Great Power Reclamation

Chapter 2876 Xiao Di's Courage

"Why did you leave without saying goodbye?"

Her voice was tinged with steam, "You think that just because you backed up my experimental data to the cloud and listed my name on the patent application, I'll pretend you never existed?"

Marshal Ye turned around, and a drop of water from his eyelashes dripped onto the back of her hand, icy cold.

"It's forty degrees below zero here," he said, turning his face away, "...because of your allergic rhinitis."

"The sand in the military reclamation city hurts more than the snow here."

Xiao Di stood on tiptoe and kissed his frozen lips:

"You taught me that if I grabbed a handful of soil, I'd know what seeds to plant. Now, I'm grabbing this snow, and I know what to plant."

When the dormitory door was pushed open, the elderly female dormitory manager with white hair came in holding a glass jar:

"Marshal Ye, the newly harvested hybrid wheat seeds."

The words caught in her throat. She looked at the two people embracing each other and suddenly smiled:

"Back in our day, we were here too, huddled together eating frozen bread."

The wheat seeds in the glass jar gleamed golden under the light, and Xiao Di counted the labels on the jar:

"The second-generation hybrid has a cold-resistance gene expression rate of 32%."

Marshal Ye took out a notebook from the drawer. Inside was a photo of red willow seedlings in the desert, with the words written next to it:

"In March 2016, Xiao Di said the seedling looked like her ponytail."

"The seed bank is short of a gene sequencer."

Marshal Ye shoved the notebook into her hand. "The old lady said that the seedlings hybridized from Chinese jujube and Siberian pine need someone to watch over them until they sprout their first new leaf."

Suddenly, the solar panels outside the window all lit up with a blue light, like a sea filled with fallen stars.

Xiao Di recalled what Marshal Ye had said: the angle of the photovoltaic panels was adjusted according to the arc of the red willow facing the sun. At this moment, the blue light flowed down the snow slope, just like the red willow bushes in the desert, quietly inserting their roots into the depths of the frozen soil.

Marshal Ye grabbed her hand and pressed it against the glass jar, the wheat seeds pressing into her palm and creating tiny lines.

“You know what,” he said, looking down at the gold, “I found alfalfa seeds in the sand sample from the military reclamation city you sent me.”

Xiao Di suddenly burst out laughing, but tears fell onto the jar:

"I deliberately sneaked in there. Back then you said alfalfa could improve the soil, but you always forgot that you yourself needed to be cared for too."

The roar of a generator came from afar, and the technician shouted in the snow:
"Mr. Ye, the incubator for the hybrid wheat seeds is ready!"

Marshal Ye pulled Xiao Di and ran towards the warehouse. Their footprints overlapped in the snow, just like in the experimental fields of the military reclamation city back then. They walked side by side on the ridge, their shadows stretched out and indistinguishable from each other.

In the green light of the incubator, newly cultivated wheat seeds are sprouting.

Looking at the embryo under the microscope, Xiao Di suddenly remembered what Marshal Ye's father had said:
"Black soil is different from sandy soil, but when it comes to planting wheat, the effort is just as strong."

As she turned her head, she saw Marshal Ye taking a picture of her profile; her phone's screen saver had changed to that image.

She stared at the microscope, he held up his phone, and the green light from the incubator streamed down their faces.

Late at night in the dormitory, Xiao Di saw a line of small print in Marshal Ye's notebook:

"Seeds are living history, and you are my spring."

She took out the wheat seed necklace and placed it in his hand. The snow outside the window started falling again, and the blue light from the solar panels shone through the snow curtain, casting flickering shadows on the wall like an ever-burning campfire in the desert.

Marshal Ye suddenly grabbed his windbreaker: "I'll take you somewhere."

As the snowmobile rolled over the thick snow, Xiao Di, perched on its back, saw the seed bank lights on in the distance, where an old lady was still tidying up the shelves.

"On the left are desert seeds, and on the right are cold-resistant varieties."

Ye Shuai pointed to the new shelves in the middle, "This place will be filled with hybrid seeds in the future, and the labels will say: Breeders: Ye Shuai, Xiao Di."

Xiao Di stared at the brass pocket watch on the top shelf, the inside of the cover engraved with:

"The land will not let down those who cultivate it diligently."

She suddenly realized that those seeds, which traveled thousands of miles, remembered not only the warmth of two generations, but also the promise between two young people—

Just like the red willows in the desert that always need to sink their roots deep into the ground, their story has only just begun to grow.

As the morning sun pierced through the snow and mist, Xiao Di was awakened by a rustling sound.

Marshal Ye was squatting on the ground packing his luggage: a windbreaker, insulated gloves, several professional books that were worn out from being turned upside down, and the glass jar containing the "Frozen Soil No. 1" wheat seeds, which he carefully wrapped in his sweater.

"Today we're going to the experimental fields on the shores of Lake Baikal."

When he turned around, snowflakes still clung to his eyelashes as they drifted in from the window. "The Baikal needlegrass over there has successfully hybridized with our drought-resistant alfalfa, and the first batch of seedlings has just sprouted."

Xiao Di rolled out of bed and ran to the window in his military boots. In the distance, the photovoltaic panel array shimmered with a silvery-blue light in the morning glow, like a lake that had just thawed.

She suddenly remembered the map she had seen at the seed bank yesterday, with the red line winding from Belgorod to Lake Baikal like a pulsating blood vessel.

"Did you bring a temperature-controlled incubator? The seedlings can't withstand the cold."

Marshal Ye pulled a silver box from under the bed. A note was pasted on the box, in handwriting Xiao Di recognized—it was something she had written the night before:

"Seedling growth temperature: 15℃±2℃, soil moisture recorded every hour."

He scratched his head and laughed, "I was going to write it down myself, but you got up in the middle of the night and wrote it all down."

As the snowmobile sped across the permafrost, Xiao Di noticed that Marshal Ye had modified the seat—adding a thick camel hair pad, the kind that Uyghur villagers often use to make their beds in the desert.

"My bones ached from running around the experimental fields last year," he shouted, turning his head to the side, the wind rushing into his helmet, his voice buzzing.

"Now I know that not only do the seeds need to be kept warm, but people also need to protect them."

The experimental station on the shore of Lake Baikal is hidden in a pine forest, with white smoke billowing from the chimney of the wooden house.

When I pushed open the door, I saw several Ukrainian researchers arguing around a microscope. When they saw Xiao Di behind Marshal Ye, they all laughed.

Vasily, who was leading the group, held up a petri dish:

"Ye, is this the seedling cultivated from the 'secret weapon' you mentioned?"

Xiao Di leaned closer and saw a new leaf covered in downy hairs on the embryo, with a faint red tinge at the edge—a distinctive mark of the jujube seedling.

"The expression rates of both cold-resistance and drought-resistance genes have remained stable at over 40%,"

She pointed to the data logger, "Two weeks ahead of schedule."

Marshal Ye suddenly pulled an aluminum lunchbox out of his backpack. When he opened it, the steaming heat carried the aroma of chives.

“Shodi brought dumplings,” he said, distributing them to everyone.

"The chives in Junken City are mixed with fish paste from Lake Baikal."

Vasily took a big bite, hissing as it burned his mouth: "The seeds of China will shine, and so will the dumplings!" The afternoon sun shone through the pine branches onto the snow. Xiao Di squatted in front of the seedling shed, watching Ye Shuai lay mulch on the seedlings.

His movements were much more skillful than three years ago. His fingers pinched the edge of the membrane with just the right curve, so as not to damage the tender buds and to retain the soil temperature.

“Back in the desert, you laid the plastic film upside down three times,” she laughed, tossing him a bottle of hot water. “Professor Zheng punished you by making you turn over half an acre of land.”

Marshal Ye paused for a moment as he caught the water bottle, and the plastic sheeting slipped from his fingers, spreading out on the snow like a silver sea.

"Back then, I always thought, if I could calculate the angle of the solar panels to three decimal places, what's a little film installation?"

He bent down and smoothed out the film again. "Later I learned that growing crops is different from using machinery. You have to follow the nature of the plants."

When the thermometer in the seedling shed read 18℃, Xiao Di suddenly pointed to the iron frame in the corner and burst out laughing—

On it was a modified photovoltaic cleaning robot, and its tracks were indeed like those in Marshal Ye's painting, with serrated patterns like those of a tank.

“Last month, during the blizzard, it climbed a three-kilometer slope by itself,” Ye Shuai said, touching the robot’s outer shell. “The track teeth are made in the shape of red willow roots, giving it twice the grip of the original.”

Xiao Di suddenly hugged his waist, pressing her cheek against the old wound on his back—there was a raised scar there, from when she was cut by steel bars while saving him from falling into a sandpit.

“Look,” she said in a muffled voice, “the robot can climb hills now, and you’ve learned to take care of people, but I still prefer that idiot who couldn’t even lay the mulch properly back then.”

As dusk settled into the pine forest, they sat by the fireplace in the cabin, roasting steamed buns.

Vasily flipped through an old photo album, pointing to a yellowed photograph:

“This is my grandfather. In 1956, he learned to grow cotton in northern Xinjiang. He said that a technician from Huaxia taught him to use drip irrigation, which saves half the water compared to watering with snowmelt.”

The young man in the photo is wearing military reclamation uniform and is squatting in a cotton field, gesturing to a Uyghur villager.

Marshal Ye suddenly pulled a cloth bag from his pocket. Inside was a copper seed-shaped pendant with two strings of small characters engraved on it:

"Military Reclamation City 2013" and "Belgorod 2016." "I originally wanted to give this to you three years ago,"

He hung the pendant around her neck, "Back then, I always felt I had to make something of myself."

"Only someone worthy of me?"

Xiao Di interrupted him, tucking the pendant into her sweater and pressing it against her heart:

“Marshal Ye, do you know that I secretly photocopied every single mechanical drawing you did back in technical school? You thought I was chasing after your achievements, but actually I was chasing after the way you squatted on the ground, pondering the track teeth.”

The test station was so quiet at night that you could hear snowflakes falling on the photovoltaic panels.

Xiao Di lay on his cot, watching Marshal Ye revise blueprints under the lamp. His profile was softly illuminated by the lamp, and the shadow cast by his eyelashes swayed with the pen tip, like a red willow swaying in the desert wind.

"What are you thinking about?" Marshal Ye suddenly looked up.

"I'm thinking..." Xiao Di sat up, "What should we call our hybrid wheat?"

Marshal Ye paused, and the outline of the seedlings on the drawing was blurred by ink dots.

“Let’s call it ‘Lianli’,” he said softly. “The left side is ‘Lian,’ connecting two pieces of land; the right side is ‘Li,’ growing in accordance with the principles of plants.”

As the morning light climbed onto the roof of the seedling shed, Xiao Di noticed that Marshal Ye was not inside. Pushing open the door, she saw him squatting in the snow, holding a handful of black soil in his hands, looking directly at the sunlight.

“This soil is different from the sand in the military reclamation city,” he looked up and smiled, his eyes sparkling, “but the strength in your hand is the same.”

Xiao Di walked over and together they held up handfuls of soil. The black soil slowly warmed in their palms, as if it held countless messages of spring.

In the distance, the solar panels shimmered blue in the snow, overlapping with the red willows in the desert, forming a road leading into the distance before her eyes—

Along the way are the military reclamation fields that my grandfather guarded, the wheat seeds that my father cultivated, and the footprints of two young people, step by step, creating new greenery that connects the two lands.

Suddenly, Marshal Ye grabbed her hand and ran towards the seedling shed. The new leaves of the seedlings were still covered with morning dew, shining like broken diamonds in the sunlight.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the reddish tips of the leaves, “the nature of the jujube, the strength of the frozen soil, it’s growing.”

Looking at the tender buds stretching out, Xiao Di suddenly remembered what his grandfather had said:
"Nobility is not based on titles, but on the ability to hold onto land."

She turned to look at Marshal Ye, who was measuring the height of the seedlings with his head down. The profile of his face looked like a plump seed in the morning light.

So-called growth is not about giving up love to take on responsibility, but about letting love and responsibility grow into the shapes they need each other over time, like hybrid seeds.

Just like now, the roots under the frozen soil are quietly spreading, and their story is only just beginning to unfold.

Late at night, the dormitory was as warm as when the sun was rising, and Xiao Di struggled to push the two single beds together.

Marshal Ye gave her a strange look and asked, somewhat puzzled:

"What do you want to do?"

Xiao Di blushed and said, "I'm cold, I want to sleep next to you."

"Why is this room cold..."

Before Marshal Ye could finish speaking, he abruptly stopped, realizing what was happening.

Without saying a word, he helped Xiao Di set up the bed, but as he lay down, he still said:
"I might have to stay here forever from now on, you should think it over..."

A pair of soft lips silenced his words, and then the temperature in the room rose again, like the sun rising to the center.

After dating for several years, the two of them had never taken that step, but today, everything has come together naturally.

When Xiao Di woke up in the morning and saw the red stain on the bed sheet, she wanted to pick it up and wash it, but Ye Shuai stopped her.

"I am Chinese, and according to Chinese custom, this needs to be preserved forever..."

He found a pair of scissors and, following the red marks, cut out an irregular pattern.

"I'm not working today, I'm going home."

After saying this, Marshal Ye put on a suit and shaved his beard.

Xiao Di said shyly, "Commander Ye, I already talked to my parents before I came, and they agreed..."

Marshal Ye hugged her and kissed her, but Xiao Di pressed closer even more passionately, their lips seemingly welded together.

Upon receiving a call from her son, Ivana didn't go to work but instead went to the family estate. Her father asked, somewhat curiously:
"Why is my workaholic daughter here so early in the morning?"

"Ivanovic will be here in a little while. Coach Ye said he has something important to tell us."

The old man's expression hardened: "You're not in love, are you?"

Ivana thought for a moment and then shook her head: "He had a lover in the military reclamation city, but they've lost contact long ago. Where would he find girls now?"

The old man nodded: "That's for the best. His marriage is not just about finding a woman to have children; it needs to be carefully considered."

Ivana pouted: "Here we go again. I've never gotten married because of this view, and my brother's marriage isn't happy either. Can you please stop treating marriage like a transaction?"

The old man shook his head firmly: "You don't understand the cruelty of politics. Your brother wouldn't have said such a thing..."

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