Great Power Reclamation

East African Republic, Dar es Salaam port, 5 a.m.

As the cargo ship "Chaoyang" slowly docked, Salim had already been waiting at Pier No. 3 for three hours. He was the youngest dispatcher in the port authority, responsible for connecting this special cargo ship that had come from China that day.

The ship was not carrying containers, but seventy-two giant energy storage devices, each two stories high, painted in the dark blue of the East African flag.

"Salim, check the list!" came the supervisor's voice over the walkie-talkie.

Salim took a deep breath and opened the tablet. The list was in both Chinese and English: Flow battery energy storage system, single unit capacity 5 MWh, operating temperature -30°C to 50°C, design life 25 years…

He checked each line carefully, recalling the knowledge he had learned at the training center three months ago.

He had just graduated from the Department of Electrical Engineering at the University of Dar es Salaam and was worried about finding a job. The "Sunrise Training Program" changed everything.

"Young man, what are you daydreaming about?" a voice with a Shandong accent rang out.

Salim looked up and saw a Chinese engineer, around fifty years old and wearing gray overalls, smiling at him.

The man's name tag read: Li Weiguo, Senior Technical Advisor, Military Reclamation Power Construction Group.

“Mr. Li, I’m checking the equipment number.” Salim quickly replied in Chinese—the training program required all personnel to have basic Chinese proficiency.

Li Weiguo leaned closer to examine the tablet: "The serial number is correct. This batch of equipment was specially designed by our group for the East African climate, and the heat dissipation system has been specially optimized. Come on, let me show you the core components."

The two men boarded the cargo ship's deck. In the morning light, the massive equipment casing reflected a faint glow. Li Weiguo opened one of the inspection doors, revealing a dense network of pipes and electrode plates inside.

“Look here,” he said, pointing to a row of copper heat sinks. “Africa has strong sunlight, and traditional heat dissipation designs are prone to overheating. We’ve increased the heat dissipation area by 30%, using raw materials sourced from your copper mines in Tanzania.”

Salim was taking careful notes when he suddenly asked, "Engineer Li, how many households' electricity problems will this equipment solve after it's installed?"

Li Weiguo took out his phone and brought up the calculation program: "Based on the average electricity consumption of East African households, one device can guarantee the electricity supply of 5,000 households for one day. Seventy-two devices would be enough for 360,000 households."

He paused for a moment, then added, "Moreover, this is a baseload power source, which can smooth out fluctuations in solar and wind power, making your power grid more stable."

“Three hundred and sixty thousand households…” Salim murmured, repeating. He thought of the village where he grew up, which hadn’t had electricity until three years ago. His mother had hugged him and cried when she first saw the electric lights come on.

"Young man, are you studying electrical engineering?" Li Weiguo asked.

"Yes, the University of Dar es Salaam."

“Good school.” Li Weiguo patted him on the shoulder. “The installation and commissioning of this batch of equipment will take three months, and we will train the local technical team. Are you interested? After the training, if you pass the assessment, you can directly join the State Grid Corporation and be responsible for the operation and maintenance of the energy storage power station.”

Salim's hands trembled slightly. The State Grid—a newly established state-owned enterprise after the unification of East Africa—had an acceptance rate of less than 5%. "Is it really possible?"

"Why not?" Li Weiguo laughed. "Technology has no nationality. We could build the world's largest power grid from scratch, and so can you. However—"

He stopped smiling. "It will be tough. The equipment is installed in the mountains, conditions are harsh, and you'll often have to stay up all night to debug it. Are you afraid of hardship?"

Salim straightened his back: "My grandfather's generation built the railway from Dar es Salaam to Zambia with their own hands. My father's generation planted trees on the border between Tanzania and Kenya for ten years. I have suffered no more than they have."

Li Weiguo gave him a deep look: "Okay. Report here at six o'clock tomorrow morning. Take this with you—" He handed him a USB drive, "It contains technical drawings of the equipment and a Chinese glossary. I have an exam in a week."

As the sun rose fully, the first batch of equipment began to be unloaded. The giant crane slowly moved, and the deep blue energy storage compartments, like building blocks of a giant, were placed piece by piece onto specially designed transport vehicles.

Salim stood at the command post, coordinating the order of the vehicles via walkie-talkie. His voice was clear and calm, unlike that of a recent graduate.

Outside the port, early risers stopped to watch. An elderly man pointed at the equipment and asked, "What are these things?"

Someone nearby replied, "I heard it's for storing electricity. We won't have power outages at night anymore."

The old man squinted for a long time, then suddenly said, "My son works at a battery factory in Mwanza. He said that the batteries they make can be sold to Europe."

"Really? Europeans use our stuff?"

"Why not?" the old man puffed out his chest. "We East Africans are no less stupid than others."

Salim overheard the conversation. He turned his head and saw the sunlight shining on the old man's white hair, on the deep blue energy storage equipment, and on a new day in this ancient port.

He suddenly understood what the Queen had said in her televised address: "The rise of East Africa is not about becoming a copy of others, but about absorbing the wisdom of the world and growing its own unique character."

And now, he is a small but indispensable part of this "form".
-
Seed Quality Testing Center, Kirovgrad Region, Ermao Country.

Olga stared at the microscope, her hand adjusting the focus as steady as a rock.

She is the chief technician at this testing center, with twenty years of experience, and can judge the moisture content of wheat seeds with the naked eye—with an error of no more than 0.5%. But today she is facing a new sample: the "Kilimanjaro VII" drought-resistant maize from East Africa.

"Aunt Olga, the data is in." Her young assistant, Anna, handed her a tablet. "Germination rate 97.3%, dry weight 18% higher than local varieties, protein content..."

"Wait a minute." Olga looked up. "What's the protein content?"

"11.7%."

The lab was silent for a few seconds. Even the best local corn varieties have a maximum protein content of only 9.2%. What does 11.7% mean? It means that eating the same tortilla will provide a quarter more protein.

This means that livestock grow faster when this type of corn is used as feed;
This means that if it is widely promoted, the entire livestock and food processing industries of the country will benefit.

“Do the test again,” Olga said. “Use machines three and five simultaneously; I need to compare the data.”

Anna hurried away. Olga walked to the window and looked out at the seed warehouse that was being expanded.

Three months ago, this was just an ordinary state-level testing station;

Three months later, it was designated as a "National Strategic Seed Resource Backup Center," with its budget increased fivefold and all equipment upgraded—because Governor Ye said, "The outcome of the future food war will not be decided in the fields, but in the laboratory."

The phone rang. It was my son, Misha, calling from Kyiv.

"Mom, I received my acceptance letter!" The twenty-year-old's voice was excited. "The 'Ye Family East Africa Scholarship' will fully fund my master's degree at China Agricultural University, majoring in plant genetic engineering!"

Olga's hand trembled: "You...you applied?"

"I applied secretly three months ago. Mom, do you know that only fifteen people were accepted globally this time? I'm the only one from Russia!"

Olga opened her mouth, as if to say something, but no sound came out. She remembered twenty years ago, when she had just graduated from agricultural college and was assigned to this testing center.

At that time, the Soviet Union had just collapsed, the laboratory equipment was outdated, and funding was scarce. Her monthly salary was only enough to buy bread and potatoes.

Many people resigned and changed careers, but she stayed—because the old director said, "Olga, the seeds are the roots of this country. The roots cannot be severed."

She has guarded her roots for twenty years. And now, her son is going to the other side of the world to learn how to make the roots grow even deeper.

"Mom? Why aren't you saying anything? Aren't you happy for me?" Misha's voice sounded uneasy.

"I'm happy." Olga wiped her eyes. "Of course I'm happy. But... Misha, will you come back after you finish your studies?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then Misha said, "The scholarship agreement requires that I serve an agricultural institution in East Africa or Mauritius for at least five years after graduation. I signed it."

So you'll come back?

“Mom,” Misha’s voice suddenly became very soft, “When Governor Ye interviewed me, he asked me a question: ‘What kind of world do you want your child to live in?’ I said: ‘A world where no one goes hungry.’ He said: ‘Then go and study. After you’ve finished your studies, Russia needs you, East Africa needs you, and all the people in this world who are still hungry need you.’”

Olga gripped her phone tightly. Outside the window, a truck drove into the testing center compound, its side bearing a sign in both Chinese and Russian:

"One seed, one world." That's a new type of seed sorting equipment imported from China, which is said to be able to screen individual seeds with precision.

“Go,” she finally said. “Go and learn. But remember—wherever you go, your roots are here. In the black soil along the Dnieper, under the microscope your mother guarded for twenty years.”

After hanging up the phone, Anna returned with two test reports. The data from test machines three and five were completely consistent: protein content 11.72%, with an error of 0.02%.

Olga picked up a red pen and wrote "Grade A - Recommended for immediate implementation" on the report cover. Her handwriting was strong and powerful, just like her.

Just then, the laboratory door opened, and Governor Ye walked in. He wasn't wearing a suit today, but rather a simple shirt and trousers, holding an ear of freshly picked corn in his hand.

“Comrade Olga,” Marshal Ye handed her the corn, “this is the first batch of results from the local trial planting of ‘Kilimanjaro VII’. The farmers said that this year’s drought caused all the other corn to wilt, but this variety is still growing.”

Olga took the corncob. The kernels were plump, neatly arranged, and gleamed golden in the light. She broke off a kernel and put it in her mouth—a habit of the old agronomist, who used his teeth to judge the firmness.

"Good seed." She spat out the seed, giving it the highest praise. "The fact that it can grow like this on our land shows that it is very adaptable."

“Not only that.” Marshal Ye opened his phone and showed her a photo—it was an experimental field at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro in East Africa, where the same corn was growing taller than a person.

"The same variety performs exceptionally well on two continents and in two climates. Comrade Olga, do you know what this means?"

Olga thought for a moment: "Does that mean... we've found a 'seed of the future' that might adapt to global warming?"

"It also means," Marshal Ye said with a deep gaze, "that when food can grow across national borders, when technology can be shared, and when talent can move freely, those who use 'food security' as an excuse to create barriers have lost their greatest weapon."

He paused: "And we, all those who take the land seriously, are becoming a new weapon. A weapon of growth."

The laboratory fell silent. Only the rhythmic beeping of the instruments, like the heartbeat of the earth, filled the air. Olga looked at the corn in her hands, at the young governor of half-Chinese descent, and suddenly remembered a Chinese poem she had read long ago. She didn't remember the whole thing, only one line:
"There is no idle land under heaven, yet farmers still starve to death."

She used to wonder why people would starve even when the fields were always busy. Now she understands—because fields have national boundaries, but hunger does not.

“Governor,” she began, her voice soft, “my son has received a scholarship to study in China.”

Marshal Ye smiled and said, "I know. I was there when he was interviewed. He's a good young man with ideals."

“I want to ask you for a favor.” Olga looked up, her eyes firm. “When he returns after his studies, please send him to the most difficult places. To those villages with barren soil, to those mountainous areas where oxen are still used for plowing. Let him truly put the skills he has learned into practice.”

Marshal Ye fell silent. He looked at Olga for a long time, then nodded solemnly: "I promise you."

Outside the window, another truck drove in. Workers began unloading the new sorting equipment. Sunlight shone on the metal casing, reflecting a dazzling light, like countless seeds sprouting simultaneously.
-
In the northwest of China, deep in the Loess Plateau.

Zhang Dashan checked the tilt angle of the photovoltaic panels for the third time to ensure they were at the optimal angle to receive the afternoon sun.

This is his "mountain photovoltaic + ecological agriculture" experimental base - on 300 acres of slope, photovoltaic panels are neatly arranged, and shade-tolerant Chinese medicinal herbs and edible fungi are planted under the panels.

"Zhang, the East Africa expedition team's vehicles are almost here!" Assistant Xiao Liu called out from the bottom of the hillside.

Zhang Dashan dusted off his hands and walked down the slope. He is a professor at Northwest A&F University and a specially appointed expert for the Ye Family Foundation's "Global Ecological Energy" project.

Three months ago, he received a special task: to design a comprehensive "photovoltaic + agriculture" solution for the hilly areas of East Africa.

"They're here."

Three off-road vehicles drove into the base. A dozen or so people got out of the vehicles, including officials from the East African Ministry of Energy, local agricultural experts, and two elders dressed in traditional clothing—representatives of tribes in the East African mountains, who held considerable influence.

"Welcome, welcome." Zhang Dashan greeted them in English. He had learned a few Swahili greetings beforehand, which brought smiles of surprise to the guests' faces.

The tour lasted two hours. Zhang Dashan explained the design of each area in detail:
How do photovoltaic panels automatically adjust their tilt angle based on the sun's angle? How do the astragalus and codonopsis planted under the panels improve the soil?
The collected rainwater is precisely irrigated through a drip irrigation system; even the wastewater generated from cleaning photovoltaic panels is treated and used to raise earthworms, and earthworm castings are the best organic fertilizer.

"Professor Zhang," an official from the East African Ministry of Energy asked, "how much can this system improve power generation efficiency under the solar conditions in Africa?"

"According to simulation data, in the high-altitude regions of East Africa, the efficiency is 25% higher than that of traditional fixed photovoltaic systems."

Zhang Dashan pulled up a chart on his tablet, "Moreover, the revenue from the agriculture beneath the solar panels can cover 30% of the photovoltaic system's maintenance costs. More importantly—"

He switched the screen to show a set of comparison photos: "This is the Loess Plateau before the project was implemented, with severe soil erosion. This is what it looks like three years later. The photovoltaic panels have reduced the direct erosion of the ground by rainwater, and the vegetation coverage has increased from 17% to 63%."

“We have calculated that every 100 mu (approximately 6.7 hectares) of such a ‘photovoltaic farm’ can reduce soil erosion by 3000 tons per year.”

The tribal elders gathered around, engaging in a heated discussion in Swahili. The translator whispered to Zhang Dashan:

"They say this model might solve their water and soil problems in the mountainous areas. But they're worried... the cost is too high."

Zhang Dashan nodded. He walked up to the eldest elder and, through a translator, said:
“Grandpa, look at this land. Thirty years ago, it was even more barren than your mountainous region. A single heavy rain could wash away an entire year’s harvest. The change started with a single tree and a single solar panel. It took us twenty years to become what it is today.”

He paused: "East Africa doesn't need twenty years. Because we have ready-made technology, mature experience, and—you have more sunshine than we do."

“The costs are indeed high, but the Ye Family Foundation is willing to provide interest-free loans, and the Chinese government also has special funds for ‘South-South Cooperation.’ What we need is your courage to try.”

The elder remained silent for a long time. He bent down, picked up a handful of yellow soil, and walked to the solar panels, touching the lush astragalus leaves.

Finally, he looked up and said in broken English, “In our tribal language, ‘land’ and ‘mother’ are the same word. We won’t let our mother cry forever.”

The agreement was signed on the spot. East Africa will pilot the construction of "photovoltaic ecological farms" in five hilly counties on the southern slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro. Zhang Dashan will lead a team to provide technical guidance for one year.

After the inspection team left, Xiao Liu couldn't help but ask, "Engineer Zhang, why are you so concerned about the East Africa project? There are still many places in China that need this kind of technology."

Watching the departing convoy, Zhang Dashan said, "Xiao Liu, do you remember what Academician Yuan Longping said? 'People are like seeds; you must be a good seed.'"

"remember."

"For a seed to germinate, it needs soil, sunlight, and water. Technology is like sunlight—it shouldn't just shine on one piece of land."

Zhang Dashan turned around and looked at the experimental field he had built with his own hands. "Our generation has witnessed the entire process of the country's transformation from poverty to prosperity. We know the power of technology, and we know even more the responsibility of sharing it."

He picked up his phone and pulled out an old photo—a picture of him helping to build a water cellar in Africa when he was young. In the black and white picture, he and a group of African workers were standing in front of the newly built water cellar, and everyone was smiling brightly.

“That was in 1987, in Tanzania. The locals taught me how to make wine from cassava, and I taught them how to build water cellars. Later I returned home, but I always dreamed of that land.”

Zhang Dashan said softly, “Now, more than thirty years have passed, and my students are going there to teach them more advanced technologies. Doesn't this resemble… a seed finally growing into a tree and bearing new seeds?”

As the sun sets, the photovoltaic panels automatically adjust their angles, resembling a golden sunflower field, chasing the last rays of light.

Zhang Dashan knew that the astragalus plants grown under these boards would be ready for harvest tomorrow.

They will be processed into traditional Chinese medicine, some of which will remain in China, while others will accompany him to East Africa—not only as medicinal materials, but also as a symbol: the roots from the loess soil of China will find new life in the red soil of Africa.

And all of this began many years ago when a young Chinese man and a group of African workers built a water cellar together under the scorching sun.

It turns out that all great connections started with just a handful of soil, a drop of water, and a pair of hands.
-
Late at night, in six time zones around the world.

Ye Feng was reviewing Lin Wei's East African battery factory project report in his New York apartment when he noticed an employee interview transcript in the appendix—the worker named Karum said:
"I want my unborn child to know that his father is not just a sack carrier."

In his Beijing office, Ye Mao was revising the white paper on "China-Africa Green Energy Cooperation." In the chapter on agricultural cooperation, he specifically added data from the Er Mao Seed Testing Center—a protein content of 11.72%, a figure that would change many of the bargaining chips.

At a farm in Kirovgrad Oblast, Marshal Ye Jianying inspected the newly sown winter wheat with Sergei and his son. The old farmer, Sergei, said, "Governor, when this wheat ripens, I'll treat you to vodka made from the new wheat."

In a laboratory in Mauritius, Ye Fei reviewed the civilian modification plan for the "Borei-S" electromagnetic shielding system. At the end of his report, he wrote: "It is recommended that schools and hospitals in East Africa be protected first."

Ye Rou and Ye Mei watched Xu Guang and Chen Xing sleeping soundly in their cradles in the royal palace in Kilimanjaro. Before them lay Zhang Dashan's "Photovoltaic Ecological Farm" planning map, along with pilot agreements for five hilly counties to be signed the following day.

In the command center of the fortress, new points of light are illuminating the holographic sand table: energy storage equipment in the port of Dar es Salaam, a battery factory in Mwanza, a seed center in Kirovgrad, a photovoltaic base on the Loess Plateau, and the first batch of "photovoltaic ecological farms" that will soon be lit up in the mountains of East Africa.

The connecting lines between all these points become increasingly dense and brighter.

They are no longer cold strategic plans, but individual people: Salim checks equipment numbers at the port, Olga observes seeds under a microscope, Zhang Dashan adjusts the angle of photovoltaic panels on the loess slope, Karum encapsulates batteries in the factory, and Sergei strokes wheat seedlings in the field.

These people are unaware of each other's existence, yet their fates are already gently lifted up by the same net.

At three in the morning, Ye Yuze woke up in the greenhouse in Boston. He walked to the control panel and opened a special monitoring interface—it wasn't business data, nor political intelligence, but a simple set of numbers:

Number of employees who graduated from the East Africa battery factory employee training program: 1273.

The area under the promotion of new seeds in Ermaoguo is 18.7 hectares.

The "photovoltaic + agriculture" model in the Loess Plateau of China has reduced soil erosion by 41 tons.

The number of scholarships awarded by the "Chaoyang Foundation" is 89.

The old man stared at the numbers for a long time, then said softly, "Old friends, the things we never dared to dream of back then, our children are making into reality."

He picked up the watering can and watered the plants from all over the world in the greenhouse. Water droplets rolled on the leaves, looking like countless tiny suns under the light.

While watering the plants, he suddenly remembered what an old farmer had told him many years ago, when he had just left the military reclamation town and went abroad for the first time to do business:
"Young man, do you know what the most resilient thing in the world is?"

"Iron? Willpower? Or..."

“It’s the roots.” The old farmer pointed to the birch trees that still stood tall in the wind and snow outside the window. “Look at those trees. Their parts above ground may be broken by the wind or crushed by the snow. But as long as their roots are still in the soil, they will sprout new buds when spring comes.”

Thirty years later, Ye Yuze finally fully understood this sentence.

The Ye family's global network, with its connections in capital, technology, politics, and military affairs, is the above-ground part, which will face storms and challenges.

But true resilience is hidden in ordinary people—in Salim's late-night study of Chinese, in Olga's twenty years of protecting the seeds, in Zhang Dashan's sweat dripping on the loess slope, in Karum's belief in fighting for his unborn child, and in Sergei's rough hands stroking the wheat seedlings.

These are the roots that are deeply embedded in the soil.

As long as these roots continue to grow, the branches and leaves on the ground will never wither.

Outside the window, the Boston sky began to lighten.

A new day begins simultaneously in every corner of the world.

And in the new day, countless ordinary people will continue to weave that invisible yet ubiquitous net from their respective positions.

A network that allows seeds to cross national borders.

A network that allows technology to share the sunshine.

A network that allows ordinary people to participate in history.

Its name could perhaps be "The Future". (End of Chapter)