Great Power Reclamation

In his New York apartment, Ye Feng had just poured himself a glass of whiskey when his phone rang. The caller ID showed it was his third brother, Marshal Ye, making a transoceanic call.

"Brother, did I disturb your rest?" Marshal Ye's voice carried a familiar Eastern European accent, but his Chinese was fluent.

"Third brother, when did you become so polite? It must be early morning where you are, Governor, you're up really early." Ye Feng said with a smile, walking to the window to look down at the New York night view.

"If I have something on my mind, I can't sleep."

Marshal Ye's voice became more enthusiastic, "Let's get straight to the point, brother. I have a crucial project that needs a reliable and capable investor, and you're the first person I thought of."

"It must be something significant to have our governor personally acting as an advocate."

“A national-level high-tech agricultural demonstration zone will be established in the state where I work.”

Ye Shuai said with certainty, "The land, policy approvals, and local research teams are all in place. The core gap is the funding for the initial construction and high-end equipment. The connections my father built here back then, as well as the relationships I've cultivated over the years, have all been poured into this project."

He paused, lowering his voice slightly, but making it all the more weighty: "My mother has been following the whole process; she personally spoke with my grandfather's side. As for the specific implementation and future security..."

“You know my uncle Ivanovich’s current position. He can ensure that this project runs smoothly in the country, eliminating any unnecessary interference.”

Ye Feng understood the underlying meaning. The influence of Ye Shuai's mother, Ivana's family, in the country, especially her uncle Ivanovich, who held the high-ranking position of police commissioner, was undoubtedly the most solid "moat" for this project. This went beyond pure business; it was an opportunity to deeply bind family resources.

"And what about the reward?" Ye Feng asked directly.

“Very generous.” Marshal Ye was clearly prepared. “In addition to the profit sharing, once the project is successful, your company will become a benchmark partner for agricultural upgrading in my country, enjoying long-term tax benefits and the best land policies.”

"This is like opening a crucial door for your future development in Eastern Europe. Brother, this isn't just a simple business deal; it's a ticket to a higher level. We need your capital and experience, and you will gain far greater returns and a strategic foothold than you expect."

On the other end of the phone, Ye Shuai's voice was full of allure and confidence: "How about it, brother? Come and take a look. I'll take you to inspect the site in person, and we can discuss all the details face to face. I believe you won't miss this opportunity for both of us brothers to reach new heights."

Ye Feng swirled his wine glass, the amber liquid shimmering under the light. He knew this phone call wasn't just about a project; it was about his third brother, Marshal Ye's, ambitions in that distant country, and the immense power his mother's family could provide.

“Send me the preliminary plan,” Ye Feng finally said. “I need to see the specific data first.”

"No problem, I'll send it to your email right away!" Ye Shuai's voice was filled with laughter. "Big brother, I'll wait for your message."

After hanging up the phone, Ye Feng downed his whiskey in one gulp. He walked back to his desk, just as his computer beeped – an encrypted email from Marshal Ye had arrived.

The title is: "Preliminary Plan for the 'Golden Wheat Ear' National Agricultural Demonstration Zone Project".

Ye Feng opened the attachment and browsed it carefully. The plan was very professional, the data was detailed, and the prospects were optimistic.

As Marshal Ye said, this is not just an agricultural project, but a comprehensive hub integrating scientific research, production and logistics, and it has been marked as a "priority project of the Ministry of Agriculture this year".

Its implicit political significance and long-term value far exceed those of ordinary commercial investments.

He picked up his phone, his finger hovered over the name "Father" in his contacts for a moment, and finally dialed the number.

The phone rang for a long time before being answered; the background noise was somewhat loud, suggesting it was outdoors.

"Xiao Feng? It's getting late in New York. Is something the matter?" Father Ye Yuze's voice came through, full of energy.

"Dad, did I disturb you? It sounds a bit chaotic on your end."

"Looking at new equipment at a farm in Boston. So, what's up?" Ye Yuze got straight to the point.

“I just spoke with Marshal Ye on the phone,” Ye Feng said directly. “He mentioned that agricultural demonstration zone project and wanted me to invest. It sounded like a big deal, and he also mentioned Aunt Ivana’s relationship with Uncle Ivanovich.”

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone. The noisy background noise seemed to fade away, as Ye Yuze may have gone to a quiet place.

"Did Shuai Shuai explain it to you in detail?" Ye Yuze's tone became serious.

"He talked about part of it, but the main point was to show me the business plan. But I felt that he wanted to convey more than just the business aspects."

Ye Feng carefully chose his words, "Dad, are you familiar with this project? Or rather... what is your and Aunt Ivana's attitude towards it?"

Ye Yuze sighed softly. "Shuai Shuai has been planning this project for almost two years. Although Ivana's father has retired, he still has influence in the Ministry of the Interior system, which cleared many obstacles for the project approval."

"Ivanovich goes without saying. His secure position as police commissioner is the biggest boost to Shuai Shuai's political career and a guarantee of the project's future security. His family sees this project as a key stepping stone for Shuai Shuai to advance further."

"So, this is more than just an investment..."

"Yes, this is also a family matter."

Ye Yuze took over the conversation, his voice deep and clear, "Ivana has always felt indebted to Shuai Shuai because she couldn't be by his side often when he was young. Now she's using a lot of family resources to pave the way for her son."

"She mentioned to me that she hoped this project would succeed, and that she hoped to have trustworthy and capable people to work with. Shuai Shuai contacted you first, and I think... it was also his mother's idea."

Ye Feng understood. This explained why his third brother was so eager and confident. Behind this was the full support of his mother's family, and perhaps even the tacit approval of his father.

“I have read the business plan. From a business perspective, there are both risks and opportunities, but those ‘non-business’ guarantees do increase our leverage.”

Ye Feng frankly stated, "I just need to assess the reliability of this 'guarantee,' as well as the depth and manner of our involvement."

“Ivanovich is a friend of mine for many years. His ability and status are genuine. With him around, ordinary trouble really can’t get close.”

Ye Yuze paused, then changed the subject, "But Xiaofeng, the more problematic a project is, the more you need to be clear-headed. The greater the profits, the deeper the entanglements. When you go to investigate, don't just look at the project itself, but also at the people around Shuai Shuai, and at the current trend."

"You can believe in blood ties, but you also have to follow business rules. My suggestion is that you take your team there, see for yourself, and meet with Shuai Shuai, as well as Ivana and Ivanovich. Use your eyes and ears to make your judgment."

My father's advice was shrewd and prudent. He acknowledged the project's potential and the value of family ties, while also pointing out the need to personally clarify the complex political and business connections involved.

"I understand, Dad. I'll make time to go there."

"Okay. Go see your brother and Aunt Ivana too; she misses you two very much."

Ye Yuze's voice softened a bit, "If there's anything I can coordinate, let me know anytime. Remember, safety first, and make sure you understand before you decide."

"Don't worry, Dad. You take good care of yourself too."

After ending the call with his father, Ye Feng felt more at ease. He replied to Marshal Ye's email:
"I have reviewed the proposal and am initially interested. Please arrange a site visit soon; I will bring my team there. We can discuss the details in person."

After clicking send, Ye Feng looked out the window at the New York night view again. His gaze seemed to pierce through the vast distance and land on the land that carried his family's history and his younger brother's ambition.

This time, it wasn't just about investment; it was about a new game of chess, a complex web of kinship and self-interest. He knew a journey deep into the heart of the territory was about to begin.

Just as Ye Feng put down his whiskey glass, his phone screen lit up. The first message in that unnamed, encrypted group came from a command he had just issued:
“Everyone, my father asked me to remind you that the family’s roots are in China, but its branches have spread all over the world. Now it’s time for these branches to nourish each other.”

Sent at 3:17 AM.

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the sleeping New York.

The lights across the Hudson River blended into a blurry halo, while on his phone screen, six icons representing family members were scattered across different corners of the earth—Beijing, Kyiv, Moscow, Nairobi, Dar es Salaam, and New York, where he was.

This group, which he named "Roots," was as quiet as a winter forest at this moment.
-
Three days later, at the Kirovgrad Regional Government Building.

When Marshal Ye pushed open the meeting room door, his breath caught in his throat for a moment.

There were twelve people sitting around the long conference table—he already knew that number yesterday, but seeing the composition of the group in person still made his heart skip a beat.

On the left, four technicians in dark blue uniforms from the military reclamation seed industry are adjusting a holographic projector. They've brought not a PowerPoint presentation, but a three-dimensional dynamic model of the entire agricultural demonstration area, with even soil moisture data being updated in real time.

The three men and women in suits in the middle are from the European branch of the Brothers Group. Ye Shuai recognized the silver-haired woman among them as Anna Chen, the "magician of cross-border capital structuring" whom he had interviewed three years ago in an interview with the Financial Times.

On the right, two middle-aged Chinese men, who appeared to be scholars, were speaking Russian with a Jiangzhe accent to his agricultural bureau chief. Marshal Ye recognized several key terms: "saline-alkali land improvement," "water-saving drip irrigation," and "hybrid stress resistance"—all cutting-edge technical terms used in China.

What brought tears to his eyes the most were the three people sitting in the corner:

A dark-skinned young woman had a handwritten notebook spread out in front of her, with Swahili and English intertwined—it was an African market consultant sent from Kenya by her second sister, Ye Rou.

A Slavic-looking man with a buzz cut and impeccable posture, despite being dressed in civilian clothes, exuded a sense of discipline that reminded Marshal Ye of his fourth brother, Ye Fei.

This is a trade compliance advisor that Ye Fei arranged through layers of connections, who entered the country with a Cypriot passport.

There was also a Tanzanian youth wearing glasses, quietly taking notes on everyone's remarks—from the royal secretariat of the younger sister, Ye Mei.

"Third Brother." Ye Feng stood up from beside the projector and patted his shoulder. "Father once said that the children of the Ye family are like stars scattered across the sky when they are separated, but together they are like a blazing fire."

Marshal Ye took a deep breath, suppressing the emotions rising in his throat. He grasped his elder brother's hand; his palm was warm and strong.

“Then,” his voice was a little hoarse, “let’s make the fire burn brighter.”

The meeting lasted seven hours. By the time the final version of the "Upgrade Plan for the Kirovgrad-Black Sea Special Agricultural Economic Zone" was displayed on the holographic screen, it was already late at night outside.

The details covered in the plan are impressive—from the site selection of the gene-edited seed bank to the dedicated logistics channel connecting to the port of Odessa; from the organic certification process that meets EU standards to the customized packaging design for the East African market.

“The capital structure is divided into three layers.” Anna Chen pointed her laser pointer at the complex equity structure diagram. “The first layer, Warrior Group’s technology investment accounts for 30%, entirely valued in the form of intelligent irrigation systems and patented technologies. The second layer, a US dollar fund led by Brothers Group accounts for 40%, with the funds sourced offshore. The third layer…”

She paused, then looked at Marshal Ye: "Governor Ye, you need to coordinate with the Ukrainian National Agricultural Bank to provide a 30% local currency matching loan. Mr. Ye Mao has already conducted preliminary communication with relevant institutions in Beijing, and this is the feasibility report."

A document with Chinese annotations was presented to Marshal Ye. He opened the cover page and saw his second brother's familiar handwriting: "This project has been included in the 'Belt and Road' agricultural cooperation key project candidate pool and can serve as a model for local cooperation between the two countries."

Marshal Ye's fingers traced the words, and he suddenly remembered many years ago—when he was a teenager studying at a university in the military reclamation city, while his second brother, Ye Mao, was already the student union president of a top university in the country.

One winter vacation, Ye Mao specially took a two-day train ride from Beijing to visit him in Junken City. He gave him a bag of Daoxiangcun pastries and said, "Third brother, no matter where you go in the future, remember where our family's roots are."

"Third Brother?" Ye Feng's voice pulled him back to reality.

Marshal Ye looked up and found everyone staring at him. He cleared his throat and said to the secretary-general beside him:
"I need to meet with the president of the National Agricultural Bank at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Now, connect me to the Ministry of Energy in Kyiv."
-
At the same time, in an apartment on the outskirts of Moscow.

Ye Fei turned off the shower and dried his short hair with a military towel. The encrypted terminal on his desk was glowing red—it contained top-priority information.

He sat down wrapped in a bathrobe, and after triple verification using fingerprint, iris, and voiceprint, the screen unfolded. It displayed the latest solution for the third brother's project, along with a message from the eldest brother:

"Fourth brother, regarding the issue of the passage at your port, will Father need to use his old connections there?"

Ye Fei pondered for five minutes.

He opened another encrypted channel and entered a 36-digit dynamic password. The video call took time to connect, and he used the opportunity to change into casual clothes—an ordinary gray jacket and dark trousers, without any markings, but in the Moscow night, such attire was the least conspicuous.

The screen lit up. On the other end was a simple office, with a large map of the Western Military District hanging on the wall. A man with three stars on his epaulets had his back to the camera and was reviewing documents.

“General,” Ye Fei said in Russian, his tone respectful but not humble, “Regarding the suggestion about that agricultural transport route, after careful consideration, I believe it should fully comply with commercial rules.” The man did not turn around, but the pen in his hand stopped.

"Elaborate."

“The political risks of ‘unofficial facilitation’ provided by General Vasily’s side are too high.”

Ye Fei spoke calmly, “I suggest that I register a third-party logistics company headquartered in Minsk. This company should publicly tender for the transit transportation of Ukrainian agricultural products and win the bid based on ‘reasonable pricing and reliable customs clearance efficiency’.”

"The improvement in customs clearance efficiency stems from the company's hiring of an 'experienced team of border affairs consultants'—who may come from retired border guard personnel."

The office was silent for a few seconds.

The man finally turned around. The screen light cast a deep shadow on his face, a face etched with the marks of many wars, with a faint scar on his right eyebrow.

“Ye Fei,” the man’s voice was deep, “your father saved my life back then. But the most important thing he taught me was not repaying a debt of gratitude, but—” he paused, “doing the right thing at the right time, in the right way.”

“You taught me the same thing, General.”

"So you've learned it now." The man nodded slightly. "You can register a logistics company, and I'll have someone provide the list of retired personnel. But remember:"

All 'convenience' must have a clearly stated price, and all 'efficiency' must be based on a contract. This world," he gestured to the Moscow night outside the window, "no longer believes in unconditional goodwill."

"clear."

“Furthermore,” the general stood up and walked in front of the camera, “tell your third brother that food is a strategic resource. In his position in Ukraine, what he needs to do is not simply be a governor, but someone who can protect the granaries in a storm. That’s more important than any political title.”

Video interrupted.

Ye Fei sat quietly for a moment, then sent an encrypted briefing to the group: "Our channel problem has been resolved, and the solution adopts a purely commercial approach. Also, General Vasily, please tell Third Brother: A true politician is one who guards the granary in the storm."

After sending the message, he turned off all his devices and went to the window. Moscow was experiencing its first snowfall of the year, fine snowflakes swirling and falling under the streetlights.

He recalled his childhood, in the winters of the military reclamation town, when his third brother, Marshal Ye, would always be the first to rush into the snow and roll around, only to be dragged back into the house by his mother, Ivana, laughing and scolding him in Russian.

Back then, everyone said that the third child was the most like a child.

Now, the person who is most like a child is learning how to be a stockholder in the eye of the storm.
-
It's 5 a.m. in Beijing.

Ye Mao was awakened by the vibration of the encrypted terminal. He glanced at his wife, then quietly got up and went into the study.

The fourth brother's briefing, the third brother's latest project progress, and the eldest brother's summary of the capital structure—information scrolled across the screen. He brewed a strong cup of tea and began writing his analysis report.

As his fingers flew across the keyboard, the sound of morning sweeping drifted in from outside the window. The city was awakening, and his department was scheduled to review seventeen Belt and Road Initiative cooperation projects today.

The third brother's agricultural special zone will be the eighteenth—he will personally add it to the agenda.

By the time he finished writing the report, it was already dawn. He added a final paragraph:
"It is recommended that Ye Rou and Ye Mei, in the name of their respective heads of state, send a letter of friendly concern to the Ukrainian government regarding this project."

The wording needs to be carefully chosen: express support for 'international cooperation on food security,' rather than endorsement of specific commercial projects. This letter can elevate the project's political status, creating a form of soft protection.

He thought for a moment and then added:

“When my elder brother published his article in New York, he suggested quoting the ancient Chinese classic ‘Discourses on Salt and Iron’ which states ‘Agriculture is the foundation of the world,’ as well as the Ukrainian poet Shevchenko’s poems about the land. Cultural resonance is sometimes more penetrating than commercial data.”

Click send. In the group, his icon shows "Online".

Almost simultaneously, Ye Feng's reply popped up: "Second Brother's suggestion has been received. It's indeed time to re-examine the cultural issues."

Then came a voice message from Ye Rou in Nairobi, with birdsong in the background: "The draft letter has been prepared by the secretariat, in both English and French, and will be sent out before the end of the workday today."

By the way, when I visit the EU headquarters in Brussels next month, we can arrange a small luncheon with the theme of "EU-Africa-Ukraine Agricultural Value Chain Cooperation."

Ye Mao looked at the messages and a smile appeared on his lips. He remembered a saying his father often said: "The children of the Ye family have 'getting things done' in their blood."
-
Seven days later, at the Boston farm.

Ye Yuze wasn't sitting in his study. He had the meeting equipment moved to the greenhouse—where he grew exotic crops he'd collected from all over the world.
Beetroot, rye, tea tree leaves, sisal, and the offspring of the first batch of hybrid wheat from the military reclamation city.

The audio equipment was ready when it was dusk in Boston. The automatic supplemental lighting in the greenhouse gradually turned on, simulating the native light environment of different crops.

"Is everyone here?" Ye Yuze said into the microphone, his voice transmitted through an encrypted channel to six time zones.

"New York Online".

"Beijing Online"

"Kyiv Online"

"Moscow Online".

"Nairobi Online"

Dar es Salaam online.

Six sounds rang out in succession, some clear, some with slight telecommunications noise, and some with distant traffic sounds, wind sounds, or even the rhythm of African drums in the background.

Ye Yuze closed his eyes, as if he could see them—his eldest son, Ye Feng, standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window in New York; his second son, Ye Mao, rubbing his temples in his study in Beijing; his third son, Ye Shuai, loosening his tie in the governor's office in Kyiv; his fourth son, Ye Fei, sitting upright in his apartment in Moscow; his eldest daughter, Ye Rou, gazing at the grasslands from the terrace of the royal palace in Nairobi; and his second daughter, Ye Mei, rapidly reviewing documents in her office in Dar es Salaam.

His children. His soldiers.

“I’ve seen your plans,” he said, his voice echoing in the greenhouse. “Very good, but there are a few words you need to remember.”

He walked to an old jujube tree that had been transplanted from the military reclamation city, his rough hands stroking the cracked bark:

"First, we must not forget our roots. Ye Mao, you have the strongest foundation in China. Remember, no matter how many branches and leaves extend, they must not harm the main trunk. This is the bottom line for our Ye family."

"Secondly, you must see things clearly. Marshal Ye, you are now on the front lines. In the eye of the political storm, survival comes first, development second. When things happen, consult Ye Fei's geopolitical assessment and listen to Ye Mao's macro analysis. Don't be reckless."

"Third, the network must be dense. Ye Feng, you are in New York, the hub of the family network. But remember—the hub is not the controller, but the servant. Your value lies in facilitating the flow of resources, not in solidifying power."

"Fourth, the road must be wide. Ye Rou, Ye Mei, the crowns on your heads are both responsibilities and bridges. Africa is the land of opportunity for the next thirty years. Standing on that land, you must have your eyes on the whole world. The dignity of the royal family must be used to connect civilizations."

"Fifth," he paused for a long time, so long that all six children on the channel held their breath, "You must be reserved. Ye Fei, your position is the most special. Remember the phrase 'a hidden dragon in the abyss.' Your value lies not in what you do now, but in what you can do at crucial moments. In Moscow, silence is your armor."

The only sound in the greenhouse was the soft dripping of the irrigation system. Ye Yuze walked to the control panel and brought up a projection of a world map. Six dots of light flickered on it.

"The collaboration of all projects must follow three ironclad rules: prioritize business logic, remain neutral on political sensitivity, and rely on family ties as a safety net."

His fingers traced the lines connecting the points of light:
"Don't fantasize about establishing some kind of 'Ye family dynasty,' that's too naive and too dangerous. What we need to do is weave a global network of influence based on blood ties, strategic collaboration, and shared values. This network doesn't seek control; it only seeks two things—"

He held up two fingers, even though the children couldn't see them:

"First, the power to speak at key junctures. Second, the ability to respond to crises."

The projected lights began to flicker and move, simulating the flow of capital, technology, and information. The connections grew denser, gradually weaving into a network of light covering Eurasia and Africa.

"Sixty years ago, when I left the infrastructure construction unit, I had nothing."

Ye Yuze's voice suddenly became very soft, so soft it was as if he were speaking to himself, "Today, you stand all over the world, you should be carrying something much bigger in your hearts—"

Let the Ye family become a positive link connecting the world, and let the name 'Ye' represent cooperation, innovation, and responsibility in the mouths of future generations.

He turned off the projector.

"Alright, that's all I had to say. Go back to your work." He picked up his teacup and took a sip of the now-cold Longjing tea. "Oh, by the way—remember to come home for dinner on the Winter Solstice. Your mother has been nagging you about it for a long time."

The audio channels are turned off sequentially.

"New York offline."

"Beijing offline."

“Received, Father, from Kyiv.”

"Moscow understands."

“Nairobi, I’ve got it, Dad.”

"Dar es Salaam, see you on the winter solstice."

The final notification tone faded away. Silence returned to the greenhouse, with only the plants from around the world growing quietly under artificial light.

Ye Yuze stood by the jujube tree for a long time, then took out a badge from his pocket—a 50th anniversary commemorative badge of the construction of the military reclamation city, the edges of which were worn shiny.

He ran his thumb along the design: a pickaxe and a gun, crossed over ears of wheat.

“Old friends,” he said to the empty greenhouse, his voice tinged with laughter and tears, “our children have finally reached a place we never dared to even dream of back then…”

He looked up and saw stars twinkling in the Boston night sky through the glass dome of the greenhouse.

"They will walk this path more steadily than we will."

He held the badge tightly in his palm, the sharp edges of the metal digging into his skin like an ancient brand, or a silent blessing.
-
New York, 4:33 a.m.

Ye Feng looked at the last message in the group chat—it was one he had sent five minutes earlier:
"Action Plan: Deeply rooted in the soil, spreading across the borders, and flourishing in the sky."

Below, all five icons representing younger siblings have lit up with the "received" indicator. His icon is the sixth.

He turned off the screen and walked to the window. The eastern horizon was beginning to turn a bluish-green, and the city was about to awaken.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet, the rising sun in East Africa shines on the palaces of the two queens, the morning light in the capital city spills onto the second brother's desk, the dawn in Kyiv envelops the third brother's state government, and the breaking of dawn in Moscow permeates the windowpanes of the fourth brother.

Six time zones, six locations, six people.

At this moment, they seemed to hear each other's heartbeats—across oceans, continents, political borders, and the shadow of war, pulsating steadily and powerfully at the same frequency within this network that had just been named "Roots."

Ye Feng raised the whiskey, which had only one finger's width remaining, and looked at the first rays of dawn, whispering:
"Then, let's get started."

Outside the window, New York's first ferry sounded its horn, the sound crossing the Hudson River like a long, deep bugle call.

On the world map, the points connected by invisible lines are slowly lighting up. (End of Chapter)