The Rise Of A Billionaire 1943
Chapter 38 : The Yongle Dadian

Chapter 38: Chapter 38 : The Yongle Dadian

But just before reaching it, he slowed his steps, careful not to give away his excitement.

He picked up one of the books.

On the outside, he was calm.

But inside, his hands were trembling.

"Yongle Dadian."

The moment he read the title, he opened the system.

The message confirmed it:

[Item identified: Original edition of the Yongle Encyclopedia.]

Thirty volumes.

A stack so thick, he thought his eyes were deceiving him.

"These books were brought back by my husband over forty years ago, when he served in the military..."

Military service.

So that’s it.

Not the Eight Nation Alliance... but likely their daughter army.

The bespectacled woman added,

"If you’re interested, they’re £2 a volume."

Pierre immediately set the book down with an indifferent scoff.

"Ma’am, they’re just some old books—and incomplete, too."

I never understood what Adam was thinking.

Everyone else came back from China with porcelain or gold, but he brought home a box of books.

Not that he could read a word of them."

She paused, then smiled.

"If you’re interested, I’ll give you the whole lot—for £200."

A whole chest?!

Could it all really be Yongle Dadian?

Wait—was this a trap?

But no.

When Pierre followed her home, she didn’t even invite him into the house.

Instead, she led him straight into the yard, where there was a small shed, barely two square meters.

Only then did he pull his hand out of his pocket—where his pistol had been ready, just in case.

"There it is. The whole chest is filled with those books."

Looking at the box buried under chopped wood, Pierre couldn’t help but imagine—

If he hadn’t shown up, this winter or the next, these books might’ve become firewood.

An unforgivable waste.

Absolutely criminal.

Furious on the inside but grateful all the same, he opened the lid.

Sure enough—hundreds of volumes of Yongle Dadian.

Most were still stored in traditional protective covers.

A collection historians would weep over... right here.

Not the full set, of course,

But at least 600 or 700 volumes.

Stunned and thrilled, Pierre composed himself and said,

"Ma’am, these books clearly aren’t worth £200, but I do have..."

He pulled out four full cartons of Camel cigarettes.

"I can offer these in trade. If you’re willing..."

Before he could finish, the old woman eagerly said,

"Deal!"

Everyone knew—in wartime, Camel cigarettes were more valuable than pounds.

And four cartons? That was a treasure.

As Pierre loaded the chest into his car, the old woman sighed,

"Adam finally did one thing right in his life."

Yes.

Yes, he did.

Driving away, Pierre could hardly contain himself.

He knew exactly what these books were worth.

They couldn’t even be measured in money.

"That’s not just a book," he muttered.

"That’s a national treasure."

Overjoyed, he made himself a silent vow:

From now on, I’m visiting the UK as often as I can— Not for business, not for sightseeing— But for second hand markets.

Who knew what other treasures these Brits had lying around?

At this point, it wasn’t about getting lucky anymore—

It was about retrieving lost treasures for his homeland.

...

Chapter 39 : The Assassin

During wartime, London’s secondhand markets were a daily goldmine.

And in the days that followed, Pierre made it his mission to visit every single one in the city, especially scouring for anything linked to Chinese or French antiquities.

While foreign museums were eager collectors, the number of treasures still circulating among civilians was staggering.

Each visit yielded results—Chinese pieces, Western pieces.

And over just a few days, though he’d traded away more than 200 cartons of cigarettes, he’d amassed enough valuables to open a small museum.

Treasure hunting by day, poker battles with his "little demons" by night.

Life was good.

But no paradise lasts forever.

A few days later—on a Wednesday—Pierre once again boarded a G type Imperial seaplane bound for America.

As the aircraft lifted from the Thames, he glanced back at London.

There was a trace of sentiment in his expression.

After all, this was where he’d earned his first fortune, and left behind two little foxes.

But in New York?

That was where his future lay.

Every time he arrived somewhere new, he followed the same principle:

Secure food and shelter first.

Though he had visited New York a few times before, he had always stayed in hotels or at the company office.

But now that he planned to base himself here long term, that would no longer do.

So before his arrival, his company had already arranged a proper home— a classic brownstone.

When he opened the thick wooden front door, there was a second glass door inside.

"Boss, what do you think?"

Zhu Yihai beamed with pride as he gave the tour.

"This is the living room, here’s the kitchen, that’s your study.

The stairs lead down to a basement with two bedrooms and a bathroom—could be rented out or used for staff.

Upstairs are three more bedrooms, and out back you’ve got a yard."

Zhu Yihai had spent two full weeks searching for this place.

While it wasn’t ultra luxurious, the neighborhood was definitely upper middle class.

"Not bad, not bad. You’ve worked hard, Yihai," Pierre said with a smile.

He understood why Zhu Yihai was being so proactive.

After all, Karl Metal Company was much larger than Zhenhua Corp, and Zhu had no formal role in the former.

It was only natural for him to feel insecure.

"Oh right," Pierre asked casually,

"Did you find the person I asked for?"

The person?

A bodyguard, of course.

Sure, Karl Metal Co. now had more than a hundred guards.

But those men had ties to the German American Bund—basically America’s version of the Nazi SA.

Pierre didn’t fully trust them.

They might hate Americans, but that didn’t make them loyal.

And when the time came, he wouldn’t be staying in America.

He needed his own people.

Zhu Yihai quickly explained:

"Boss, you said no gangsters, so that ruled out most of Chinatown. But I did find someone."

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