Reborn in 2014: A One-Man Tycoon

Inside the offices of the Green Gang headquarters in Manhattan's Chinatown.

The air itself seemed to carry the weight of history.

Meng Chuan sat down at the mahogany tea table where Fifth Master used to sit.

My fingertips unconsciously traced the fine lines on the tabletop.

This tea table has witnessed countless secrets of the underworld and bears witness to the rise and fall of the Green Gang.

The last time I set foot here was for that grand Baizhi ceremony.

“Meng Chuan, I’m at ease handing the Green Gang over to you. But the path of the martial world is treacherous, and every step must be taken with care. Sometimes, what seems like a smooth road may conceal a bottomless abyss.”

These are the words that Fifth Master once said to Meng Chuan.

At that time, Meng Chuan might not have fully understood.

But now Meng Chuan understands.

Isn't this the very choice that the Green Gang is facing now?

By using the bull to restrain Rothschild and then reaping the benefits, the Green Gang might be able to become the overlord of the underworld, with no rivals left.

But the risks involved are too great; if one is not careful, the Green Gang's whereabouts will be exposed.

This could attract joint suppression from various forces.

At that time, let alone grow and expand, they may not even have a foothold.

The idea of ​​a bottomless abyss is not an exaggeration.

"Fifth Master, Fifth Master."

Meng Chuan silently recited in his heart:

"You've spent your life strategizing and planning. If you were at such a crossroads, what would you choose? Would you forge ahead bravely, or proceed cautiously and steadily?"

His eyes were somewhat unfocused, as if Fifth Master were sitting opposite him, stroking his beard, with deep, penetrating eyes.

Just as Meng Chuan was lost in thought, Ying Die gently pushed open the door.

She walked very quietly, afraid of disturbing Meng Chuan.

But there was a hint of tension on his face.

"Little Lord."

Yingdie stood in front of Meng Chuan and bowed slightly:

"There are guests outside requesting an audience."

Back here, Yingdie stood firm on her principles; she could no longer call Meng Chuan her husband.

Meng Chuan snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at Ying Die:

"who is it?"

"It's Trump."

Yingdie lowered her voice even further:

"He said he has something very urgent and insists on seeing you. He's already downstairs at the company building, waiting in his car."

"The King of Knowledge?"

Meng Chuan frowned slightly, somewhat surprised.

He just arrived!

He already knew before I even got comfortable sitting down.

Of course, Meng Chuan wasn't surprised.

After all, he is the ruler of a country.

Perhaps Meng Chuan already knew the answer the moment he boarded the plane.

For him, finding out someone's entry information couldn't be easier.

Meng Chuan knew without a doubt that this guy was here for the election.

It's already early October.

The final verdict will be reached in no more than a month.

He should be getting anxious.

How many people did he bring?

Meng Chuan asked.

"There was only one car and one driver. It wasn't the presidential limousine; it was probably his private car. He probably didn't want to make a fuss."

"Shadow Butterfly replied."

Meng Chuan nodded, having made some considerations in his mind.

It would be a miracle if anyone knew that Trump came to see him late at night.

Meng Chuan stood up, walked to the window, lifted a corner of the curtain, and looked down.

Sure enough, a black sedan was parked at the entrance of the alley, quite inconspicuous.

"Young Master, shall we see him or not?"

Yingdie asked again, awaiting Meng Chuan's decision.

Meng Chuan lowered the curtains, turned around, and his eyes became resolute.

Since we're here, it wouldn't be right not to see us.

Moreover, perhaps we can get some information about Rothschild from Trump.

This might be helpful for his future plans.

"Let him in."

Meng Chuan slowly said:

"Take me to the reception room downstairs, I'll be there shortly."

"Yes, my lord."

Yingdie responded and turned to go down to make the arrangements.

"and many more."

Meng Chuan called out to her:

"Have Blood Rakshasa come along too, and have her wait outside the reception room, just in case."

It's not that Meng Chuan was being too cautious.

The King of Knowledge is no ordinary person.

Even a desperate dog will jump over the wall!

Who knows what heinous things he might do?

Although I don't think Trump will act rashly, it's always better to be safe than sorry.

During this sensitive period, any negligence could bring unexpected dangers.

Yingdie understood Meng Chuan's intention and nodded:

"I see."

After Yingdie left, Meng Chuan straightened his clothes, took a step, and walked towards the downstairs reception room.

The downstairs reception room was decorated in an antique style, with calligraphy and paintings hanging on the walls and several potted plants in the corner, giving people a sense of tranquility.

Meng Chuan walked to the main seat and sat down. Just as he picked up his teacup, he heard footsteps coming from outside.

The King walked in, wearing a dark suit and with his hair neatly combed, but his face showed undisguised fatigue and anxiety.

Upon seeing Meng Chuan, he paused for a moment, then gave a slightly stiff smile.

"Mr. Meng, it's been a long time."

The King extended his hand, his tone tinged with urgency.

Meng Chuan stood up and gently shook hands with him:

"It's a rare treat to have the King grace us with his presence. Please have a seat."

After the two sat down, Yingdie personally served tea and then naturally stood behind Meng Chuan.

For a moment, the reception room fell silent, with only the soft clinking of teacups.

The King picked up his teacup, but didn't drink it.

I don't know if it's because they're worried about the poison, or if they're just considering how to bring it up.

Meng Chuan did not urge him.

He knew that since Trump had come, he would eventually reveal his purpose.

He simply watched Trump quietly, observing his expression.

After a long while, it seemed that Trump had finally made up his mind. He put down his teacup, looked at Meng Chuan, and said in a solemn tone:

“Mr. Meng, as you know, the election is nearing its end.”

The King of Knowledge spoke very bluntly.

This also aligns with his gentle public image.

He has always been straightforward and says what he thinks.

“Recent polls are not optimistic, and my opponent’s support has been rising. Moreover, they seem to have some evidence against me and are spreading rumors in secret. If this continues, I’m afraid… I’m afraid it will be very difficult for me to win this election.”

Meng Chuan nodded slightly.

Although he doesn't pay much attention to this so-called election.

Because he knew that in the end, Old Bai would definitely win.

There is no chance for Trump to have another chance.

"Mr. Trump, I've heard that you've recently initiated several tax investigations against Rothschild's companies. I wonder what the results of your investigations are?"

Meng Chuan didn't answer but asked a question instead.

This is a rare last chance to make use of it.

Meng Chuan was naturally unwilling to let it go.

Of course, Meng Chuan didn't dare to tell him directly that he was doomed to lose.

Although "a phoenix that fails to be chosen is no better than a chicken".

But as long as he remains in this position.

Meng Chuan had to be wary of the power he held.

"As you know, the Rothschild lineage is ancient and has survived countless calamities to this day. Naturally, it has ways and means to circumvent these obstacles. It is almost impossible to easily defeat it."

Trump didn't hide anything and directly revealed his bargaining chips:

"However, things haven't been peaceful with the Mafia lately. If I'm willing to offer Bull some political asylum, he might reveal some information that's detrimental to the Rothschild Group..."