Chapter 15 The Warehouse: A Vision in Motion

The general flinched, his fingers twitching as if grasping for a weapon unseen.

The young boy before him had just voiced what even the seasoned Major General Robert dared not—a truth so stark it could split the very fabric of decorum. Robert, a man steeped in corruption and layered in the armor of rank, had long perfected the art of subtle insinuation. His plans were always woven with half-spoken words and veiled threats, carefully calibrated to exploit every ounce of leverage. But this boy—this mere child—had shattered the delicate dance with the audacity of a hurricane.

It was as if the unspoken rules of negotiation were torn apart, laid bare under the boy's unwavering gaze.

"Quality issues will end this contract in an instant," Robert finally declared, his voice a practiced blend of indifference and disdain. Yet the gleam in his beady eyes betrayed his true thoughts—calculation, ambition, and, most of all, greed. "If you can't undercut the current suppliers, there's no need for a new agreement."

The boy's smirk widened, his youthful face a mask of unsettling confidence. "Major General Robert, I've said it before, and I'll say it again—your only priority should be the interests of Britain. Isn't that the soldier's creed? There's no need for you to burden yourself with the plight of local merchants. After all, aren't they the leeches you so despise? Parasites fattening on the honorable British Army? It's only right that such vermin be purged."

The words hung in the air, a venomous echo that seeped into the general's mind. For a moment, his composure wavered, his mouth tightening into a thin line. Yet, within the storm of his thoughts, a flicker of agreement took root.

'Why let these colonial upstarts leech off us?' the general mused, his gaze sharpening. 'If this boy can truly deliver cheaper goods, then I'll pocket the difference and report it as a minor efficiency improvement to the Crown. The empire wins. I win. The boy... well, we'll see.'

The room seemed to hold its breath as the general's decision crystallized. "Understood," Robert finally said, his voice laced with warning. "But mark my words: any deviation from your promises will result in the contract's immediate termination, and you'll be penalized heavily. Betray the British Army, and history will ensure your name is remembered for all the wrong reasons."

With a sharp pivot, he stormed out of the room, his boots striking the floor like the final toll of a bell.

As the door slammed shut, the room's remaining occupants—seasoned officers and bureaucrats—exchanged uneasy glances. They had witnessed countless negotiations, battles of wits between powerful men. But this? A child locking horns with a general and walking away with the upper hand? It was unheard of.

The boy's smile returned, brighter and sharper than ever. "Shall we proceed, gentlemen?"

The officers hesitated, their pens hovering above the papers. Doubt flickered in their eyes, but so did curiosity. Slowly, almost begrudgingly, they began laying out the documents. Each signature felt like a gamble, a risk wrapped in the enigmatic promise of the boy's vision.

"Sign here… and here…"

Hours later, the ink dried on an agreement that could either redefine the empire's supply chain or crumble under its audacity. Unlimited supplies at reduced costs, a 10% commission for the general, and an initial trial run at the Zaidong Fortress. The timeline was tight—two months to deliver results that seasoned contractors had deemed impossible.

The boy leaned back in his chair, his grin unfaltering. "Failure isn't an option. This is just the beginning."

Two weeks later, the young entrepreneur's warehouse was a hive of activity, a symphony of human ingenuity and industrial might.

Workers bustled in organized chaos, their movements synchronized like the gears of a vast machine. At the heart of it all was the boy's revolutionary invention—a crude yet effective conveyor belt system. Its rhythm was relentless, a mechanical heartbeat that drove the operation forward.

The air buzzed with the sounds of industry. Hammers clanged against anvils, scissors snipped through fabric, and voices called out instructions over the din. Men and women worked side by side, their roles carefully orchestrated. Women sorted, cut, and stitched fabrics with a precision that defied the clock, while men forged metal components, assembled intricate designs, and packed the final products with military efficiency.

Raw materials poured in from every corner of the colony—bolts of fabric, crates of tools, and barrels of paint. Within hours, they were transformed into polished goods: uniforms, weapons, tents, and other essentials.

The boy moved through the warehouse like a conductor guiding an orchestra. His sharp eyes missed nothing, from the smallest error in stitching to the slightest inefficiency in the assembly line. Workers respected him—not out of fear, but admiration.

"He's not like the others," one worker murmured to another. "He knows what he's doing. It's... inspiring."

By the end of two months, the impossible became reality.

The boy's gaze lingered on the assembled officers, his voice steady yet commanding. "Gentlemen, what we're discussing here isn't just a deal—it's a revolution. Efficiency, innovation, progress—these are the tools of the future. Together, we will build something greater than ourselves. But only if you dare to seize this moment."

Delivery Day

The convoy rolled into Zaidong Fortress under the cover of dawn, laden with 38 types of goods totaling over 8,000 units. Soldiers stared in disbelief as crate after crate was unloaded.

"Is this some kind of miracle?" one officer muttered, running his hands over the pristine uniforms.

The general's eyes narrowed as he inspected the goods. His mind raced with calculations—quality, quantity, cost. Every metric pointed to the same conclusion: the boy had delivered.

When the payment arrived—9,450 pounds, after deductions—the boy barely blinked. To him, it was just a stepping stone.

"This is only the beginning," he whispered to himself.

As the story spread, the legend of the boy began to take shape. They called him "Amazing Fang Ming," a name destined to echo not just in Hong Kong, but across the empire.

It was the dawn of a new era.