Great Power Reclamation

Chapter 2994 Aftermath
The news of the change of control of Beijiang Mobile and Wang Yifan's departure overseas was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, with ripples spreading rapidly.

The business community, the media, and even some people who follow current events have inevitably been discussing the issue.

Some astute self-media outlets began to "analyze" the matter in depth, with article titles often featuring sensationalism:

"The Fall of a National Brand? The Capital Game Behind the Change of Ownership of Beijiang Mobile Phones!"

"A Closer Look at the Expansion Path of Ye Yuze and Yang Geyong's Business Empires—Is it Protection or Gradual Encroachment?"

"Wang Yifan's elimination: a victory for business rules or a crushing defeat by power?"

The article is full of speculation, insinuations, and even conjectures, portraying Ye Yuze and Yang Geyong as "barbarians" who bully others and use their backgrounds and resources to squeeze out entrepreneurs.

These arguments have attracted considerable attention online, sparking a wave of discussions about the business environment and fair competition.

However, the three parties at the center of the storm maintained a strikingly consistent silence.

Ye Yuze continues to manage his business and environmental empire globally, ignoring the clamor of public opinion as if it were none of his business. At his level, he no longer needs to explain himself to anyone.

Yang Geyong was too lazy to pay attention to it. He was fully focused on his "anti-aging" plan. For him, resolving potential family problems was the real issue. The rumors outside were nothing but the noise of mosquitoes and flies.

After the agreement was reached, Wang Yifan quickly and discreetly left northern Xinjiang and headed to Southeast Asia. He did not give any interviews or issue any statements, as if he had vanished into thin air.

Their silence did not quell the discussions; instead, it added to the mystery and made the various speculations even more bizarre.

Time flies, and several years have passed in the blink of an eye.

At an upscale hotel's open-air bar on the banks of the Chao Phraya River in Bangkok, a financial journalist from China happened to meet Wang Yifan, who was receiving clients there.

Several years of living abroad have shed some of the harshness of the northern frontier and given him a more relaxed air, as if he had been exposed to the tropical climate. But deep in his eyes, the shrewdness and sharpness remain, only now they are more restrained.

The reporter recognized him, hesitated for a long time, but still went up to greet him and subtly brought up the incident from back then.

"Mr. Wang, if I may ask, regarding the Beijiang mobile phone incident back then... there's been a lot of speculation. What's your opinion?"

Wang Yifan paused, holding his wine glass, and turned his gaze to the winding Chao Phraya River outside the window. The river was brightly lit, reflecting his calm and expressionless face.

He didn't look at the reporter, remained silent for nearly half a minute, and then slowly spoke, his voice not loud, but carrying a heavy weight:
“Some people, some things,” he paused, as if choosing his words carefully, and finally, in an almost sighing tone, uttered the words that the reporter would remember for many years:
"Having thoughts is a sin."

After speaking, he looked away, raised his glass to the reporter, gave a standard but aloof business smile, and turned to blend into the guests behind him, giving the reporter no further opportunity to ask questions.

That sentence, like a cold needle, pierced through all the noisy speculation and indignant judgment.

It neither admitted nor denied it.

It made no complaints or accusations.

It merely describes a state of being, a state of powerlessness and clarity in the face of absolute power and rules.

"Having thoughts is a sin."

These seven short words perfectly encapsulate his situation back then and explain why he chose to remain silent.

That's not admitting defeat, but recognizing the rules; that's not surrendering, but understanding one's own insignificance after witnessing the true heights of mountains.

This statement was later relayed back to China and reached the ears of some interested people.

Upon hearing this, Ye Yuze simply smiled noncommittally. Yang Geyong snorted and muttered, "He knows what's good for him."

Those who truly understand the full weight and chill behind these words realize more deeply that on that vast and complex land, some boundaries are inviolable; some existences are beyond question.

With Wang Yifan's words, the story of Beijiang Mobile Phones was finally put to rest.

All the arguments seem pale and superfluous in the face of this powerless summary.

It has become an unspoken warning case in the business world, reminding all eager newcomers that while looking up at the stars, they should also see the ground beneath their feet, and... the shadows of those enormous things cast on that ground.

Life is like the rushing Ertis River on the northern border of Xinjiang; it will not stop because of anyone's joys and sorrows.

The surface ripples may subside, but the underwater currents and the shape of the riverbed have been subtly altered by every passing drop of water.

Yang Wei has practically dedicated himself to the "anti-aging" plan.

His skin was tanned even darker by the wind, sand and scorching sun at various test sites, and fine lines were etched at the corners of his eyes, marks left by long hours of staying up late and exhausting himself.

He is no longer the man who threw himself into work simply to prove himself or escape his family. His current "reverse aging" reflects his redefinition of his self-worth, his inheritance of his father's dream, and also his unspeakable guilt and longing for the two women in his life.

He became increasingly silent, but also increasingly resilient. In the experimental fields of the Taklamakan Desert, he could brave gale-force winds and work with researchers to debug drip irrigation equipment, sometimes for an entire day.

In the command center that coordinates global data, he can work continuously for 36 hours, just to capture the best window for artificial weather modification.

He compressed and refined all his emotions and energy, and then poured them into this grand and arduous undertaking.

Only when he is alone late at night, or when he occasionally sees railway news related to Wang Xiaomeng, will a fleeting, complex emotion cross his eyes, which will then be covered by a deeper sense of fatigue and responsibility.

Wang Xiaomeng continues to work in the Northern Xinjiang Railway system. With her solid professional skills and unassuming character, she has steadily risen in rank and become an indispensable technical backbone within the system.

She cut her hair short and neat, making her look even more capable. Time seemed to have been exceptionally kind to her, leaving few traces on her face; only the tenderness that used to shine when she looked at Yang Wei had now settled into a deeper serenity.

She still lives in the same neighborhood not far from the railway compound. Her room is clean and tidy, and she keeps a few drought-resistant plants on the balcony.

She never started a new relationship, as if her encounter with Yang Wei had exhausted all her romantic quota.

She politely declined all offers to be introduced to potential partners. Her life was regular and fulfilling, consisting of work, reading, and occasional get-togethers with close friends.

She no longer waits for anyone; she truly lives for herself. Only on certain nights when trains roar past, she might stand by the window, gazing at the distant lights, lost in thought for a moment, before gently drawing the curtains, sealing everything away in her heart.

She is like a kapok tree growing quietly beside a railway, independent and unattached, blooming alone and enduring wind and frost alone.

Ye Qianqian was doing very well in her position in the Corps. Several reforms and projects she spearheaded achieved remarkable results, and her prestige grew daily.

She pays more attention to her image, and when she appears in public, she always has exquisite makeup, appropriate clothing, a standard smile, and is cautious in her speech.

Her legal separation from Yang Wei, in certain circles of acquaintances, ironically became evidence of her "clear distinction between public and private matters" and "strict self-discipline."

She and Yang Wei still lived under the same roof, maintaining the appearance of "mutual respect" in the eyes of outsiders.

They will attend their children's parent-teacher meetings together, cooperate seamlessly at important family gatherings, and offer rational advice when the other encounters work difficulties.

But that intimacy between lovers and the dependence between husband and wife have long since vanished.

They are more like the most familiar comrades-in-arms, jointly guarding a fortress called "family," but inside the fortress, each has their own territory and defense line.

She knew that Wang Yifan was doing well in Southeast Asia, and she had also heard about Wang Xiaomeng's recent situation. These messages were like tiny pebbles thrown into a lake, creating a few ripples before quickly sinking to the bottom, no longer affecting her calmness and decisiveness in making decisions.

The higher you climb, the colder it gets; her emotions had long since grown accustomed to this temperature. And their son, Yang Chenglong, gradually grew up in such a complex and delicate environment.

He inherited the best features of his parents and is a tall and handsome young man.

In his mind, this is what home is like: his father is very busy and often not at home, but when he comes back, he brings him all sorts of strange stones or plant specimens.

Although I don't spend much time playing ball with him, I'm very engaged; my mother is also very busy, but she tries her best to find time to check his homework and participate in his school activities.

His parents didn't live in the same room. He asked about it when he was little, and his mother simply said gently:

"This way, Mom and Dad can get better rest." He thought this was reasonable.

He did not feel that his family was fundamentally different from that of his classmates.

Perhaps other students' fathers come home more punctually and their mothers nag more, but his father is doing something that "changes the world" (this is what his grandmother Zhao Ling'er told him), and his mother is a leader respected by many people.

He enjoyed the undiminished love and care from both parents and was accustomed to their polite and stable way of getting along.

His world was bright and sunny; he was unaware of the hidden reefs and eddies beneath the calm surface of the adult world.

Life, indeed, hasn't stopped moving forward for anyone. Scars are hidden, emotions are treasured, and everyone has found a way to reconcile with the past, or rather, coexist with it, continuing on their chosen path.

However, those sighs in the dead of night when no one is around, those fleeting moments of nostalgia triggered by the scenery, and those subtle emptiness hidden behind success and busyness—perhaps only they themselves truly understand their meaning.

The Ertis River continues to flow, carrying away some things and settling others, ultimately transforming them into the silent scenery on both banks.

Abdul's camels trod on the scorching sand, each step feeling like stepping on memories of past despair.

He once thought that this pasture, passed down from his ancestors, would eventually be completely swallowed up by the yellow sand, until his people scattered like tumbleweeds.

Until that day, a group of people with Asian features brought a shrub called "Shayuan No. 1".

They spoke in cumbersome terms, such as "carbon sequestration" and "ecological restoration," which Abdul couldn't understand. He only understood the same yearning for a green future in their eyes as he did.

With a "nothing to lose" mentality, he accepted the meager subsidy and, following the instructions of those people, led his clansmen to plant those seemingly fragile saplings.

Year after year, they water the plants, tend to them, and fight against the wind and sand for every inch of land.

At this moment, his rough hands trembled as he stroked the "Shayuan No. 1" tree in front of him, which was already waist-high and swaying slightly in the hot wind.

The leaves weren't lush, but their vibrant green was striking, like a nail driven into a field of death. The roots clung firmly to the sand beneath, and the land beneath his feet no longer flowed as easily as it had before.

A single, murky tear slid down his weathered face, quickly evaporating in the dry air.

He turned around and, in a hoarse voice, said to his grandson who had followed him:

“Look, Bashir, the green… the green is really back! It’s those… those who planted the trees…”

He choked up, unable to continue speaking, and simply hugged his grandson tightly, as if holding onto the hope of something lost and found again.

Gulinaz stood on the "shore" that was once a vast expanse of blue water, now only a white crust of salt. Behind her were a group of children whose eyes were filled with curiosity and confusion.

“This place used to be all water,” she said, her voice trembling as she pointed to the endless white wasteland. “There were big ships, fish, and lots and lots of water birds.” The children tried to imagine, but they couldn’t quite reconcile their teacher’s description with the scene before them.

Then, she led them to the other side—

A small patch of land enclosed by a wooden fence. Unlike the desolation outside, this place is dotted with patches of green!
A crop known as "saltwater wheat" is stubbornly pushing its way out of the improved soil.

"Look!" Gulinaz knelt down, carefully touching the tender leaves, as if afraid of disturbing a fragile dream; her voice was filled with excitement:
"Children, look! This is hope! It's hope sent from afar by those who won't give up on us!"

A little girl with pigtails asked timidly, "Teacher, can it grow up? Can we eat it?"

"Yes! It must be possible!"

Gulinaz nodded vigorously, tears finally welling up in her eyes. "As long as we don't give up like it does, even if the Aral Sea can't go back to what it was before, we will definitely be able to grow our future here!"

The children gathered around, their little hands gently stroking the green seedlings, as if touching a sacred miracle.

Carlos brandished his machete, once his only tool for making a living, and also the one that created the scars on the rainforest.

But now, standing before a newly grown, layered mixed forest, the knife in his hand has become a tool for pointing the way.

"Look here! This tree grows fast and can lock in carbon! Look below, this grass can fertilize the soil! And this one will bear fruit in the future!"

He excitedly introduced the story to the skeptical farmers around him, his face flushed with excitement.

"We don't need to burn the forest anymore!" Carlos practically shouted.

"The Chinese, yes, the ones with the 'anti-aging' project, they're not here to buy our timber, they're here to teach us how to be friends with the land again! That way we can survive, and the rainforest can survive too!"

He grabbed a handful of moist, humus-rich soil from under the trees and took a deep breath:

"Can you smell it? This is the smell of life! The smell of us making peace with the land!"

The cabin in Surat was nearly torn apart in last year's massive storm.

Today, a dense mangrove forest has grown on the once barren coastline in front of the house, like a loyal guardian, firmly grasping the mudflats with its intertwined roots.

As the tide receded, Surat led the reporters into this green barrier.

“Look,” he pointed to the aerial roots, “they are our guardian spirits! They are the guardian spirits that the people who ‘reverse age’ invited for us!”

He no longer has to worry day and night about his home being swallowed up, and, "Look over there," he pointed to the sea further out, "there are so many fish and shrimp in the seaweed beds they planted! One net I cast yesterday was equivalent to three days' worth!"

The old fisherman grabbed the reporter's hand, insisting on giving him a string of the freshest fish. His wrinkled face beamed with joy, and he kept repeating:

"Thank you, thank you! May the sea god bless those kind people!"

……

These images, sounds, and emotions from different corners of the earth were transformed into strings of data, crossing mountains and seas, and finally converged on Yang Wei's screen.

Late at night, in the "anti-aging" headquarters office in Junken City, Yang Wei had just finished a ten-hour multinational video conference. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a cold coffee in his hand.

He habitually refreshed the interface of the global monitoring system. Abdul's tears, Gulnaz's excitement, Carlos's pride, Surat's smile... these frozen moments, like beams of warm light, pierced through fatigue and loneliness.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

Outside the window lay the silent military reclamation city, but in his heart, the pulse of the world resonated. Those distant feelings of gratitude and rekindled hope were the richest reward and the most powerful driving force for him, and all those who defy aging, after countless difficult days and nights.

Green traces are spreading slowly but steadily across the Earth's scars at a visible pace. Life will always find its way. And they are the ones paving the way for life.