Blackstone Code-Chapter 599: Only a Serious Attitude Towards Work Brings Results!

“I’m certain Lynch planned our contract in advance,” Mr. Herbes said after the party, sitting in a private room in the club. The others who had signed the contract were gathered around him.
He sat on the sofa, legs crossed, idly turning a wide-mouthed glass in his hand, eyes unfocused as he stared at the carpet’s pattern in front of him—though he wasn’t truly looking at it.
He was in deep concentration, his mind so focused that nothing around him could break it, as if entering a special state to ensure the clarity of his thoughts.
“Lynch bringing a female companion was a statement—he was sending us a signal, no doubt hinting at something.”
His tone was firm. Someone nearby asked, “What was he hinting at?”
Mr. Herbes snapped out of his trance and looked around, shaking his head. “I don’t know what it was, but it’s not a good sign. Honestly, I can’t figure out what Lynch is trying to do. My experience doesn’t work on this young man.”
Before this, Mr. Herbes had never believed anyone could deceive him. Leaving aside his background—a prince of a small country—even the smallest nation still held sway in the international community.
If someone cheated him, he had the means to ruin them. With age came experience, and he had come to see himself as nearly infallible.
That may sound exaggerated, but it reflected his mindset—until Lynch appeared.
Before signing the contract, he hadn’t sensed anything wrong. After all, just over a year ago, he had made Lynch suffer a hidden loss. Despite Lynch’s growing reputation, Herbes believed the young man was ultimately nothing special.
But now, everything was different. He didn’t know what Lynch was planning, nor how to respond.
Everyone in the room looked grim and frustrated—angry at being trapped, helpless because they didn’t even understand how the trap worked.
After a moment, Mr. Herbes sighed and came back to the present. “Any big news lately?”
“Big news?” one of the younger men muttered. He was in his forties, technically not young. After a moment’s thought, he shook his head. “Nothing major. You know how ers are nowadays—they don’t care about truth, just grabbing attention.”
This was the natural result of commercial media. Everything revolves around commercial value. Only stories that attract attention have worth—then the journalists get paid, and so do the publishers.
The result? News fatigue. Big or small, every event is ed as if it were world-shattering. Headlines like ‘Humanity Faces Extinction’ turn out to be about minor social issues. But with a dramatic enough title, someone will buy the paper or magazine.
In this era of sensationalist headlines, it’s hard to judge a story’s value just by its title.
People have limited energy and can’t read everything. They end up consuming piles of junk news and learning nothing.
“Unless it’s from those habitual contrarians, I don’t see any news connected to our business.”
“Contrarians?” Mr. Herbes caught the word sharply. “What contrarians?”
The younger man paused, frowned, and explained slowly, “Some small international research firms have recently issued warnings about the Valier currency. They say Nagaryll’s industry and economy can’t support Valier’s exchange rate, and a crash is imminent.”
He added, “Actually, this kind of prediction’s been around since Valier started rising in value. It never stopped. These tiny agencies always go against the trend.”
“A few years ago, when Gephra seemed on the verge of victory, they claimed Gephra would lose a decisive war. When the Federation’s economy was booming, they predicted its collapse…”
Mr. Herbes interrupted, pointing at him. “They were right once.”
The man protested, “But I don’t think they’re right this time. They’re just trying to grab a niche group of investors with controversial takes.”
This was indeed how small agencies gained fame. It didn’t matter if they were wrong ten, a hundred, or a thousand times—no one noticed them anyway.
But if they were ever right about a major event, even once, they’d attract enough attention to become part of the mainstream.
“So what’s the benefit of doing this?” Mr. Herbes asked. It wasn’t clear if he was asking the others or himself.
Meanwhile, Lynch and Jania returned to the hotel. Their first round of intimacy was soon over, and they lay in post-coital silence.
“You’re bad, you know that?” Jania rested on Lynch’s chest. The TV in the bedroom was playing the late-night news.
The female anchor was undressing while reading the script. This type of adult news show was quite popular.
Of course, fully explicit adult programming was also in demand, but viewers quickly tired of it. These striptease-style newscasts were becoming the trend.
The anchors’ unique profession, the slow undressing, and the live ing created a bizarre form of sensory stimulation. Since its debut, ratings had skyrocketed, prompting the adult network to launch even more shows like it.
“What did I do?” Lynch asked.
Jania flipped over and straddled him, looking him in the eye. “You knew what kind of party it was tonight and still brought me. You wanted to make them uncomfortable, didn’t you?”
Lynch didn’t deny it—he smiled and nodded. Jania pressed further, “Do you have a grudge with them?”
She couldn’t imagine doing something like that to a friend. So Lynch must have some kind of history with Herbes.
Lynch smiled without answering. There wasn’t much to say. In the world of capital, there is no right or wrong.
There is no morality in capital. Its only goal is constant expansion. If there’s a justification, it’s simply natural law.
Big fish eat little fish, little fish eat shrimp—capital is no different.
Lynch wanted to grow. He wasn’t going to find a factory and work hard from scratch. Beyond the basic mechanisms of exploitation, there weren’t many paths.
The fastest, most direct, and most effective way was for capital to consume other capital. He intended to turn Herbes and the others into fuel for his expansion. Nothing more.
Jania didn’t get an answer and didn’t press further. Their relationship wasn’t built on pure intentions, so both were careful.
So she changed the subject. “Did you see the news today? There was a brutal attack by an independence group in Amellia. Lots of casualties.”
Lynch’s attention shifted from the nearly nude anchor to her.
Jania sighed. “Why is there always war? Why can’t people just live in peace?”
Because your damn country invaded someone else’s and forced a lease on their land.
Of course, Lynch didn’t say that. He just smiled. “Because the world isn’t short on ambitious people.”
His hand ran over her smooth skin. Jania had taken great care of her body. Though she was in her early thirties—an age when most women begin to lose their youthful glow—her skin was still in its prime.
It’s said she bathed in milk every two or three days and used the most advanced and effective skincare methods available.
Some scientists claimed those treatments didn’t have significant or lasting effects. But for the wealthy, even if the effect only lasted six hours, they could afford to keep it going indefinitely.
In such conditions, her body didn’t look like that of a woman in her thirties—it looked like someone in her twenties, irresistibly alluring.
“Ambition is the ugliest thing in this world. Stirring up ethnic hatred and division—that’s how some people profit from it.”
“Power, status, wealth, or simply the right to decide life and death.”
Jania casually asked, “Didn’t you say you had a solution for the Amellia problem? What was it?”
She was a performer—a brilliant one. Her timing was perfect, as if the news had triggered a passing sigh and a casual question. Her curious gaze made it seem completely spontaneous.
But Lynch knew better. There was purpose behind it. Maybe even the emperor was still testing him. Lynch wouldn’t give away nothing, but he also wouldn’t reveal the core of the plan.
He joked, “That’s not a cheap question.”
Barely five seconds after he spoke, he sucked in a breath sharply, watching the silent Jania with growing curiosity.
What exactly had the emperor promised her to make her try this hard?