Outnumbered? I'll conquer America with an unlimited number of suicide soldiers.

After seeing the interior of the factory, which was already taking shape, we were led by the assassins to the back of the complex.

After passing through a newly cleared open space, a two-story building made of bricks and stones, which looked particularly sturdy, came into view.

The assassin who led the way pushed open the heavy wooden door and introduced, "My lord, the first floor of this building has a kitchen and living quarters for the guards. The second floor has your bedroom and study, and Master Lu Ban even made a bathroom and toilet."

"A toilet?" Zeng was taken aback. "Didn't they say that San Francisco doesn't even have a sewer system? What's the point of just building a toilet?"

"When Master Lu Ban led the construction team, he specially made a pipe using ceramic pipes at the location of the toilet on the second floor, which led directly to the dry toilet in the distance," the assassin said.

"Oh? I'll have to take a look."

I quickly went up to the second floor, and the layout inside was indeed as the assassin had described. The bathroom and toilet were connected, and the toilet was even thoughtfully designed as a squat toilet with toilet paper placed next to it.

"Lu Ban, you're awesome!"

As a modern person, he felt an urge to burst into tears.

Although flush toilets already existed in major cities like London and Paris, they hadn't yet become common in San Francisco and nearby towns. During his time here, he used chamber pots and even wiped himself with corncobs.

Looking back, that delicate chrysanthemum still has a rough, rubbing feel to it.

"There's a water tower on the roof, replenished daily, for your daily washing and toilet flushing needs," the assassin concluded. "If you're hungry or thirsty, just call me anytime, and I'll bring it up for you."

The assassins respectfully withdrew and stood guard at the entrance to the first-floor staircase, responsible for security.

He went into the bedroom, took a new set of clothes from the closet, and then went into the bathroom. He took a long, thorough shower, washing himself thoroughly before returning to his bed and lying down.

The mattress was filled with soft feathers, and he sank into it completely, the soft, enveloping feeling bringing him a long-lost sense of relaxation.

After relaxing for a while, he sat down at his desk and began to consider the increasingly strained human resources situation.

The Van der Linde gang, currently numbering over thirty, is sufficient as a mobile and elite armed force for the time being. Blindly expanding further would only hinder their ability to conceal their presence.

The Native American suicide squad led by Chongyue needs to be supplemented. Sometimes, things that white gangs can't do, it's only natural for Native Americans to do them.

In addition, the sawmills on the upper reaches of the American River also need manpower to keep them running, and more of the assassins who were previously decided to be sent to various parts of California as spies need to be sent.

Of course, there is one place that is currently most short-staffed, and that is the factories in Chinatown.

Those Chinese laborers are fine for work, but for security, they must all be our own people.

After all, he would definitely go to Yixingtang to settle accounts in a few days.

Su Song had already inquired about the situation in Chinatown these past few days and learned that the power structure consisted of six major associations and five major guilds.

The six major guild halls were Ningyang Guild Hall, Hehe Guild Hall, Gangzhou Guild Hall, Yanghe Guild Hall, Sanyi Guild Hall, and Renhe Guild Hall, composed of members from various local communities. Although these guild halls also established branches, they were primarily for self-defense.

The five major gangs are not to be trifled with.

Although they are not well-known in the United States now, they are very famous in their hometown on the other side of the Pacific Ocean.

Hongmen.

Also known as the Heaven and Earth Society or the Gelaohui.

As a dynamic social group dedicated to overthrowing the Qing dynasty and restoring the Ming dynasty, even after crossing the ocean to the United States, it still had thousands of ruthless and courageous men at its disposal.

The Yi Xing Tang, with whom they had a past feud, was one of the five major branches of the San Francisco Hongmen, and was by no means an easy opponent.

"In the end, it's because we can't summon enough assassins every day!" Zeng sighed.

Although the system was successfully upgraded to level six after the sawmill was completely cleared yesterday, and the number of suicide soldiers that could be summoned each day increased from sixteen to thirty-two, it was still somewhat stretched to meet the demands of various parties.

"Moreover, we can't just summon combat personnel; Su Song's R&D team also needs a continuous replenishment of manpower. What's more, there are also talents with new features that need to be summoned."

He opened the system and looked at the newly appeared skill.

【Healing the World】: You can choose to summon a suicide soldier with this trait. A suicide soldier with this trait will have top-notch healing and control abilities, but the cost is that it will occupy two summoning slots.

"Given San Francisco's sanitation conditions, with its overflowing feces and teeming with flies, I wouldn't be surprised if a large-scale epidemic broke out someday."

"So doctors also need to keep a few on hand."

"If all else fails, how about having Arthur and his crew raid a few small towns?"

"But if I were to disregard human life just to quickly increase the number of summons, wouldn't I become a bloodthirsty monster? How could I then stand on my moral high ground and look down on those two anti-human slave-owning gangs, North America and the Qing Dynasty?"

I thought about it for a while and temporarily suppressed this dangerous idea.

The situation isn't critical enough to warrant crossing that line yet; let's rely on conventional growth and strategic maneuvering for now. If absolutely necessary, we can then use the lives of those hostile, blood-stained white colonists and gangsters.

"Hosea." He contacted his men in Sacramento via the hive consciousness.

"My lord," Hosea Matthews' voice immediately came, still respectful.

"Did you get your money back?"

"Very smoothly, my lord."

Hosea’s tone was steady. “Not only did we get our principal back in full, but the generous British agent also gifted us gold ingots and bearer bonds worth about 12,000 dollars.”

In addition, we also received the remaining machine tools and a batch of high-quality tools in his warehouse, which will arrive in San Francisco tomorrow.

"Well done."

He nodded, then asked, "Can we release the news of Mokel Mishir's death now? I remember our contract stipulated a one-week short-selling period, right?"

"Yes, my lord. To be precise, the settlement date is in two and a half days."

Hosea replied, "I'm on my way to the Sacramento newspaper office right now. The article is ready. By tomorrow at the latest, the news of the gold mine attack and the owner's suspected death will be in the papers and will spread throughout California within the next two days."

As for the newspapers in San Francisco, I made arrangements when I returned yesterday. The Daily Evening Post will publish a news item tomorrow stating that the escort team that transported the gold a few days ago was actually sailors hired by Michel to impersonate them.

"On the day the stock is delivered, I guarantee that the stock of Mokel Mishir Mining Company will be worth less than a piece of waste paper."

-----

the next day.

Montgomery Street, Lucas Bank.

Morning light streamed through the tall glass windows, illuminating the interior.

William Tecumseh Sherman, dressed in a well-tailored dark suit, strode briskly into the bank.

He said to the blonde woman at the front desk, "Good morning, Eileen. Could you please make a pot of coffee and send it to my office later? It's from the new batch of Brazilian beans."

"Yes, Mr. Sherman, it will be ready for you shortly." Eileen replied with a smile, turning and heading towards the small kitchen at the back.

Sherman walked into his office, his gaze habitually sweeping over the dozen or so newspapers that his employees had already neatly arranged on his desk. Suddenly, his eyes fixed on the front pages of two of the newspapers, and his eyebrows rose slightly.

The first was the Daily Evening Post announcement, whose front-page headline read: Shocking Scam! The Mihir Company's Gold Transport Team Was Actually Sailors in Disguise; Gold Was Robbed Last Month!

Another article, from the California Chronicle in Sacramento, had an equally sensational headline: California gangs are rampant, gold mine owner Mokeler Mishiel is killed in the mine and the mine is robbed!

Sherman quickly flipped through the two newspapers, carefully read through the two news articles, and his initial surprise gradually turned into deep thought.

"Mr. Tacitus Guirgo, Mr. Joshua Matthews, do you possess an exceptional business acumen, or is there some intricate connection between you two and this gang?"

He slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, then chuckled softly: "The bank will not reduce the 10% guarantee fee and commission it is obligated to collect, not a penny less."

"As for the gentlemen who signed the betting contracts, may God bless you."

Almost simultaneously, throughout San Francisco.

Everyone who saw the newspaper article and bought shares in Mokel Mihiel Mining Company was initially incredulous, but then panic ensued.

"Is this news true or false? Didn't they say just a few days ago that their guard team returned safely?"

"Sailors in disguise? Gold stolen? Boss dead too? God, my investment!"

Some people rushed to the dock area and, following the vague clues in the newspaper, actually found several sailors who had been temporarily hired as guards. Their evasive yet undeniable accounts confirmed the authenticity of the news.

More people flocked to the address of Mokeler Michal Mining Company on Montgomery Street, hoping to find the owner to come out and refute the rumors, only to find the door tightly closed.

After finally getting the door opened, a secretary with a bewildered expression and vague speech came out. After being pressed for a long time, he finally stammered that the boss had been gone for many days and there had been no news of him.

Doubt quickly turned into conviction, and conviction in turn gave rise to enormous panic.

Panic spread rapidly, like ink dripping into clear water.

The gold that was being mined is gone, the gold mines that could yield gold are gone, and more importantly, now even the responsible bosses are likely gone!

Sell! Sell at all costs!

Everyone who buys stocks wants to recoup their losses as quickly as possible.

In San Francisco, Sacramento, and throughout California, as more and more people saw and spread the news, stock prices plummeted.

The stock, which was priced at seven dollars and fifteen cents per share, plummeted to five dollars in just half a day.

Then it was four dollars, three dollars, two dollars...

There are countless people who want to sell, but no one knows where to find someone who wants to buy.

On the day the stock was settled, the share price was worth less than a dollar.

This once-glorious gold mining company can be declared dead in a legal and financial sense; even bankruptcy liquidation seems superfluous, as it no longer has any valuable assets to liquidate.

However, his attention was no longer on that matter; he handed the matter over to Hosea and focused his mind on something more important.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"What do you mean that Director Chen of the San Yi Association wants to invite you to lunch?"

He was slurping up the egg noodles that Jian Yuan had just cooked. The noodles were chewy, the broth was made with hen and dried kelp, and it was sprinkled with scallions—a rare delicacy in this foreign land. Hearing this, he looked up, his face showing a puzzled expression as he looked at Su Song sitting opposite him.

Su Song also had a bowl of egg noodles in his hand. He took a sip of the soup and said slowly, "That's what the messenger said. Meet at the Yuanfanglou Restaurant on Jackson Street, on the second floor. I'll be waiting for you. Don't be late."

"I guess it's because I've been spending a lot of time in Chinatown these days, and I've been handling all the material purchases. They don't know much about us, so they've assumed I'm the one who can make decisions here."

"My lord, this banquet looks like a trap. Should we go?"

After slurping another mouthful of noodles, he thought for a moment and asked, "Jackson Street, Yuanfanglou, these names sound like their territory, don't they?"

"It is indeed their territory."

Su Song had clearly done his homework: "According to people in Chinatown, Yuanfanglou is one of the venues of Xieyitang, and the head of Xieyitang is himself a native of Sanyi, holding the title of director in Sanyi Association."

The reason Director Chen chose that location for the meeting was mostly due to this relationship; it served as a guarantee of camaraderie among fellow townsmen, and also implicitly implied a desire to leverage the influence of the Xieyi Hall to bolster the event.

He frowned and said, "I remember Xieyi Hall, like Yixing Hall, is one of the five major branches of the Hongmen, right?"

Su Song nodded: "Yes. Yixing Hall specializes in selling piglets, luring fellow villagers here and then selling them to the mines to do hard labor. Xieyi Hall is even more despicable; selling piglets to brothels is a crucial part of their money-making scheme. They're all snakes and rats in the same den, none of them are good people."

"They've come with ill intentions."

"My lord, we are the ones who have come," Su Song reminded him.

"As long as you understand the meaning, that's fine. We haven't even gone to cause them any trouble yet, but they've already stretched out their claws to test the waters."

His eyes turned cold as he said, "Go! Why not? We've been in Chinatown for a while now, it's time to pay our respects and meet these local bigwigs. We'll only know if they're dragons or worms after we've met them."

"Jianyuan!"

"My lord!" Jian Yuan, who was guarding outside the door, responded and entered.

"Select ten Chinese brothers and ten white brothers, bring them all with short guns and melee weapons, and go with Su Song to meet Director Chen at Yuanfang Building on Jackson Street."

"Understood!" Jian Yuan clasped his hands in acceptance of the order.

Ten minutes later, more than twenty riders surged out of the factory like a suppressed whirlwind, all riding fine horses, carrying weapons, and with a revolver at their waists. They went straight towards Jackson Street without stopping.

"Wow! Such a big commotion, which gang is trying to take over the territory?" A Chinese man squatting by the roadside smoking a hookah stared wide-eyed in astonishment.

"Doesn't seem like it. When have you ever seen someone grabbing territory and bringing foreigners along?" A vendor selling miscellaneous goods nearby chimed in, craning his neck to look.