. I have some urgent family matters to attend to. Perhaps we can discuss the rifle procurement another day."
The arms dealer bowed tactfully and withdrew.
Philip set down his wine glass and walked quickly out of the salon hall.
He didn't even wait for the attendant to call a carriage, but directly boarded a hansom cab waiting outside.
"To the Duke's Mansion, quickly."
Philip knocked on the wooden panel of the carriage.
The carriage sped through the night in Vienna.
Philip leaned back in his seat, his mind racing.
Half a month ago, when Antoine discovered Isabella's disappearance and came to question him, he had withstood his uncle's thunderous rage.
He knew Antoine loved his daughter, but on the chessboard of politics, family affection was the cheapest of chips.
France needed a king.
And he, Philip, would never be content to remain an exile in Vienna forever.
As long as he could get the funds, arms, and logistical supplies in Felix Argyle's hands...
As long as he could bribe those generals in Paris...
Then not only could Henry V be restored, but he himself could sit firmly on the throne as the heir.
Sacrificing one woman in exchange for the sovereignty of a nation.
In the history of the House of Bourbon, this was nothing new.
The carriage stopped in front of the Duke's Mansion.
Philip jumped out of the carriage and walked straight into the residence. Servants opened the study door for him.
In the study, Antoine was still sitting in that chair. Louisa had already gone to her room to rest.
Seeing Philip walk in, Antoine's gaze became extremely complex.
There was anger, helplessness, and a deep exhaustion.
"Uncle."
Philip stepped forward and bowed slightly according to the family etiquette.
"Drop the act, Philip."
Antoine pointed to the telegram on the desk.
"It's from Gaston. Isabella has moved into that American businessman's private villa. She succeeded. Or rather, she has been successfully placed under house arrest."
Philip stepped forward, picked up the telegram, and scanned it quickly.
An irrepressible ecstasy flashed in his eyes.
"Uncle, this is good news. This is the first step in the restoration of the House of Bourbon!"
Philip put the telegram back on the desk.
"Since Argyle has accepted her, as long as Isabella gains a foothold in that villa, Argyle's vault will open its doors to us sooner or later."
"Good news?!"
Antoine suddenly stood up and grabbed Philip by the collar.
"She doesn't even have a formal status! That American hasn't publicly acknowledged her existence at all. He's treating Bella as a plaything to be summoned and dismissed at will! If this gets out to Europe, will the House of Bourbon have any face left?"
Philip didn't struggle, letting his uncle grab his collar, but his eyes were extremely calm.
"But Uncle... face cannot buy bullets. When Thiers was killing people in Paris, did he talk about face?" Philip's voice was low.
"We are now a group of exiles who can't even pay our troops. Bismarck is watching us like a joke in Berlin. The British Empire ignores us in London. If we still cling to that ridiculous aristocratic dignity at this time, we can forget about ever returning to the Palace of Versailles."
Antoine's hands trembled slightly.
He looked at this nephew, whose eyes were full of power, and finally let go of his hand weakly.
"What do you know?" Antoine slumped back into his chair.
"You have no idea what kind of person that Felix Argyle is. Gaston said in the telegram that he is a tyrant colder than steel. Isabella has been cared for and protected by us since she was a child; her simple methods cannot control a man like that at all."
"If she's just going to be eye candy, of course she can't control him."
Philip straightened his crumpled collar.
He walked to the desk and looked down at his uncle.
"But she is no ordinary eye candy; she is a princess of the Bourbons. She possesses the most perfect looks in all of Europe and the highest level of court education. In this world, few men can refuse a temptation of this caliber."
Philip's eyes gleamed with calculation.
"Uncle, I need you to reply to Gaston immediately. Then convey my plan in its entirety to Isabella."
Antoine looked up.
"What malicious plan do you have now?"
"Not malicious, but the law of survival."
Philip pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Argyle placing her in a villa shows he is very guarded. He won't easily let Isabella near his core business secrets. If Isabella only tries to say sweet things in bed to ask for money, Argyle will soon tire of her and throw her away like trash."
Philip's fingers tapped on the desk.
"So Isabella cannot ask for money directly."
"In my view, for now, she only needs to be a perfect listener. She needs to make Argyle feel that the villa is the only place he can relax. She must make that man fall completely in love with her, even to the point of being mentally unable to leave her."
Antoine sneered after hearing this.
"What nonsense are you talking! Having a Wall Street oligarch engage in a spiritual romance? Philip, your idea is too naive."
"What of it? Every man has a weakness, Uncle." Philip didn't care about Antoine's mockery.
"Once she has won his trust, the second step is the key."
Philip lowered his voice, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
"Argyle built a massive business empire at such a young age. Food, medicine, military industry, steel, banking, trade, news, and so on.
According to intelligence, his so-called Argyle Family has no other relatives besides his two young sons and a daughter.
He cannot manage everything alone. There must be a group of agents under him who control the specific business operations for him."
"Tell Isabella that after gaining Argyle's initial trust, she should find ways to approach these agents in the capacity of the mistress of the house. In the name of hosting afternoon tea or private banquets. Don't worry about whatever unmarried woman is there."
Philip's plan was extremely calculating.
"She needs to find out who these people are. The one in charge of the bank, the one in charge of smuggling, the one in charge of intelligence. She must remember their names and habits."
"The loyalty of a capitalist's agents is built only on money. Once Isabella finds their weaknesses, we can use our remaining connections in Europe, or even Argyle's own money, to bribe and win them over."
"We must slowly turn Argyle's subordinates into people who take orders from us. Only by planting chess pieces from within can the House of Bourbon truly lever open the vault of this America financial tycoon."