Great Power Reclamation

At five o'clock in the morning, Ye Guigen was awakened by the sound of prayers.

It wasn't a real prayer, but rather Hassan's cell phone alarm from the next room—the guy had set five different alarms for different times, but he always turned them off and went back to sleep.

Ye Guigen's biological clock, which he had developed in the military reclamation city, made him wake up on time, so he simply got up and opened the window.

The morning in the capital of Country C was unusually quiet. The minaret of the distant mosque was blurred in the dawn light, and occasionally a donkey cart would pass by on the street, the driver's calls sounding languid.

The air was filled with the aroma of baked flatbread, wafting from some breakfast stall.

After he finished washing up and went downstairs, Hassan was already waiting for him in the yard.

"So early?" Ye Guigen was somewhat surprised.

Hassan grinned: "Today is your big day to receive honorary citizenship, so I have to make sure you're dressed presentably."

He looked Ye Guigen up and down in his shirt and trousers, then shook his head. “No, no, that’s too formal. Here, we wear local clothing for formal occasions.”

Half an hour later, Ye Guigen was ushered into a tailor shop. Hassan was clearly a regular customer, and the shopkeeper, without saying a word, took out a white robe and a headscarf and quickly helped him put them on.

Hassan looked somewhat unfamiliar with himself in the mirror, but he nodded with satisfaction: "I look like a real Chinese person now."

The awarding ceremony was held at 10:00 AM local time. The location was the lobby of the Ministry of Energy of Country C, where the high-ceilinged dome was packed with people.

Government officials, project partners, media reporters, and several elders in traditional attire were present. Ye Guigen spotted the girl who wanted to be a doctor; she stood at the edge of the crowd, waving shyly at him.

The energy minister was a chubby man in his fifties with a friendly smile like the uncle next door.

He first spoke in French, essentially thanking international partners for their support, then suddenly switched to English:
"Mr. Ye Guigen, in recognition of the contributions of the 'Cornerstone and Wings' Fund to the renewable energy cause in Country C, I hereby confer upon you the title of Honorary Citizen on behalf of the Government of Country C. From this day forward, you are a part of Country C."

Amid applause, an elder-looking man stepped forward, draped a gold-trimmed cloak over Ye Guigen, and hung a heavy string of silver ornaments around his neck.

Hassan whispered beside him, "This is the highest form of courtesy from the Bedouin tribe; it's worth far more than your certificate."

Ye Guigen accepted the certificate and said "thank you" in the local phrase he had just learned.

The pronunciation wasn't perfect, but the audience still laughed, and someone shouted, "Well said! Say it again!"

After the ceremony, there was a buffet. Ye Guigen was surrounded by a group of people asking all sorts of questions:
Do you invest in other projects? How many years can solar panels last? Could you install one in our village too?
He answered each question, but soon realized something was wrong. A man in a suit stood on the periphery of the crowd, neither approaching nor leaving, his eyes constantly darting over him.

Ye Guigen quietly asked Hassan, "Who is that person?"

Hassan glanced at it, his expression changing slightly: "A local businessman named Abdullah. He's in the import/export business, but people in the industry say he... has rather unorthodox methods."

"How wild?"

"He has dealings with the opposition in neighboring countries and also helps some unidentified people launder money."

Hassan lowered his voice, "You need to be careful, the people he targets are usually no good."

As soon as he finished speaking, Abdullah walked over, smiling broadly and extending his hand:
"Mr. Ye, congratulations! I've long admired your name, and it's great to finally meet you in person today."

Ye Guigen shook hands and felt that the other person's palms were sweaty and sticky.

“I work in the energy equipment industry,” Abdullah said, handing over his business card.

“Your photovoltaic project is very successful. I would like to cooperate with your fund to build another one in the south. The area needs electricity even more than here, but no company has dared to invest.”

Why wouldn't you dare?

Abdullah's smile froze for a moment, then returned to normal:

"The tribal relations there are complicated, but I'm an old friend of the tribal elders. With me involved, there won't be any problems."

Ye Guigen recalled that the investigation materials sent by Elizabeth mentioned the southern part of Country C—where tribal conflicts were frequent, government control was weak, and there were also extremist activities.

He politely accepted the business card: "Thank you, Mr. Abdullah. I will go back and discuss it with my team."

“Research?” Abdullah’s smile became somewhat meaningful. “Mr. Ye, doing business in Country C is sometimes a matter of being too fast or too slow. You have to find the right rhythm and the right people.”

After he finished speaking, he turned and left, leaving behind a strong scent of cologne.

In the afternoon, Ye Guigen and Hassan drove to the project site. On the way, Hassan said:

“Ignore Abdullah. The southern project he mentioned, two foreign companies went there last year, and both ended up in trouble. One company had its equipment stolen, and the other had its engineer kidnapped. They only released him after paying a ransom.”

"Nobody cares?"

"The government can't control that area. It's nominally C country territory, but in reality, it's tribal autonomy."

Hassan sighed, “That’s how our country is. The capital is one world, and the desert is another.”

The car sped along the Gobi Desert highway, with endless sand dunes and low shrubs visible outside the window.

Ye Guigen looked at the villages that flashed by—mud houses, date palms, barefoot children.

He suddenly remembered Junken City and his grandfather's words: "A person who does practical things must see that what he does is put into practice."

This reality is not just about power generation data, nor is it just about return on investment.

Three hours later, they arrived at the project camp. As soon as they got out of the car, they saw a group of people gathered around the edge of the photovoltaic array.

A technician wearing a plaid shirt ran over and shouted something anxiously in language A.

Hassan translated: "The sandstorm came last night, and the solar panels are covered in sand, reducing power generation efficiency by 40 percent. They are trying to clean it up, but they don't have enough manpower or equipment."

Ye Guigen strode over. Rows of photovoltaic panels were covered with a layer of fine sand, like a yellowish-brown veil draped over the blue ocean.

Several local workers were wiping with rags, but their efficiency was extremely low.

"Can't we use a high-pressure water gun?" Ye Guigen asked.

"Water is too expensive." Chief Engineer Lao Wang walked out of the crowd, looking exhausted.

"Moreover, the water here is hard, and when it dries, it will accumulate limescale, which is even harder to clean than sand. We are researching dry cleaning solutions, but the equipment needs to be shipped from country A, which will take at least two weeks."

How much power generation loss does two weeks mean? Ye Guigen quickly did the mental calculation, his face darkening.

"Old Wang, do you have any portable cleaning equipment from Country A? Can they be airlifted?"

"Yes, we do have them, but they're not powerful enough for emergencies," Old Wang said. "To truly solve the problem, we need large cleaning trucks, but those can't be transported by air; they'd take at least a month by sea."

Ye Guigen looked at the solar panels covered in sand and suddenly remembered something. He took out his phone; the signal was only one bar, but he managed to make a video call to Wang Lina.

It was late at night in Junken City, and Wang Lina was clearly awakened by the noise, but upon seeing Ye Guigen, she immediately became alert:
"What's wrong, kid?"

"Aunt Wang, the solar panels are covered by a sandstorm. The area is short of water, making cleaning difficult. Our military reclamation group has so many solar power stations in the Gobi Desert, how do you deal with the sandstorm problem?"

Wang Lina thought for a moment: "We use a combination of mechanical brushes and compressed air. Solar power stations in the desert are equipped with cleaning vehicles that sweep twice a day, morning and evening. Don't you have one?"

"It was just built, and the cleaning trucks are still floating at sea."

“The emergency plan is…” Wang Lina turned her head and called out, “Old Li! Li Lindong! Your son used to do this!”

There was a rustling sound on the other end of the video call, and Li Lindong's face appeared on the screen, his eyes still sleepy: "What is it?"

Ye Guigen repeated the question. Li Lindong listened, then squinted and thought for a moment:

Are your solar panels fixed or equipped with a solar tracking system?

"Fixed".

"A stationary setup is simple. Do you have compressed air equipment? You know, the kind used to inflate tires?"

"Yes, there are some on the construction site."

"Listen to me, you should make a batch of nozzles yourself first. You can make them with PVC pipes. Connect compressed air to the nozzles and make them into handheld air guns. Use the high-pressure air to blow away the loose sand first."

"For the remaining stubborn sand and dust, gently brush it off with a soft-bristled brush, then blow it off with air. Remember, never use a hard brush, as it will scratch the glass surface."

Old Wang, listening nearby, had his eyes shining brighter and brighter: "This idea works! We happen to have an air compressor!"

“Also,” Li Lindong continued, “you need to study the wind direction. When a sandstorm comes, sand will accumulate in the windward direction of the solar panels, so you need to build sand-blocking walls in that direction or plant drought-resistant plants.”

“That’s what we did back in the Taklamakan Desert, and now there are green belts there.”

Ye Guigen thanked him repeatedly and hung up the video call. Old Wang had already gone to organize the workers, and half an hour later, the first homemade air gun was finished.

The moment the compressed air was ejected, the loose sand on the surface of the photovoltaic panel scattered and flew up, revealing clean blue glass.

"It works!" a worker shouted excitedly.

For the next six hours, everyone took turns working. Ye Guigen also picked up an air gun and worked alongside the workers.

The sun had moved from its zenith to the west, and his robe was soaked with sweat, but his movements became increasingly practiced. Hassan urged him to rest several times, but he shook his head and refused.

As evening fell, cheers erupted throughout the camp when the last solar panel was cleared away. Old Wang checked the monitoring data; the power generation efficiency had recovered to 98%.

"There might be some dust residue tomorrow morning, but at least there won't be any problems with power generation tonight."

Old Wang patted Ye Guigen on the shoulder, "President Ye, your idea was a lifesaver."

Ye Guigen smiled wearily and sat on the sand, unwilling to get up. Hassan handed him a bottle of water, which he took and drank most of it in one gulp.

“You’re different from other investors,” Hassan said. “Those people come in, just sit in the meeting room, look at the reports, and never pick up the tools to get anything done.”

Ye Guigen shook his head: "I grew up in the military reclamation city. When I was a child, I repaired tractors with my grandfather. I know what it feels like to have oil on your hands. People who do business can't be too far away from the field."

As night fell, the campground lights came on. Those lights were powered by solar panels—and at that moment, they shone exceptionally brightly.

The next morning, Ye Guigen was discussing the procurement plan for cleaning equipment with Hassan when Abdullah called.

"Mr. Ye, I heard you've run into trouble?" Abdullah's voice sounded very concerned.

“Dust storms are a major threat here, and inexperienced companies often suffer losses. Should I recommend a cleaning service provider? Their prices are reasonable, and they can come anytime.”

Ye Guigen was wary, but politely replied, "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Abdullah. We have already resolved the issue."

"Solved?" Abdullah was clearly skeptical. "How was it solved? By using water? Water isn't cheap over there."

“Use compressed air,” Ye Guigen replied simply.

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone: "Mr. Ye, you really have a way. However, I still want to talk to you about the Southern Project. I'm going to the capital tomorrow, how about we have dinner together? I'll introduce you to a few tribal elders."

Ye Guigen remembered Hassan's warning and was about to politely decline when he suddenly heard faint voices on the other end of the phone. Abdullah seemed to be whispering something to someone next to him, but his voice was too low to hear clearly.

“Mr. Ye?” Abdullah spoke again. “Don’t worry, it’s just a meal and making friends. In China, connections are more important than anything else when doing business.”

"Thank you, Mr. Abdullah, but I have to return to D country tomorrow. Let's get together again next time."

Another silence fell. Then Abdullah laughed, his laughter devoid of emotion: "Alright, alright. Mr. Ye, it's understandable that a young man like you is busy with his career. Then we'll meet again next time."

After hanging up the phone, Ye Guigen looked at Hassan: "Does he think I believe him?" "No." Hassan shook his head. "This man is very stubborn. He won't easily give up on his prey once he's set his sights on it. You need to be careful; he might try to approach it from a different angle."

"What angle?"

“For example, creating trouble around the project.” Hassan gazed at the distant desert. “Some of the tribal elders have business dealings with him. If they suddenly raise land ownership disputes or demand increased compensation, it will give you a headache.”

Ye Guigen remained silent. This was indeed a possible threat.

In the afternoon, he drove alone to a nearby village. It was called a village, but it only had about twenty households, with mud-brick houses scattered among the date palm groves.

Children chased each other in the dust, several women wove blankets, and men gathered in the shade of a tree to drink tea.

He parked his car at the village entrance and was hesitating about how to start the conversation when a familiar figure ran over—it was the girl who wanted to be a doctor.

“Mr. Ye!” she called out happily, her pronunciation slightly off but full of enthusiasm, “I remember you!”

Ye Guigen smiled: "What's your name?"

“Fatima,” the girl said, “my father is the village chief, I’ll take you to see him.”

The village elder was a Bedouin with a wrinkled face, wearing a traditional blue headscarf and carrying a wooden cane.

He spoke a few words to Ye Guigen in French, but found that communication was not going well, so he asked Fatima to translate—the girl's French was the best in the village, she had learned it at school.

Ye Guigen explained his purpose: he wanted to understand the villagers' true opinions on the photovoltaic project and whether they had any difficulties that required assistance.

The village chief listened in silence for a long time. Then he spoke, as Fatima translated:
"The electricity is great; the children can read books and watch TV at night. But young people want to work at the power station, but you say it requires technical skills, which they don't have. Do you have any way to teach them?"

Ye Guigen was startled. This was a problem he had considered but hadn't implemented. The project had trained thirty-seven locals, but that was for technical positions; what about the ordinary villagers?

"How many young people in the village do you think want to learn a skill?"

“That’s all,” the village chief said. “There’s no other work here except growing dates and herding sheep. The young people want to go to the city, but there’s nowhere to live there.”

"If I can work at the power station, I can stay in the village, get married, and raise children."

Looking at the children playing in front of the mud-brick houses, Ye Guigen suddenly understood what it meant to "put things into practice." Generating electricity was just a means; the goal was to ensure that people could stay and survive.

He took out his phone and called Lao Wang: "Lao Wang, could you design a basic training course? Something for ordinary villagers, not too advanced, but enough to help them do auxiliary work at the power station, such as cleaning, security, and simple maintenance?"

Old Wang thought for a moment on the other end of the phone: "It's possible, but we don't have enough manpower. And we don't speak the language."

“Locals can act as translators,” Ye Guigen said. “Fatima can do it.”

The girl's eyes lit up when she heard her name called.

Back at camp, Ye Guigen, Hassan, and Lao Wang discussed and devised a training plan overnight:
The class is held twice a week, taught by Lao Wang in Language A, and translated into the local language by Fatima.

The training covers everything from the basic principles of photovoltaic power generation to routine maintenance, safety regulations, and emergency response. Those who pass the training can be hired as auxiliary staff at the power station.

"And your salary?" Hassan asked.

"It's on par with the local average, but with performance bonuses added," Ye Guigen said.
"Only when they feel a sense of accomplishment will they genuinely maintain this project."

Hassan looked at him with a complicated expression: "Ye, you are really different from other investors."

You've already said that.

“But I’ll say it again,” Hassan said earnestly, “People who come to invest in Country C come for various reasons: some to make money, some for policy benefits, and some for fame. But you, you genuinely want to do something.”

Ye Guigen shook his head: "I'm just repeating what my grandfather and his family did. Fifty years ago, they built a city in the Gobi Desert. What I'm doing now is not even one percent of what they did."

On the third day, before leaving Country C, Ye Guigen visited the village again. Fatima led him to the village chief, who solemnly stood up and hung an ancient silver ornament around Ye Guigen's neck—

Unlike the medal he received at the award ceremony that day, this was clearly a personal item, engraved with Bedouin tribal symbols.

“This is our tribe’s talisman,” Fatima translated. “The village chief said that from now on you are a friend of our tribe. No matter what difficulties you encounter, you can come to us.”

Ye Guigen touched the string of silver ornaments; it was heavy and still carried the warmth of the old man's body.

"Thank you," he said in French, then repeated it in the local language he had just learned.

On the return flight, as he watched the desert recede outside the window, he suddenly remembered the man named Abdullah. He hadn't given up yet; Hassan had said that such a man wouldn't give up easily.

But Ye Guigen is no longer so worried.

Because deep in this desert, he made friends.

It wasn't the businessmen trying to profit from him, nor the pawns in political games, but the most ordinary villagers—

They want electricity, they want jobs, they want a future for their children.

These are things that Abdullahs and their ilk will never understand.

The plane pierced through the clouds; Country D lay in the distance.

But Ye Guigen knew that he would come back.

Because there is light here, and there are people who need light.
-
Junken City, one month later.

Yang Geyong was watering his Akhal-Teke horses with a hose when the phone suddenly rang. It was Ye Guigen's number.

"Grandpa Yang, we've encountered some technical problems with the project." Ye Guigen's voice sounded tired. "A layer of white stuff has appeared on the surface of the photovoltaic panels. It's not sand, it looks like some kind of mineral crystal. We can't clean it off, and the power generation efficiency has dropped by fifteen percent."

Yang Geyong put down the water pipe and wiped his hands with a towel: "Did you take any pictures?"

"I took the picture and will send it to you."

With a ding, the phone transmitted a photo. Yang Geyong zoomed in to examine it; the white crystals were distributed in flakes, with slight corrosion marks at the edges.

“This is salt crystallization,” he said confidently. “Is the groundwater in your area very salty? The wind blows water vapor onto the solar panels, the water evaporates, and the salt is left behind. Over time, it accumulates like this.”

Is there a way to handle this?

"Yes, but compressed air can't be used." Yang Geyong thought for a moment.
"You need to neutralize it with a weak acidic solution and then rinse it with clean water. But water is expensive where you are, so you have to recycle it. Go ask Li Lindong; his son did a similar project in the Gobi Desert years ago and has a water-saving cleaning solution."

Ye Guigen thanked him repeatedly and hung up the phone.

Looking at the photos on his phone, Yang Geyong suddenly recalled many years ago.

At that time, the military reclamation farm had just installed its first batch of photovoltaic panels and encountered the same problem. A group of old men squatted in the field for three days to study it, and finally Li Lindong found inspiration from car washing equipment and designed that circulating water system.

Times change, technology changes, but the problems remain the same.

Wang Lina walked in from outside: "Whose call was that?"

“It’s that kid. He ran into some trouble with the project.” Yang Geyong handed her his phone.

Wang Lina glanced at it: "Salt crystallization? We encountered that in the Taklamakan Desert back then. Would Lao Li's solution work?"

“It worked. I’ve already sent him to find Old Li.” Yang Geyong picked up the water pipe again. “This kid is better than his father. He knows to ask for help when he encounters a problem.”

Wang Lina laughed: "Are you praising him or yourself?"

“Everyone praised it.” Yang Geyong laughed too. “Alright, don’t just stand here. Little Guaizi is treating us tonight. He said a new roast lamb leg restaurant opened and he wants us to go try it.”

"All he does is eat and drink," Wang Lina shook her head, but still turned and followed him.

As the sun sets, the night market in Junken City comes alive again.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in Country D, Ye Guigen was sitting in his office, video chatting with Li Lindong. On the screen, Li Lindong was drawing sketches, explaining in detail the principles of the water-saving cleaning system.

"The water storage tank should be large enough, at least ten cubic meters. When cleaning, first spray it with a weak acid solution, wait five minutes to allow the acid-base reaction to be complete, and then rinse it with high-pressure water."

"The flushed water can be recycled after sedimentation and filtration. As long as the loss rate is kept below 10%, it can be tolerated."

Ye Guigen listened and took notes, while Lao Wang nodded frequently beside him.

“Also,” Li Lindong added, “you should plant some salt-tolerant plants around the photovoltaic panels, such as saxaul and jujube, which can reduce the salt content in the wind. This is an experience we summarized in the Taklamakan Desert, and it works.”

After the video call ended, Old Wang looked at his notes and exclaimed, "President Ye, your family members are a treasure trove!"

Ye Guigen smiled. Yes, they are all treasures.

Those old men and women drinking and making noise in the night market of the military reclamation city have all experienced the most difficult times and solved the most difficult problems.

They may not understand international finance or multi-tiered holding structures, but they understand land, machinery, and how to get things done.

And these are precisely the things that are most needed right now.

"I'll arrange for someone to purchase the materials tomorrow," Lao Wang said. "I'll try to get the system up and running within two weeks."

Ye Guigen nodded, his gaze falling out the window.

The night in Country D was bustling and brightly lit. But what appeared before his eyes was the village deep in the desert, Fatima's smiling face, and the silver ornaments the village chief had given him.

Those are the true lights.

The phone rang again. It was Elizabeth: "Well, there's some news. Abdullah contacted Cavendish Bank's representative in Country C today, wanting to inquire about our funding sources and project returns."

"The bank hasn't disclosed anything, but I think it's a signal."

Ye Guigen was silent for a few seconds: "Does he know that Cavendish Bank has a partnership with us?"

“They must have investigated,” Elizabeth said. “This person is not simple; there may be powerful forces behind him. You need to be careful.”

“I know,” Ye Guigen said, “but I’m not afraid.”

"why?"

“Because I have friends over there.” He touched the silver ornament around his neck. “Real friends.”

Elizabeth was silent for a moment, then said softly, "That's good. Get some rest, you have a meeting tomorrow."

After hanging up the phone, Ye Guigen stood up and walked to the window.

In the distance, the Thames flows quietly. On the opposite bank, the lights of the London Eye rotate in the night.

He suddenly remembered what his grandfather had said: "Those who do practical things are not afraid to walk in the dark. Because if there is light in your heart, there will be a path under your feet."

Now, he has light in his heart.

Not just one, but many.

An old man from the military reclamation town, a villager from deep in the desert, and someone who was willing to walk with him at night.

No matter how long the road ahead, he will keep going.

Carrying their light. (End of Chapter)