"Mr. Song," said Pierre calmly, "a gentleman may love wealth, but he must take it honorably. If foreign powers exploit your people, it's not for me — an outsider — to profit from your misfortune. From now on, any sugar I purchase from you will be at market price."
With that, he lifted his cup and took a slow sip of coffee, as though it were nothing at all.
Internally, however, he braced for a system penalty.
Given how ruthless the system could be, he was sure it would punish him for a deal with little margin.
But—nothing happened.
No penalty. No warning.
Huh. That... wasn't what he expected.
His seemingly casual statement hit Envoy Li, Song Chengjun, and even Song Bing like a thunderclap.
For a long moment, all three sat there frozen.
Finally, Song Chengjun rose, offered a deep nod, and said:
"Mr. Pierre, your honor humbles me. I am truly in your debt."
Even the previously furious Song Bing — now red-faced with embarrassment — stepped forward.
She had only come along to the city for some shopping, and when she overheard the conversation, she couldn't stop herself from interfering.
She hadn't expected to cause such a scene.
"Mr. Pierre... I... I sincerely apologize," she stammered.
"I misjudged you and spoke unfairly."
Pierre glanced at her.
"It's quite all right. Since you've come with Mr. Song, you're welcome to stay and join us."
Then he turned back to her father and said:
"Mr. Song, I can take the sugar — but I won't make promises about volume. This month..."
He thought for a moment.
"Three to four thousand tons should be possible."
"Three to four thousand tons..."
Song looked a bit disappointed but still nodded.
"It's not everything we need — but it will ease the pressure for now."
"We'll build from there," Pierre said.
"But let me be clear: if the Americans realize I'm the one helping you bypass their shipping control, I may attract... unwanted attention.
So if we proceed, this business must remain strictly confidential."
Truthfully, it wasn't about secrecy — it was about concealing the fact that he had no ships of his own.
"Of course," Song replied.
"You have my word — no one will know your identity or... anything else."
He'd almost said "no one will know who your backers are," but held it back.
Some things were better understood than said aloud.
Everyone knew: in this war, ships were worth more than gold.
Anyone who had access to one... likely didn't want their name in the open.
From there, the conversation flowed easily.
They discussed delivery logistics, confidentiality terms, and then Pierre asked a casual question about tobacco operations in Cuba.
Song was happy to share everything he knew:
"The American Tobacco Company has a factory here, producing cigarettes," he said.
"But all tobacco products are taxed the moment they leave the factory.
Unless... you buy the factory itself. Then, technically, you could export tax-free — but only if you have the right connections."
In other words: it's not about money — it's about who you know.
Some businesses were closed off not because foreigners weren't welcome, but because even locals couldn't get in without the right political strings.
It was the same as the sugar trade.
Without the chaos of war, Chinese-Cuban merchants would never have gotten even a sliver of that market.
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Song muttered as their car rolled toward the legation.
"That Mr. Pierre turned out to be such a decent man."
He fell silent a while, then added:
"If a man like that is willing to help us — I intend to return the favor."
Li Dujun glanced at him.
"What do you have in mind?"
"Well..." Song rubbed his chin.
"If the weight is pressed right, I can pack an extra 10% into each shipment."
"Ten percent extra...?"
The envoy considered it.
"A noble gesture from a noble man. If more of our merchants behaved this way, perhaps we wouldn't be treated so poorly by foreigners."
"Absolutely," Song agreed.
"Ever since Jiang and Yu snatched control of the Chinese Guild Hall, things have been a mess. Backroom dealings, factional in-fighting... it's shameful."
He was referring to Jiang Zifu and Yu Zhiquan — two corrupt operators who'd bribed their way into leadership, then used the position to extort local Chinese-Cuban merchants.
"Shameful is putting it lightly," said the envoy.
"But with Jiang's connection to the central government, what can we do? He runs roughshod over everyone."
Then, after a pause, the envoy added:
"Have you considered running for Guild Chairman yourself? You'd be a better man for the job than any of them."
"You know I've no taste for politics."
Dujun didn't press the issue, but something else had clearly been on his mind.
"What do you think of our Mr. Pierre?" he asked carefully.
"Anyone who can organize shipping during wartime isn't ordinary. His background is... serious."
"But Hebo — do you think he might be a match for your daughter?"
Song didn't seem surprised.
"You mentioned a talented young man was coming from America," he said.
"And I'll admit, I was intrigued.
There aren't many suitable suitors here in Havana.
The war drags on — victory is inevitable, but no one knows when.
And I only have one daughter..."
"I don't want her to become a spinster."
That was why he'd brought Song Bing to the café — though she hadn't known the reason.
He'd used the sugar meeting as an excuse to bring her along.
Neither she nor Pierre had realized it, but... this had been a kind of arranged meeting.
"Ah, the heart of a father..." the envoy murmured.
"Well, in age and appearance, they're certainly well matched.
If something were to develop, I'd say it's a good match.
It would give you peace of mind, no?"
But Song just shook his head.
To be honest, I suspect this young man has no interest in romance at all.
Didn't you notice? Not once did he look at Bing'er."
He gave a small smile.
"This Mr. Pierre... seems like a man entirely consumed by his ambitions."