239: Chapter 240 Psychological Close Combat Under the Crowded Round Table!

Forty-five minutes later.

The shrill sound of tearing rotor blades forcibly cleaved through the blizzard in the Alps.

The military helicopter, carrying immense inertia, slammed heavily onto the helipad of the Valhaus Fortress.

The landing gear shock absorbers were compressed to their limit, emitting a dull, metallic hiss.

"Clang!"

The cabin door was violently pulled open from the outside, and the gale, mixed with ice shards, instantly flooded the cabin.

Shen Du ripped off his four-point tactical seatbelt and, the moment he stepped out of the cabin, his gaze swept across the entire open space like a radar.

Wherever his eyes landed, there were no glaring heavy weapon emplacements.

Yet, amidst the swirling snow, nearly a brigade-sized force of security personnel in black, like black nails, were firmly sealing off every physical blind spot around the fortress's perimeter.

Shen Du's gaze keenly swept past the hems of their wind-blown suits.

The unnatural, bulging arcs at everyone's waists silently signaled the suffocating power of violent control in this frozen wasteland.

"Mr. Shen, please."

A person in charge of the venue stepped forward quickly against the wind and snow.

He didn't engage in any superfluous pleasantries and gave a crisp, decisive wave of his hand.

Two security guards beside him immediately stepped forward, skillfully raising two specially made Kevlar bulletproof wind shields.

In an instant, they constructed a mobile shelter that blocked the line of sight amidst the blizzard.

Shen Du did not hesitate.

With Shen Hong providing tacit, close-range protection, he walked steadily across the helipad and stepped directly into the enclosed corridor inside the fortress, which radiated warm air.

Just as he passed through the long security corridor and stepped into the waiting hall of the fortress's core area, a steady and highly aggressive sound of footsteps approached from the side corridor.

It was the representative of the Munich Germanic Heavy Industry Alliance, Heinrich von Klenze.

This man, who controlled the lifeblood of most of Europe's automotive and heavy industries, had arrived faster than Shen Du had anticipated.

Heinrich strode forward without showing any of the reserve typical of European nobility.

He extended his broad, powerful hand and delivered his opening remarks in a tone as precise as a machine:

"Klenze, representative of the Munich Germanic Heavy Industry Alliance. It is a great honor that Mr. Shen could travel across the ocean from so far away."

Facing this German-style probing, Shen Du remained calm, extended his hand to shake the other's firmly, and replied with a standard, impeccable business smile:

"Since this is a long-term cooperation focused on the future, no matter which cliff edge in the world you place the table, I will keep my appointment and join the game."

Heinrich's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly surprised by the young man's composure.

In the very moment the two clashed, the second tycoon followed closely behind and appeared.

The Chief Negotiator of the Pan-Netherlands-Germanic Lithography Consortium, and one of the actual backers behind ASML: Paul van der Burg.

When Shen Du's gaze swept over this old-school oligarch, he easily captured the anomaly the other party was trying hard to conceal.

Unlike Heinrich, whose posture was purely about evaluating chips for profit, the imperceptible stiffness and coldness from Paul's fingertips the moment they shook hands completely exposed his trump card.

It was the fear of having one's lifeblood gripped tightly by someone else.

The sudden emergence of Jiyuan Technology's "Cold Etching Machine" had crushed the balance that traditional Lithography Machines had painstakingly maintained for decades.

Paul's impatient rush to be the first to enter this cooperation circle was not for any so-called "win-win" situation.

Rather, it was to desperately grasp the last straw in this major technological reshuffle, and in doing so, secure an opportunity for ASML not to be completely eliminated in the future.

Paul's slightly stiff fingers had just withdrawn when a third figure, carrying an uncomfortable sense of stickiness, walked into Shen Du's line of sight.

The core decision-maker of the Geneva Financial Syndicate, Arthur de Leon.

Shen Du swept his gaze over the face that wore a hypocritical smile and instantly labeled this old fox as dangerous in his mind.

Unlike the previous two physical industrial giants who had a substantial thirst for technology and manufacturing processes, there was no awe for the "Cold Etching Machine" technology in Arthur's eyes.

He was like a venomous snake lurking in a swamp, with a clear and greedy purpose.

He didn't care about breakthroughs in technological blockades at all.

He had come here simply to use the suffocatingly massive capital flow in the hands of the Geneva consortium to set a trap and force Shen Du to concede, thereby forcibly tearing off a piece of the most lucrative pre-IPO shares during Jiyuan Technology's inevitable future journey into the European stock market.

And the final person to appear, representing the European political backing, was the representative of the Paris Military-Industrial and Luxury Capital Complex: Jean-Pierre.

This arrogant Frenchman even carried a sense of condescending charity when shaking hands.

As the most critical "political buffer" in this negotiation, Jean-Pierre held the chips of EU "anti-monopoly exemptions" and "political asylum."

Shen Du was very clear that this arrogant rooster was trying to use these things to force him to build the first overseas foundry on French soil, in order to reshape that ridiculous "Eurocentrism."

Four representatives, four completely different and even conflicting interest demands.

Shen Du withdrew his gaze, a cold glimmer of mockery flashing in his eyes.

Europe seemed to be an impregnable alliance, but in reality, they had long been harboring different dreams under the same covers.

Everyone was plotting how to scoop the most profit from this pot to cope with the inevitable reshuffle of the future.

But as long as he, Shen Du, sat here today, holding the Dragon-Slaying Saber, it was destined that this pack of greedy wolves would never again be able to share the same trousers with the United States as they had for the past few decades.

They would only be forced to tear at each other within the circle drawn by Jiyuan Technology.

Passing through the last heavy metal explosion-proof door, the group formally stepped into this endgame conference room, known as the deep-water zone of European power.

However, the layout inside violated normal business intuition.

There was no large, long conference table representing the dignity of financial magnates and class barriers.

In the center of the dark and absolutely soundproof space, there was only a round wooden table, small enough to seem somewhat cramped.

When Shen Du and the other four tycoons controlling Europe's lifeblood each pulled out their chairs and sat down, a suffocating sense of oppression rushed toward them.

The physical distance was deliberately compressed to the extreme.

The gaps between the five people were infinitely narrowed.

They could almost clearly perceive each other's rising and falling breathing frequencies.

Even if an arm were stretched forward slightly, it would create aggressive physical friction.

Shen Du looked coldly around at these four opponents, who were less than a meter away from him, and instantly saw through the reason for this arrangement.

This was not at all to demonstrate some round-table equality, but a cruel psychological warfare.

In this narrow, close-quarters physical space, any micro-expression someone tried to hide, the momentary tightening of jaw muscles, or even the slight contraction of pupils when facing the splitting of interests, would be completely exposed under the microscope-like fixed gaze of the other four.

All the decency and composure created by using long tables and distance were stripped clean here.

This was the cruel rule set by the European old money.

To share in the interests at the hundred-billion level, everyone had to be forced to engage in a psychological close-quarters fight without any cover at such an intimate distance.

The calculations in the deepest parts of their hearts could no longer be hidden.

Accompanied by two attendants wearing white gloves who precisely pushed the steaming black tea in front of each person, they then quickly backed away and left.

"Boom — click!"

The heavy soundproof metal door was firmly shut from the outside.

The sound of multiple mechanical lock tongues engaging simultaneously was infinitely amplified in this small and quiet round-table conference room.

This dull sound completely cut off all contact between this snow-mountain fortress and the outside world.

This secret meeting, capable of changing the global technological landscape, officially began.

Without any superfluous polite probing, the representative of the Paris Military-Industrial Complex, Jean-Pierre, was the first to attack.

He crossed his hands on the table and leaned forward aggressively, half his body jutting out.

His deep-set eye sockets stared fixedly at Shen Du, who was within arm's reach.

"Mr. Shen, as a guest who has traveled from afar, it is only right that you speak first."

Jean-Pierre's tone carried a condescending scrutiny and undisguised interrogation, handing the knife directly over:

"We are very eager to know right now. What level of profit can you possibly carve out that would be enough to make us willingly destroy a geopolitical balance that has been maintained for over a hundred years, and join forces with you to fight against the technological hegemony of the United States?"

As soon as these words were spoken, Paul, Heinrich, and Arthur, who were at the same table, stopped their small movements at almost the same time.

Four sharp, greedy, and defensive gazes instantly locked onto Shen Du.

Facing this kind of joint pressure, which would be enough to cause any business tycoon to break down instantly, there was not a single crack in the expression on Shen Du's face.

He didn't even touch the cup of top-tier black tea in front of him, which represented the decency of European old money.

Under the tense gaze of the four oligarchs, Shen Du reached out unhurriedly and picked up a bottle of ordinary plastic-bottled water he had brought with him.

With a "click," the plastic cap was casually unscrewed by him.

Shen Du leaned back against the stiff chair, tilted his head, and under the murderous gazes of the four, drank a mouthful of water with an easy demeanor.

As the cold water slid down his throat, he slowly placed the plastic bottle on the expensive wooden table.

He raised those deep, cold eyes and met everyone's gaze...