Great Power Reclamation

Chapter 2875 Love Lost and Found
When we returned to the test station, the technicians were busy working on the new equipment.

It was a seed sorting machine, with various data jumping on the screen—thousand-grain weight, moisture content, germination rate, all indicators that Ye Mao had figured out in the desert.

"This was sent by Engineer Zhao," the technician said, pointing to the label on the equipment.

He said the machine can determine in three minutes whether a seed is suitable for growing in permafrost regions.

Marshal Ye suddenly remembered the USB drive that Engineer Zhao had given him before he left. It contained the latest design for a photovoltaic cleaning robot, with a note that read:

"We added tracks to the permafrost area, so it can climb slopes like a tank."

He touched the cold machine casing and could almost see Zhao Gong squatting under the photovoltaic panels in the desert thousands of miles away, explaining the laying angle of the drip irrigation tape to the new employees.

The first blizzard of winter came unexpectedly. Marshal Ye watched from the monitoring room as the photovoltaic panels automatically activated the heating system, melting snow into water that flowed into the storage tank and seeped into the frozen soil through pipes.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded—the power cable in the northwest area had been broken by the weight of the snow.

He grabbed his down jacket and rushed into the snow. The wind, carrying snowflakes, stung his face like sand in the desert.

When they arrived at the fault location, two local electricians were kneeling in the snow, making repairs. Their gloves were frozen to the cable, and pulling them off would leave bloody cuts.

Marshal Ye quickly took off his coat and spread it on the snow: "Use this as a mat first, so you don't get too cold."

Three hours later, the moment the cable was connected, the distant solar panels lit up with blue light again. The electrician smiled, wiping the snow off his face.

"Advisor Ye, China's technology is truly amazing; it can even generate electricity in this weather."

Marshal Ye looked at their noses, red from the cold, and suddenly remembered the Uyghur people in the desert, who had also smiled and said:
“Adasi, your boards can glow and they can also feed crops.”

When I got back to my dorm, my phone vibrated on the table. It was a video from Ye Yuze.

The father stood in the greenhouse of the military reclamation city, holding a seedling in his hand:
"This wheat variety was cultivated using the permafrost sample you sent back, and the expression rate of cold-resistant genes has increased by 17%."

The scene shifts, and Ye Fei runs over holding up an ear of wheat: "Brother, this is 'Frozen Soil No. 1,' the name I gave it!"

Marshal Ye nodded with a smile, but his eyes were a little moist. He thought of his father when he was leaving, working in the experimental fields, and his father always saying:

"Seeds remember both grudges and kindness. If you treat them well, they will grow food for you."

Now, these seeds that have crossed borders are carrying the warmth of two generations.

After the blizzard stopped, Marshal Ye visited the seed bank. The temperature-controlled storage room was filled with neatly stacked shelves, on the left of which were China's desert seeds—jujube, tamarisk, and drought-resistant alfalfa.

On the right are hardy varieties from CIS countries—Siberian pine, Baikal needlegrass, and frozen wheat. In the open space in the middle, newly erected shelves are labeled: "Hybrid F1".

The caretaker was an elderly woman with white hair. Pointing to the top box, she said:

“These are wheat seeds that your grandfather collected when he was young. They survived the famine during World War II. It was thanks to these seeds that the whole village didn’t starve.”

She opened the box, and the wheat seeds inside had a faded golden hue. "Now that you've added Chinese seeds, it's like giving old wheat new life."

Marshal Ye picked up a hybrid wheat seed and looked at it against the light.

The veins of the seed are half rugged like the desert and half fine like the permafrost, much like the scars on his arm—

The scratch on the left was from carrying solar panels in northern Xinjiang, and the one on the right was from repairing cables in Belgorod.

Before the New Year, Marshal Ye received a message from his mother:
"Grandpa cleared out his study, saying he wanted to use it as a temporary laboratory for you."

He clicked on the picture, and there was a new map hanging on the wall of the study, with red lines connecting the military reclamation city, Belgorod, Almaty, the Dnieper River... like a huge seed network.

On Christmas Eve, Marshal Ye was cooking dumplings in the canteen of the experimental station.

Local employees gathered around the table, learning to pick up dumplings with chopsticks, their hands smeared with vinegar as they smiled.

"It tastes better than rye bread; it has the aroma of wheat."

Marshal Ye raised his glass, which was filled with linden honey: "To the land, to the seeds, to all those who make the land grow hope."

Outside the window, the solar panels glowed blue in the snowy night, like a tranquil sea. Marshal Ye recalled his grandfather's words:

"Nobility is not based on titles, but on the ability to hold onto land."

He suddenly realized that what his mother left him was not shares, but the confidence to let the seeds cross national borders.

His maternal grandfather and uncle's arrangement was not for him to become an official, but to let him carry on the legacy of two generations onto a wider piece of land.

On the second day of the holiday, Marshal Ye went to visit his maternal grandfather to wish him a Happy New Year. The old man was sitting in front of the fireplace, flipping through a thick photo album filled with seed specimens from various countries.

Seeing him come in, Grandpa pointed to one of the pages:
“This is wheat that your mother planted in the military reclamation city when she was twenty years old. The ears of wheat are two centimeters longer than those of the local wheat.”

He suddenly closed the photo album. "Do you know why I put you in charge of seed industry safety?"

Marshal Ye shook his head. Grandpa picked up a bronze pocket watch, the very one he had seen when he was a child.

He opened the watch case; the engravings inside had worn away and were faint.

"The land will not let down those who cultivate it diligently." "Because seeds are living history."

The old man traced the words with his finger: “Your grandfather farmed the military reclamation fields in northern Xinjiang, your mother brought the seeds to the jeep, and now you plant them in the frozen soil—this is not a mission, it is blood ties.”

As Marshal Ye left the manor, he saw a series of footprints in the snow, stretching from the greenhouse all the way to the wheat field.

He followed the footprints and saw his mother squatting in the field, holding a handful of black soil in her hands, looking up at the sunlight.

“This soil is different from the sand in the military reclamation city,” Ivana looked up and smiled, her eyes filled with snowflakes, “but when it comes to planting wheat, it’s just as hard-working.”

Marshal Ye knelt down and, together with his mother, scooped up some soil. The black soil was cool, yet carried a damp scent, as if it held the promise of spring.

He suddenly remembered that his father had taught him the same thing in the desert—grab a handful of sand, rub it between your fingers, and you'd know what seeds to plant.

In the distance, the solar panels shimmered blue in the snow, like a frozen sea.

Marshal Ye knew that the story here was far from over. Just as the red willows in the desert always manage to sink deep into the earth, the seeds under the frozen soil are also accumulating strength, and when spring comes next year, they will grow new green shoots that connect the two lands, following the direction of the sunlight.

His mission is to be the one who guards the seeds, like his grandfather guarding the military reclamation fields, like his father guarding the wheat seeds, and like all those who cultivate diligently, so that the land will forever remember what hope is.

Originally, Ye Shuai studied mechanics at technical school, and he also had a talent for it.

However, after being admitted to the Military Reclamation University, her second brother's new energy desertification control project had already begun. Zheng Lanzhi saw the project's foresight and immediately added this major.

Marshal Ye became one of the first students in this major, which covers a wide range of knowledge, including sand prevention and control, the cultivation of various plants, and the integration with new energy sources.

Marshal Ye was always very competitive and looked up to his eldest brother from a young age. He initially looked down on his second brother, thinking he was all talk and no action.

But no one expected that the second brother would become a completely different person after starting university. Not only did he write excellent scripts, but he also won an Oscar for Best Actor.

He then resigned from his position as a director of the Warrior Group and resolutely entered politics, where his achievements are now evident to all. He understands his future; the Warrior Group and its sister companies are destined to have little to do with him. It's not that his father discriminates against him, but rather that families like theirs have their own rules.

He'll definitely go back to Jeep; his path is destined to be there. Because his mother and family are there.

Of course, if he doesn't want to go back, his father will definitely make arrangements for him.

But as the only male heir on his mother's side, he understood that his responsibility definitely lay there, since he didn't need to worry about his father's side at all.

The only regret is Xiao Di. The two started dating in junior high school, and during their college years, they were still looking forward to the future.

Before he even graduated and was assigned a job, he found himself in a foreign land. Or rather, this was also his homeland, though he didn't feel any sense of belonging to it.

However, since his grandfather was so old and his uncle was nearing retirement age, Marshal Ye naturally knew their expectations, which was why he came back.

Although his current position is not high, it is one where he can easily achieve results. It should be noted that Ukraine is a major grain exporter and a pillar industry. If he achieves results in this area, his future path will be much smoother.

In the midst of his busy schedule, Xiao Di's voice and smile would always flash through his mind. When he left, Marshal Ye did not say goodbye to Xiao Di.

It wasn't that he was heartless, but that he dared not. That girl was too beautiful; he felt that leaving her would be a betrayal.

But every man has his own responsibilities, especially to his mother and family, and he cannot abandon all of that for love.

In addition, his second brother's situation greatly affected him, and he realized that only by standing at a certain height can one accomplish many things.

So, after struggling for a long time between love and responsibility, he finally decided to leave...

Although he was in great pain, he was destined to give up many things in his life, including love. Besides, with Xiao Di's qualities, he wouldn't be without suitors.

Winter nights in Belgorod are very cold. If you were to go outside to urinate at this time, it wouldn't be unusual to have a small stick with you. The temperature is so cold that water freezes instantly.

The house is warm; the electricity stored by the solar panels during the day is enough to keep the house warm.

When Ye Shuai got tired of work, he took out his phone. His screensaver was a photo of him and Xiao Di, both of them smiling sweetly and carefree.

At that time, no one expected them to separate, because Marshal Ye also felt that nothing and no one in the world could make him leave this girl.

But after only a few years, he left on his own initiative, not because he wanted to betray love, but because he had grown up...

A few tears fell, landing on the phone screen and keeping the display lit for a long time. The two people in the photo seemed to be crying, yet they were still smiling.

As the spring breeze carrying sand from the military reclamation city hit Xiao Di's face, she was squatting on the edge of a field at the experimental station, holding half a red willow leaf in her hand.

The soil analyzer's screen glowed green, indicating that the organic matter content of this improved sandy land had increased by 27% compared to three years ago.

But as she stared at the data, the image of Marshal Ye squatting here all those years ago kept flashing before her eyes—

At that time, he had just entered the Military Reclamation University. The cuffs of his school uniform were frayed, but he always liked to bring his sand-covered hands to her face.

"Look, when you roll the sand in your hand, you know what kind of seeds to plant."

My phone vibrated in my pocket; it was a message from my counselor.

"Shodi, your visiting scholar application to the Belgorod Agricultural Research Institute has been approved."

She stood up abruptly, and the sharp tip of the red willow leaf poked a small spot of blood in her palm, from which a bead of blood oozed out, just like the way Marshal Ye had been pricked by a thorn when he helped her pick jujubes in the desert that year.

For three years, she followed the trail left by Marshal Ye, like a seed chasing the wind.

From XJ's photovoltaic base to Jeep's military reclamation farm, all the places he worked left similar traces.

The work ID card faded by the sun, the notebook filled with formulas, and the light in the eyes of locals when they mention "Advisor Ye".

Until last month at the seed bank in the military reclamation city, the white-haired, elderly caretaker tremblingly took a wheat seed from the tin box:

"This is 'Frozen Soil No. 1,'" said Ye Yuze, the breeder, whose son grew wheat in Belgorod that could withstand temperatures as low as minus forty degrees Celsius.

Xiao Di embedded the wheat seed into the necklace pendant and pressed it against his chest.

Standing at the exit of Belgorod Airport, the Siberian cold wind filled her down jacket as she clutched the hand-drawn map—

It was drawn by a Uyghur villager from the military reclamation town. The location of "Photovoltaic Sea" is marked in Uyghur, and a glowing sun is drawn next to it.

The taxi drove through a snow-covered birch forest, and the driver pointed to a blue light in the distance and said:

"That's a Chinese wooden board; it glows even in winter."

Xiao Di suddenly remembered that late night before Marshal Ye left, when he handed her a USB drive downstairs in her dormitory. Inside were design drawings for a photovoltaic cleaning robot.

"Once I've fixed the tracks, I'll take you to see the robot that can climb hills."

At the time, she laughed at his drawing of tracks that looked like tanks, but she didn't notice the bloodshot eyes hidden in his eyes.

Icicles hung from the iron gate of the test station. When Xiao Di pushed the gate open, he bumped into a figure in a windbreaker coming out of the warehouse, carrying a bundle of cables.

The wind lifted the brim of his hat, revealing half of his neck, red from the cold—the crescent-shaped scar was still there, from when he helped her retrieve her crashed drone in the desert years ago, when he was scratched by a rock.

The cable clattered onto the snow. Marshal Ye turned around, and frost fell from his eyelashes.

Xiao Di stared at his lips, which were purple from the cold, and suddenly remembered that in junior high school, he had stood there in the same way on the playground, still clutching the roasted sweet potato he had bought for her, rubbing his hands because they were so hot.

"Why are you here?" Marshal Ye's voice trembled like a frozen wire.

Shawdy untied her scarf, revealing a wheat necklace around her neck:
"I came to see the wheat that can withstand temperatures as low as minus forty degrees Celsius, and by the way, I wanted to ask you something."

She raised her hand and traced the scar on his neck. "Is the track fixed?"

Marshal Ye's Adam's apple bobbed, and he suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the dormitory.

The frozen pears roasting on the radiator dripped water into the enamel dish. Xiao Di stared at the chilblains on the back of his hands, like cracks in the earth in the desert:
"The electrician here said that when you were repairing cables last month, your gloves froze to your wound."

"A minor injury."

Marshal Ye turned to pour water, the strap of his military water bottle gleaming from wear.

Xiao Di suddenly hugged him from behind, smelling the mixture of engine oil and frozen soil on him, just like the smell he had when he returned from the desert experimental field that year, only back then it still carried the warmth of the sun.

“Uncle Ye said that the cold-resistant genes of ‘Frozen Soil No. 1’ come from the jujube tree.” Xiao Di pressed her face against his back.

He also said that some seeds remember grudges, while others remember kindness.

Marshal Ye's shoulders trembled suddenly, and the enamel cup clattered against the corner of the table.

Xiao Di saw that his phone screen saver was still lit up; it was a photo taken three years ago in the rapeseed fields of Junken City. She had her hair in a ponytail, and he was wearing a white shirt. Their shadows were stretched long by the setting sun.

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