Great Power Reclamation

Chapter 3000 Han Ye Runs Away from Home

Han Ye arrived in the capital. Contrary to his expectations of returning to the warmth of family, he stepped into a cold and alienated world shrouded in immense loss and a busy facade.

Although Grandpa has retired, his former prestige and network of relationships remain. Various visits, consultations, and symbolic meetings still occupy most of his time. At home, he often makes and receives phone calls in his study with a furrowed brow.

The kind old man who Han Ye remembered has now become more imposing and busy, a man who is not easy to approach.

Grandma's condition is even more heartbreaking. Since her only son passed away, her mental world seems to have collapsed. Her memory has deteriorated severely, and she often sits by the window, muttering to herself in the empty space, calling out the name of her long-gone son.

She recognizes Han Ye, and will hold his hand and shed tears, saying, "My grandson is back," but in the blink of an eye she may forget who he is and fall into her own chaotic world.

Although there are caregivers at home who take meticulous care of your daily life, that is ultimately professional attention and cannot replace the warmth and companionship of blood relatives.

Ye Yuji, the mother, was a high-ranking official with heavy responsibilities, and her work became almost her entire life.

Han Ye often wouldn't see her for days on end. He could only see the light shining from under the study door when she returned late at night, or the breakfast on the breakfast table that had been touched a few times and had long since gone cold.

Between mother and child, there is a huge gap in time and social status, making even simple communication a luxury.

The only person who could bring any warmth to the family was Aunt Han Xiaojing.

She visited frequently, bringing Han Ye's favorite foods and showing concern for his studies. Her eyes always held a complex and profound emotion that transcended that of an aunt and nephew. At the time, Han Ye simply felt that his aunt was exceptionally close to him and didn't think much of it.

However, secrets are like cracks hidden under a gorgeous carpet; they will eventually be exposed.

By chance, Han Ye caught some fragmented but startling words in her grandmother's babbling, which was sometimes lucid and sometimes confused:
"Xiaojing... Yuze's child... my grandson..."

At first, he thought it was his grandmother's delirium during her illness, but the repeated appearance of those words, combined with the strange annotations on some old photos at home, and the undisguised look in his aunt Han Xiaojing's eyes when she looked at him, a look that was a mixture of guilt and extreme affection...

A terrible thought, one he had never imagined, pierced his mind like an ice pick.

He was no longer the boy who believed he was the product of Ye Yuji's and his deceased father's love. He might... be the son of his uncle Ye Yuze and aunt Han Xiaojing?!
This realization was like a bomb dropped into the calm lake of his heart, instantly destroying his entire understanding of the world and his sense of identity that he had built up over the past seventeen years.

Is my mother not my biological mother? Is my father not even that vaguely remembered hero? Am I a product of a secret relationship, unacceptable to society?
A tremendous sense of absurdity, betrayal, and a rootless, adrift feeling instantly overwhelmed him.

He couldn't face his mother Ye Yuji's seemingly calm concealment, nor could he face his grandparents' grief that was rooted in their "bloodline".

She was even more unable to face the possible truth behind her aunt Han Xiaojing's complicated gaze.

This home suddenly felt incredibly unfamiliar, and every concerned glance seemed to carry either pity or deception in his eyes.

On a drizzly night, Han Ye left no words behind, carrying only a simple backpack, and disappeared into the vast crowds and neon lights of Beijing.

He needed to escape, to escape this home built on lies (in his eyes), to find an answer, or simply to breathe a breath of free air that didn't belong here.

When the news reached Junken City, the sanatorium was in an uproar almost instantly.

"What?! The child is missing?!" Upon hearing the news, Mei Hua's vision went black and she almost fainted, but Ye Ling'er next to her held her firmly.

Ye Ling'er felt as if her heart was being torn apart; her face turned deathly pale, and her hand holding the plum blossom was icy cold.

"How could this be... The child is unfamiliar with the capital, where could he go? Did he find out... find out about that matter?" Her voice trembled with fear.

At this moment, the two elderly people could no longer care about past grievances; all that remained was the purest worry and fear for their grandchildren whom they both cared about.

Ye Yuji received the news in Beijing and, after forcing herself to chair an important meeting, almost collapsed in her office.

As a mother (though not her biological daughter, but with whom she had a deep bond), as an official, and as a daughter, the multiple pressures aged her considerably in an instant.

She immediately used all available resources to search secretly, and at the same time, she had to call Ye Yuze.

Han Xiaojing was plunged into immense self-blame and panic. She frantically searched for any possible clues, her tears almost never drying.

A family storm triggered by the revelation of their secret births swept through the Ye and Han families.

At the eye of the storm, a bewildered young man wanders alone in a strange city, trying to piece together his shattered identity and search for an answer to the question "Who am I?" that may never have existed.

The anxieties of the military reclamation city and the unease of the capital were tightly and painfully intertwined because of Han Ye's departure.

Han Ye's escape was marked by the resolute determination and confusion unique to young people.

He withdrew all his savings and a bank card with a substantial amount in his name, as if this was the last connection he had with his past "favorable" status.

Instead of flying, he bought the cheapest hard-seat ticket on a green-skinned train to Xining, as if trying to numb his inner pain with physical exhaustion.

Inside the carriage, the air was thick and polluted. The hard plastic seats were painful to the touch, and the aisle was crowded with passengers carrying large and small bags. There were migrant workers with weathered faces, ethnic minority compatriots with timid yet curious eyes, and a few backpackers of similar age, whose eyes told different stories.

Han Ye huddled in a corner by the window, wearing a hood, trying to isolate herself from her surroundings.

Sitting opposite him was a Tibetan young man named Dawa, who was going to LS to study Thangka painting.

Dawa's Mandarin isn't fluent, but his smile is extremely bright, like the unobstructed sunshine on the plateau.

He enthusiastically offered Han Ye some of his own tsampa and dried meat.

Han Ye initially shook his head indifferently, but couldn't resist Dawa's sincere gaze and reluctantly accepted a small piece.

Its rough and substantial texture was completely different from the delicate food he was familiar with, yet it possessed a strange and reassuring power.

"Are you unhappy?" Dawa asked awkwardly.

Han Ye remained silent, gazing out the window at the scenery that was rapidly passing by and gradually becoming desolate.

Dawa didn't mind and said to himself, "My mother said that if you have a knot in your heart, you should go and prostrate yourself to get rid of all your troubles. Or, go and see the snow-capped mountains and the sacred lakes. They are so big that they can hold everything."

Han Ye remained silent, but Dawa's words, like a small pebble, cast a barely perceptible ripple in the still lake of his heart.

First Impression of the Plateau: The Inability of Money and the Limits of the Body
Upon arriving in LS, he was immediately confronted with severe altitude sickness.

My head was throbbing, I felt nauseous and vomiting, every step felt like walking on clouds, and I had difficulty breathing.

He had originally wanted to find a nicer hotel, but found that all the decent-looking guesthouses were already fully booked. Dragging his almost broken body, he found an extremely shabby youth hostel with bunk beds in an eight-person room and a foul-smelling shared bathroom.

He paid for the room with his credit card, the thin card looking so out of place here.

He tried to solve everything with money. He went to the best restaurants, ordered the most expensive dishes, only to find himself with no appetite.

He wanted to hire a car to Namtso Lake, but because he was traveling alone, the driver tried to charge him an exorbitant price, which he refused in anger.

He discovered that in this place closest to the sky, money seemed to have lost its former magic, unable to buy comfort, let alone dispel his inner loneliness and physical pain.

One day, he followed the crowd in a daze and arrived near the Jokhang Temple. He saw an extremely old Tibetan woman prostrating herself on Barkhor Street.

Her forehead was covered with a thick, dark red callus, and the wrinkles on her face resembled parched earth, but her eyes were exceptionally bright and focused, as if they pierced through all the disturbances of the world and reached the heavens.

Han Ye sat beside her for a long time, almost as if possessed. While the old woman rested, she noticed this haggard-looking Han Chinese boy with vacant eyes.

She couldn't speak Chinese, but she took out a piece of milk curd wrapped in a clean cloth from her bosom and handed it to him with a kind and peaceful smile on her face.

She murmured something in Tibetan, which Han Ye couldn't understand, but at that moment, he read a peace and strength that transcended words in the old woman's eyes, which were weathered by time yet incredibly pure.

He took the milk curd, put it in his mouth, and the rich, slightly fishy milk flavor strangely soothed his churning stomach and chaotic mind.

Unfortunately, his wallet was stolen in the crowded Barkhor Street, along with the bank card that held his "confidence".

In an instant, he was truly in dire straits. He couldn't afford a hotel, and even food became a problem.

He didn't want to contact his family, so he turned off his phone as soon as he boarded the train.

Hungry and cold, he wandered aimlessly out of the city and walked along a dirt road for an unknown amount of time.

As darkness fell and the wind howled, he was almost in despair when he spotted a black yak-hair tent with smoke rising from it.

He mustered his courage and walked over. Inside the tent lived a herding family—the male head of the household, Gesang, his wife, and two rosy-cheeked children.

Gesang only knew a few simple words of Chinese, but he could see Han Ye's embarrassment. He didn't ask any questions, but warmly pulled him into the tent. The hostess immediately poured him a bowl of piping hot, salty butter tea, and then brought him tsampa and dried mutton.

That night, Han Ye slept in a tent filled with the smells of cattle and sheep and the aroma of cooking, covered with a thick blanket that didn't smell very good, but felt a warmth and security she had never felt since leaving home.

The next day, he tried to thank Gesang's family with the only expensive pen he had left, but Gesang firmly refused, saying in broken Chinese:

"Friend, no need. We have food and drinks."

Then he pointed to his heart.

At that moment, Han Ye was filled with shame. He had once thought that money was everything, but now he realized that the most precious thing on this land was unreserved kindness and sharing.

After resting at Gesang's house for a few days, Han Ye continued his wanderings. He helped Gesang's family herd livestock as a way of repaying them.

While herding livestock, he strayed into an even more remote canyon and discovered a primary school consisting of only one mud-brick house.

A young, dark-skinned volunteer teacher is teaching a class to a dozen children of varying ages.

The windows were covered with plastic sheeting, and the tables and chairs were old and worn, but the children's voices as they read aloud were unusually loud.

Han Ye was invited inside to rest by the teacher. He noticed that the children's pencils were so short they could barely be held, and their exercise books were covered with dense writing on both sides.

A little girl named Zhuoma secretly slipped him a small piece of dried milk curd that she had been saving for herself, her big eyes filled with curiosity about the outside world.

Han Ye searched his entire body and found he had nothing. He remembered the card that once held a huge fortune, and how extravagantly he had squandered it. Compared to how these children cherished a pencil and a piece of paper, his heart ached as if it were being pricked by needles.

For the first time, he felt a deep sense of shame for his past muddle-headedness and his current helplessness.

After leaving the primary school, he continued to wander aimlessly, and heard that there was a hydroelectric power station deep in the canyon, where he might be able to find some work.

When he finally arrived there and saw the not-so-grand but exceptionally sturdy hydroelectric power station, along with the words "Construction Assisted by Liu Qinghua Foundation" and "Technical Consultant: Ye Yuze from Junken City" on the wall, he was stunned.

With mixed feelings, he approached the busy Tibetan workers. When he tentatively asked about Ye Yuze, the workers immediately started talking.

"Boss Ye? He's such a good man!"

An elderly engineer named Zaxi (a local technician trained by the foundation) said excitedly, “Back then, the geological conditions here were so complex that even engineers from outside were stumped. It was Boss Ye who personally led a team of experts from northern Xinjiang and stayed here for half a year! They lived in our old work sheds and ate the same tsampa and drank the same butter tea as us!”

“Yes,” another young worker, Dorje, added, “During one disaster relief effort, Boss Ye was the first to rush in, soaked in mud and water, working even harder than us young people! He said, ‘Junkencheng also went through hardships, we know what it’s like to be without electricity. This power station must succeed!’”

“Look at us now,” Zaxi said, pointing to the village and green terraced fields that were faintly visible below the mountain. “We have electricity, water, children can read at night, and we can grow more barley in the fields… This is all thanks to Boss Ye and Boss Liu!”

They surrounded Han Ye, each telling him how Ye Yuze overcame difficulties, respected their customs, and sincerely wanted to do something for them.

That heartfelt gratitude and admiration, like the most intense sunlight on the plateau, pierced through the layers of gloom and resentment in Han Ye's heart.

He stood beside the roaring machinery, looking at the simple yet proud smiles on the workers' faces, listening to the stories of his blood father, the man he once resented, and tears welled up unexpectedly.

He finally understood that Ye Yuze's vision was far beyond his imagination. That man did not get bogged down in personal emotional entanglements, but instead invested his energy and wealth in a cause that could truly change the fate of countless people.

His anxieties about his "mystery of his origins" and "family warmth" seem so insignificant and laughable in the face of such immense sacrifice and dedication.

Those who had helped him, such as Dawa, the prostration mother, Gesang's family, the children of the canyon primary school, and the workers of the hydroelectric power station... all taught him, with their simplest kindness, what true wealth is and what the meaning of life is.

And yet, he almost got lost in the mire of resentment because of that insignificant "self".

He wiped away his tears and made a decision in his heart. He would no longer wander, nor would he run away.

He still didn't want to go back; instead, he wanted to find his own way to shine.

Just as Ye Yuze lit a lamp here, he also wants to find the place where he can illuminate.

The wind on the plateau, sharp and clear, blew away his last bit of confusion and awakened a brand new soul.