Great Power Reclamation

Chapter 2998 Those Old People

Deep within the military reclamation city, adjacent to the bustling headquarters of the "anti-aging" project, lies a tranquil park surrounded by tall poplar trees.

There are no ostentatious signs here, only a simple bronze plaque that reads "Military Reclamation Drug Research Institute".

This is another side of the legend of the military reclamation, a battlefield where people race against time and fight against death. And commanding this war are three white-haired old men with piercing eyes.

Ye Wancheng, the first secretary of the military reclamation city, has long since relinquished his administrative responsibilities.

The years have etched deep lines on his face, but his eyes, which once identified herbs on the battlefield and discerned people's hearts during construction, remain clear and sharp.

He didn't have formal training; he was a medic in the army. It was this experience that gave him an almost instinctive intuition about the medicinal properties of plants and a deep understanding of the common ailments of soldiers and civilians.

His desk didn't look like that of a top scientist; it looked more like the desk of an old Chinese medicine doctor.

Besides thick stacks of scientific research data and molecular formula diagrams, there are always some dried herbal specimens and a small grinding trough that has been used for many years.

He would often pick up a leaf, crush it between his fingers, and gently sniff it, as if engaging in a silent communication with these plants.

The Nobel Prize certificate was casually placed in the corner of the bookcase, covered with a thin layer of dust. In his eyes, it was just a footnote to the past, far less important than the tiny cell change in the petri dish in front of him.

His two partners were also legends.

Old John, the American doctor who stayed in northern Xinjiang by chance, is now in his eighties, but still in good spirits.

He brought with him cutting-edge Western medical theories and a rigorous spirit of experimental science.

His English accent was still heavy, but he spoke Chinese quite fluently, and he was particularly good at using the most vivid metaphors to explain complex pharmacological mechanisms to young researchers.

Professor Liu Xiangdong represents the profound heritage of traditional Chinese medicine and the wisdom of its modernization.

He was refined and composed, and his superb acupuncture skills had amazed old John, but he was more dedicated to using modern technology to explain the scientific principles behind ancient prescriptions.

These three elderly people from very different backgrounds have formed a dream team.

Ye Wancheng's experience, intuition, and macro-level understanding; John's rigorous logic and international perspective; and Professor Tang Cheng's profound knowledge and bridging role are perfectly integrated.

In the frigid environment of northern Xinjiang, rheumatoid arthritis is a stubborn disease that has plagued generations of military reclamation workers.

Based on his memories as a former medic and the folk remedies he had collected over the years, Ye Wancheng identified several local plants.

John and Professor Liu Xiangdong led their team to use advanced extraction, separation, and structural identification techniques to gradually remove impurities and find the true active ingredients.

After countless failures, the laboratory lights often stayed on until dawn.

Ultimately, they successfully extracted a new alkaloid from a cold-resistant plant called "snow line grass" and scientifically combined it with another traditional Chinese medicine ingredient to develop "Fengshi Ning," a medicine with minimal side effects and significant therapeutic effects.

This drug has not only relieved the suffering of countless patients, but has also become a model of the combination of modern science and traditional wisdom.

Subsequently, they took on the even more dangerous brucellosis.

This zoonotic disease, common in pastoral areas, was once a nightmare that was difficult to cure.

The three elderly men led their team deep into pastoral areas to collect samples and conducted thousands of screenings and experiments in the laboratory.

Ultimately, the effective drug they developed, with its near 100% cure rate, saved thousands of lives and families.

The tremendous success of "Fengshi Ning" and the specific drugs for brucellosis, and the cross-cultural and interdisciplinary research model they represent, has ultimately earned the world's respect.

They stood together on the podium to receive the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine.

At that moment, Ye Wancheng, dressed in a sharp suit, stood in the concert hall of Stockholm, but what he thought of were the figures huddled in the cold wind of the Great Northern Wilderness due to joint pain, and the helpless eyes of sick children in the tents of the pastoral area.

The honors did not stop them. After returning from Sweden, the three elderly men hardly rested and immediately threw themselves into an even more arduous challenge—the research and development of anti-cancer drugs.

Inside the laboratory, the atmosphere remained quiet and focused. Various cancer cell lines were being cultured in incubators, and researchers observed the inhibitory effects of drugs on these cancer cells under high-powered microscopes.

Ye Wancheng would still occasionally take out his small mortar and pestle to crush some newly discovered plant samples that might have anti-tumor activity. His "traditional methods" could often bring unexpected inspiration to research that had reached a stalemate.

“Old Ye, look at this set of data,” Old John pointed to the complex curves on the computer screen. “The newly synthesized derivative has increased the targeting of lung cancer cells by 20 percent, but it has also increased the damage to normal cells.”

Professor Tang Cheng pondered for a moment and said, "Perhaps we could try adjusting the side chain structure, or consider using sustained-release technology to reduce the initial peak blood drug concentration."

Ye Wancheng listened, but his gaze was fixed on a jujube tree outside the window that still stood tall in the cold wind, and he murmured:
"All things in the universe are interconnected and mutually restraining... The most tenacious life on the Gobi Desert may also hold the key to controlling the most ferocious 'disease'."

They have achieved some preliminary results, with several targeted drugs for specific cancers entering the preclinical trial stage, and the results are encouraging.

But the three elderly people knew that the road ahead was longer and more difficult. Their time was running out, but they were racing against time, hoping to pave more of the road and light more lamps for those who came after them.

As night deepened, the lights of the Institute of Life Sciences remained stubbornly lit, just like those of the "Anti-Aging" project headquarters next door.

While dedicating themselves to restoring our macroscopic home, Earth, they also focus on tackling the microscopic challenges of life.

These two lights, shining brightly together, illuminate the path of hope for the military reclamation city and even the future of humanity.

The silhouettes of Ye Wancheng, Old John, and Professor Tang Cheng, these three elderly men, are like unyielding poplars, silent yet full of power to shake the world.

Their stories exemplify the meaning of "an old horse in its stall still aspires to gallop a thousand miles" and "a doctor's benevolent heart benefits all living beings."

This disaster once made Ye Wancheng put aside his research and participate in flood relief, but he was eventually persuaded to come back by a group of people.

Old John and Liu Xiangdong advised him, "You'll only cause trouble now. You won't be able to help, and you'll end up being taken care of." Ye Wancheng didn't take it seriously. There were many things they didn't understand, and he didn't want to explain, since neither of them were from the military reclamation area. But his old buddies certainly understood.

In the northeast corner of the military reclamation new city, adjacent to the ever-flowing Ertis River, there is a courtyard densely surrounded by tall and straight poplar trees.

Here, there are no dazzling lights of high-tech parks, no roaring machines of industrial bases, only birdsong, fragrant flowers, and winding paths leading to secluded spots.

This is the Military Reclamation City Veterans Sanatorium, a place that carries countless legends and memories.

The morning sunlight filters through the branches and leaves of the poplar trees, casting dappled light on the grass.

In the small square at the center of the sanatorium, dozens of elderly people with white hair were practicing Tai Chi to soothing music.

Standing at the very front was Ma Quanyi, the old company commander who still maintained the spirit of a soldier.

His movements weren't the most standard, and he was even a little stiff from the rheumatism he developed during his early years of land reclamation, but every move carried an undeniable seriousness and power. His eyes remained as sharp as an eagle's.

Not far away, on a bench under the shade of a tree, the quartermaster, Xi Dehe, wearing reading glasses, was intently watching a tablet computer.

He wasn't reading opera or health articles, but rather the latest electronic version of the Military Reclamation Daily and news from the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps.

When he sees reports about new progress in the "anti-aging" plan overseas, or about "Beijiang Mobile" achieving a new market share, a childlike, pure, and proud smile appears on his wrinkled face. Then, in heavily accented Mandarin, he murmurs:
"Good! Good lads! Well done!" His hand, which had been wielding an abacus for decades to ensure the entire company was well-fed and clothed, now moved somewhat clumsily across the screen, tracing every step of the city they had personally laid the foundation for.

The morning sun was warm and inviting. In the pavilion, Yang Yulin and another old chess friend were locked in a fierce and evenly matched battle.

Yang Yulin, Yang Geyong's father, was once a "steel tamer" who drove a tractor to plow through the barren wasteland. Now, his "chariots, horses, and cannons" have become his new battlefield.

His chess style is just like when he was pioneering the way: bold, expansive, and fearless.

Sometimes, he would suddenly stop, gazing absently at the Ferris wheel archway of the military reclamation city faintly visible in the distance outside the pavilion, muttering to himself:

"This building was built on the very spot where we planted our first crop of wheat, right?"

In the sanatorium's gardening area, Ye Yuze's mother, Meihua, was rolling up her sleeves and patiently instructing a young caregiver on how to water a newly transplanted patch of "Shayuan No. 1" shrubs.

"The water should be neither too much nor too little; only with deep roots can one thrive."

Her words were simple, yet they seemed to contain some profound philosophy.

She still possessed the resilience and sensitivity unique to women of that era. Looking at these vibrant green plants, she seemed to see herself, as well as all the military reclamation workers, a microcosm of how they took root, grew, and multiplied on this land.

Occasionally, she would receive a long-distance call from her son, Ye Yuze, from abroad, listening to him talk about his grand vision for global business expansion and his "anti-aging" plan.

She mostly didn't understand the technical jargon, but she would always say kindly, "Okay, okay, do your best, take care of yourselves, everything is fine at home."

Her son was her pride. In her heart, her son was more important than all of them combined. They were just contributing their efforts, while her son controlled the whole game.

The afternoon is the quietest time at the nursing home, and also the time when memories are most easily evoked. The elderly people gather in twos and threes in the sunroom or in their own rooms.

In Ma Quanyi's room, a yellowed black-and-white photograph hangs on the wall, showing the entire company struggling to move forward across the wasteland, pulling a plow.

He often pointed to the young people in the photos and, to the younger generation who came to visit him, recounted the hardships and aspirations of those years as if they were his own treasures:
"Look, this hothead is your dad!" "Back then, we didn't have the conditions we have now. But we had a fire in our hearts, a spirit!"

Xi Dehe likes to look through his old ledger, whose pages are yellowed and the edges are worn, and which is filled with detailed records of the origins and whereabouts of every pound of grain and every foot of cloth.

That was his life's possessions, and also the most authentic testament to that era.

Yang Yulin would stroke the tractor model that his son Yang Geyong and grandson Yang Wei had given him, made with new materials from the "anti-aging" project, his eyes filled with satisfaction and pride.

Mei Hua carefully sorted through the various medals and certificates awarded to her children and grandchildren, including Ye Yuze, Ye Feng, and Ye Wanqing. Although she didn't fully understand the specific meaning of each achievement, she knew that they were all commendable and a continuation of the spirit of the military reclamation.

As the afterglow of the setting sun paints the tops of the poplar trees golden red, the elderly gather on the highest observation deck of the sanatorium to gaze at the distant Junken City, which they helped build and which is now a world-renowned science and technology capital and an important industrial city.

Looking at the rows of high-rise buildings, the endless stream of cars, and the dazzling lights that gradually illuminate the night sky, symbolizing prosperity and the future, their eyes were filled with complex emotions.

There was a sense of relief, pride, and also a touch of indescribable disorientation. Those "blockchain," "artificial intelligence," and "biochips" that they couldn't understand, those grand plans and international mergers and acquisitions that they couldn't comprehend, seemed like two different worlds from the campfires, tractors, and work songs of their memories.

But one thing is common to all: the sentiments that are deeply rooted in our bones and blood.

"No matter what it becomes, this is our root!" Ma Quanyi said, leaning on his cane, his voice still loud and clear.

“Yes, a tree can only grow tall if its roots are deep,” Xi Dehe murmured, pushing up his reading glasses.

Yang Yulin and Mei Hua exchanged a smile, everything understood without a word.

They may be unable to keep up with the rapid pace of technological development, but the spirit of "hard work and pioneering" that they forged through a lifetime of struggle is like the foundation stone buried deep beneath this observation deck, firmly supporting that increasingly tall and modern city.

Their concern, like the Ertis River, flows quietly and never dries up; their legacy has long been transformed into genes and integrated into the blood of the new generation of military reclamation workers.

The lights in the sanatorium gradually came on, warm and peaceful. This is where the soul of the military reclamation town rests, recording its earliest dreams.

Meanwhile, in the distance, the city carries this dream, striding towards a broader future. Past and present converge at this moment, creating a breathtaking historical panorama.

Ye Wancheng and his two companions would come here to eat and sleep after working at the pharmaceutical research institute during the day. The institute's director, Ruyi, already had a full head of white hair.

She was one of the first classmates Ye Yuze recruited, and is now one of the veterans of the military reclamation city.

Compared to her classmates, she was the most inconspicuous, but she quietly took care of these elderly people, even neglecting to go home herself...

(End of this chapter)