Great Power Reclamation

London winters are not like those in the military settlements, where snow falls heavily. Instead, they are cold and damp, like a rag that can't be wrung out and wrapped around your body.

Yang Chenglong sat at his desk in the dormitory, with a copy of "Microeconomics" open in front of him and a cup of tea that had gone cold beside him.

The tea was brick tea, sent from home by Grandma Yu'e, who specially asked someone to bring it. He took a sip; it was cold, but the salty taste was still there, like the wind in the military reclamation city.

His phone rang. He picked it up and saw it was Ye Guigen.

"Jackie Chan, come downstairs. I'm downstairs."

Yang Chenglong put on a coat and went downstairs. At the entrance of the dormitory building, Ye Guigen leaned against an old bicycle, wearing a black down jacket and a scarf wrapped below his nose, revealing only his eyes.

Those eyes were exactly the same as Ye Yuze's when he was young—black and bright, like two polished pebbles.

"Why are you here? Didn't you say you had class today?" Yang Chenglong asked.

"I ran away." Ye Guigen said matter-of-factly, taking a thermos from his bag and handing it to him. "My mom sent this, red date and goji berry tea. I'll share half with you."

Yang Chenglong took the thermos, unscrewed the lid, and a sweet aroma wafted out. He took a sip; it was hot, and the warmth went right up to his stomach.

The two walked slowly along the campus path. The London sky was overcast, and the plane trees along the roadside were bare, their branches stretching towards the sky like the withered fingers of an old man.

But the two young people walked together, their bodies radiating warmth, and the white mist they exhaled as they spoke dissipated slowly in the cold air.

“My dad called yesterday,” Ye Guigen said, “and said that Uncle Yang Wei’s platform is about to be launched. What’s it called again—'Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps Agricultural Products Production and Marketing Integration Platform'.”

Yang Chenglong nodded: "My dad also told me. The Ye family will contribute half of the 30 million in start-up capital, and the Corps will contribute the other half."

"Thirty million?" Ye Guigen whistled. "That's quite a lot."

“My dad said it’s not enough. Grandpa Ye did the math and said we need at least another 20 million.”

Ye Guigen laughed: "My grandfather was a man who never made a mistake when it came to accounts. If he said it wasn't enough, it really wasn't enough."

The two walked to a small square and found a bench to sit on. The bench was wet, so Ye Guigen took a book out of his bag and put it down, then gave half of it to Yang Chenglong.

“You know,” Ye Guigen said, looking at the distant clock tower, “when I was a child, my grandfather used to tell me about the military reclamation city. He said there was nothing there back then, just a vast Gobi desert where you couldn’t even see a tree.”

My great-grandfather's generation lived in dugouts and drank water from irrigation ditches, yet they still managed to reclaim that wasteland.

Yang Chenglong remained silent. He thought of his father, Yang Wei, Yang Geyong, and Grandpa Habuli.

Those people and those events, like a river, flowed from a very far place and reached him.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Ye Guigen continued, “whether our generation can be like them? How did they get through such hard times?”

Yang Chenglong thought for a moment and said, "It's probably not about enduring. It's about wanting to do something and then doing it. Once you've done it, you don't feel the hardship anymore."

Ye Guigen turned to look at him, a hint of surprise in his bright black eyes.

"You're starting to sound more and more like your dad."

Yang Chenglong laughed: "You're starting to sound more and more like your grandfather."

They both laughed. The laughter carried far in the cold air, startling a flock of pigeons in the square.

The pigeons fluttered up, drew a circle in the gray sky, and then landed.

“I want to take a course next semester,” Ye Guigen suddenly said, “Agricultural Economics.”

Yang Chenglong was taken aback: "Aren't you studying finance?"

"You can learn finance anytime."

Ye Guigen pulled his scarf down a bit, revealing his nose. "But agricultural economics is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Our university's agricultural economics department is the best in the UK. The professor is an old man who worked in Africa for twenty years; he's a true practitioner."

Yang Chenglong looked at him, feeling a pang of emotion. Ye Guigen was the fourth-generation eldest son of the Ye family, the son of Ye Feng and Yi Fei, and the eldest grandson of Ye Yuze.

He grew up in a military reclamation town, heard stories from his great-grandfathers, and saw what the people of the Production and Construction Corps looked like. The qualities he possessed weren't taught; they grew in him naturally.

“I also want to choose a course,” Yang Chenglong said, “Rural Development Studies.”

Ye Guigen looked at him and smiled.

"Okay. Then we'll take it together next semester."

Meanwhile, 8,000 kilometers away in Junken City, Yang Wei was extremely busy.

The platform's plan has been approved. Thirty million yuan in funding has been secured, with the Ye family contributing fifteen million and the military consortium contributing fifteen million.

The shareholding structure will be arranged as Ayijiang suggested—the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps will hold 51%, the Ye family will hold 29%, and Yang Wei's team will receive 20% stock options.

Yang Wei set up his office in a small building in the military reclamation city development zone. The building was small, three stories high, and used to be a warehouse for the production and construction corps, which had been idle for several years.

Yang Wei, along with Zhang Jianjiang and several other young men, worked on painting the walls, laying floor tiles, and installing lights themselves. After half a month of work, they managed to transform a dilapidated warehouse into something presentable.

A sign hangs at the entrance: "Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps Agricultural Products Production and Marketing Integration Platform".

The sign was written by Yang Geyong. The old man's handwriting was crooked and messy, but Yang Wei couldn't bear to replace it. It was his father's sentiment.

The platform's first batch of employees consisted of only seven people.

Zhang Jianjiang is in charge of operations. He's Yang Wei's long-time partner; he might grumble a bit, but he's the most reliable at work.

Zhao Donglai is in charge of technology. He's a young man in his early thirties who returned from Beijing. He worked at Alibaba for three years and has excellent technical skills.

When asked why he returned to Junken City, he said, "In Beijing, I was just a coder. I can do something here."

Lin Xiaoyu is in charge of quality control. A graduate of an agricultural university, she worked at the livestock station for five years and has an excellent understanding of cattle and sheep breeds, feed, and diseases.

She helped Grandpa Habuli choose his sheep.

There are also three young people, all recent college graduates and children of the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps, who are willing to come back.

Yang Wei stood by the window of his second-floor office, looking down at the few people bustling about, and felt an indescribable sense of peace.

It was still cold outside the window, and the snow hadn't melted completely, but the sunlight shining on the snow was dazzling.

“Mr. Yang,” Lin Xiaoyu pushed open the door and came in, holding a stack of documents, “the second batch of sheep from Hongshan Ranch has been sold. They are even fatter than the first batch, with each sheep weighing an average of eight kilograms more.”

Yang Wei took the documents and looked at them. The numbers were there, clear and distinct.

The first batch of sheep was sold in Guangzhou for three times the price of the local price. The second batch was of even better quality than the first, and the price could be negotiated even higher.

"Have you contacted that restaurant in Guangzhou?"

"I contacted them. Their boss said that if the quality remains consistent, we can sign a long-term contract. Five thousand pieces a year."

Yang Wei did the math in his head. Five thousand units, at the current price, would generate fifteen million in sales.

Hongshan Ranch alone can achieve this number. If all thirty Hongshan Ranches were operational—

He didn't think any further. The number was too big, almost unreal.

“Xiaoyu,” he said, “keep an eye on quality control. Every single sheep has to pass through your hands. Not a single one that doesn’t meet the standards can be sent out.”

"clear."

After Lin Xiaoyu left, Yang Wei picked up the phone again and dialed a number.

"Uncle Ye, it's me. The second batch of sheep has been sold, and the quality is even better than the first batch. They want to sign a long-term contract in Guangzhou for 5,000 sheep a year."

On the other end of the phone, Ye Yuze's voice was a little hoarse, but with a smile: "Great. This shows you're on the right track."

"Uncle Ye, I want to expand the scale. Not just Hongshan Ranch, but I also want to bring in several other ranches in the surrounding area."

“Then let’s expand,” Ye Yuze said. “But there’s one rule—we can’t rush things. The platform is a bridge, and the bridge has to be stable. If the bridge is unstable, people who try to cross it will fall off.”

Yang Wei nodded: "I understand."

After hanging up the phone, he wrote a line in his notebook: "Expand the pilot program. Next target: Qingshuihe Ranch."

Qingshuihe Ranch is 120 kilometers east of Hongshan Ranch. The situation is similar to that of Hongshan Ranch—the grasslands are degraded, the sheep cannot be sold, and all the young people have left.

Yang Wei went there once; the road was even worse than that of Hongshan Ranch, and it took him four hours to get there.

He pulled out the information about Qingshuihe Ranch, looked at it for a long time, and then called Zhang Jianjiang.

"Jianjiang, come with me to Qingshuihe tomorrow."

"Again?" Zhang Jianjiang wailed on the other end of the phone. "Yang Wei, do you have a grudge against me? I just got back from Hongshan Ranch, and I haven't even had a chance to sit down properly!"

"Stop talking nonsense. We're leaving at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Okay, okay." Zhang Jianjiang hung up the phone.

Yang Wei smiled. He knew Zhang Jianjiang wouldn't really refuse. This guy was the most verbally abusive, but the most hardworking.

London, the afternoon of the second day.

Yang Chenglong and Ye Guigen went to the library together. The two found a seat by the window. Outside the window was an old oak tree, all its leaves gone, but its branches were thick and strong, like an open umbrella.

Yang Chenglong opened his notebook, where he had written down the message Yang Wei had sent him yesterday. His father rarely sent long messages, but yesterday he had sent a long one:

“Son, the platform has been approved. Thirty million, half from the Ye family and half from the military. Uncle Ye said he’d make me the general manager and gave me 20% stock options.”

“Dad isn’t cut out to be a boss, but I want to do this job well. You study hard outside, and I’ll work hard at home. Let’s improve together.”

Yang Chenglong's eyes welled up as he read these words. He remembered his childhood, when Yang Wei was always away, and he rarely saw him throughout the year. Back then, he didn't understand and thought his father didn't care about him. Now he understood. It wasn't that his father didn't care about him; it was that his father had too many people on his mind.

"What are you looking at?" Ye Guigen leaned closer.

Yang Chenglong handed him the phone. Ye Guigen read it and remained silent for a while.

“Your dad is a tough guy,” he said. “My grandpa said so. He said Uncle Yang Wei was the toughest person he’d ever met.”

Yang Chenglong put his phone away and looked out the window.

“When I was a child, I didn’t understand,” he said. “I felt that he didn’t care about me. But when I grew up, I realized that he did care about me, but he used the time he would have spent caring for me to care for many other people.”

Ye Guigen didn't reply. He lowered his head and flipped through his notebook.

Yang Chenglong glanced at it and saw that it was covered with notes written in both Chinese and English, with the title "Research on the Operation Model of Agricultural Cooperatives".

"Are you really learning this?"

"Really?" Ye Guigen looked up. "Didn't I tell you? I'll be taking agricultural economics next semester."

Does your grandfather know?

Ye Guigen thought for a moment and said, "I didn't tell him. But I think he would be happy."

Both of them fell silent. The library was quiet, save for the sound of turning pages and the distant buzzing of a printer.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on the table and on the hands of the two young people.

"Jackie Chan," Ye Guigen suddenly said, "do you think we should go back after graduation?"

Yang Chenglong didn't answer immediately. He thought for a moment and then said, "What about you?"

“I don’t know,” Ye Guigen said honestly. “London is great, with lots of opportunities and a large platform. But every time I walk down the street and see those gray skies and those bare trees, I think of the military reclamation town. I think of my grandfather’s study, my grandmother’s braised fish, and the tombstone on the back hill.”

Yang Chenglong knew he was referring to Yinhua's tombstone. Ye Yuze took his whole family to sweep the tomb every year during Qingming Festival, and Ye Guigen had known the story since he was a child.

“I want to go back,” Yang Chenglong said, “but not now. If I go back now, I won’t know anything. I need to learn something here, learn it thoroughly, and then go back.”

Ye Guigen looked at him and smiled.

“You’re right. We’re like bridge piers now, the foundation hasn’t been laid yet. The bridge can only be built once the foundation is laid.”

Yang Chenglong also laughed.

The metaphor of "bridge piers" came from Ye Yuze. Ye Yuze said that Yang Wei was the bridge, and these young people were the bridge piers. The bridge piers must be stable for the bridge to be stable.

“Let’s go,” Ye Guigen stood up, “Let’s go eat. It’s my treat. There’s a new restaurant called XJ near the school, I heard they have hand-pulled noodles.”

"Really?" Yang Chenglong's eyes lit up. "Let's go!"

The two packed their things and left the library. The sky outside was still overcast, but the wind had died down.

Ye Guigen rode his old bicycle, with Yang Chenglong sitting on the back. The two of them rode through the campus paths, past the clock tower, past the lawn, and past the old oak tree.

The bicycle chain made a clicking sound, like an old song.

Yang Chenglong sat on the back seat, watching the buildings on both sides recede into the distance. He suddenly remembered when he was a child, Yang Wei would take him for a ride on his motorcycle in the military reclamation city.

He was still a child then, sitting on the gas tank, holding the handlebars with both hands, the wind whistling against his face.

His father was very young then, with black hair and a straight back.

His father's hair has turned white, and his back is a little hunched. But his eyes are still bright.

He took out his phone and sent a message to Yang Wei.

"Dad, Guigen and I are going to eat. A new restaurant called XJ opened near the school; they have hand-pulled noodles. I'll eat a bowl for you."

A while later, a reply came.

"Okay. Eat more. Don't skimp on money."

Yang Chenglong looked at the words and smiled.

He put his phone in his pocket, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and hunched his shoulders in the back seat. The wind was still cold, but his heart was warm.

Ye Guigen, who was riding his bike ahead, suddenly turned around and shouted, "Hold on tight! We're going downhill!"

The bicycle sped downhill, its speed increasing suddenly. The wind whistled through his ears, and Yang Chenglong gripped the back seat tightly, shouting, "Slow down! Slow down!"

Ye Guigen ignored him and rode even faster.

The laughter of the two young people carried far under the gray London sky.

Military reclamation city, one week later.

Yang Wei returned from Qingshuihe Ranch and collapsed into a chair as soon as he entered the door. Zhang Jianjiang fared even worse, lying directly on the sofa, unable to even utter a word.

"How is it?" Yang Geyong brought in two bowls of milk tea.

Yang Wei sat up, took the bowl, and took a sip. The tea was salty and hot, warming him right up to his stomach.

“It’s settled,” he said. “The herders of Qingshuihe Ranch are willing to join the platform. There are 320 households and 12,000 sheep.”

Yang Geyong nodded without saying anything.

"But there are also many problems," Yang Wei continued:

"The road is even worse than that of Hongshan Ranch; trucks transporting sheep can't get in. We need to repair the road first, at least 20 kilometers long. And then there's the feed; the grasslands over there are even more severely degraded, so we need to increase our investment."

“Then let’s fix it,” Yang Geyong said. “Once the road is open, everything will be open.”

Yang Wei smiled wryly: "Road construction costs money. The platform's funds are already tight, and if we build roads, it will be even more insufficient."

Yang Geyong thought for a moment, then took out a card from his pocket and placed it on the table.

"Here's five million. It's from my own savings. It's not much, but you can use it first."

Yang Wei was stunned.

"Dad, this is your retirement money—"

"What retirement money?" Yang Geyong waved his hand. "I'm only in my sixties, it's not time for me to retire yet. You can take it. Those herders are waiting for you."

Yang Wei stared at the card in silence for a long time. Then he put it away and said:
"Dad, consider this a loan. I'll pay you back with interest once the platform makes money."

"What do you mean, 'repay'?" Yang Geyong glared at him. "I saved this for your mother. Your mother is the kind of person who only cares about work; she even donated her own money. I was afraid she wouldn't have money to spend when she gets old, so I saved this. Now you're doing something worthwhile, which is better than leaving it for her."

Yang Wei's eyes welled up with tears. He wanted to say something, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something.

"Alright," Yang Geyong stood up, "Stop dawdling. Drink your tea and go to bed early, you have a ton of things to do tomorrow."

Yang Wei nodded.

Yang Geyong walked to the door and then stopped.

“Wei Zi,” he said, “even though your mother isn’t around, she would be very happy if she knew what you’ve done.”

After saying that, he left.

Yang Wei sat alone in the living room, holding that bowl of milk tea, for a long time.

The snow outside the window has started falling again. It's fine and dense, glistening under the streetlights.

He took out his phone and sent a message to Yang Chenglong.

"Son, Dad accomplished something else today. Qingshuihe Ranch has also joined."

This time, the reply came quickly. Not with words, but with a photo.

In the photo, Yang Chenglong and Ye Guigen are sitting in a restaurant with two plates of hand-pulled noodles in front of them. They are smiling at the camera, their eyes narrowing into slits.

The photo was accompanied by the text: "Dad, the hand-pulled noodles were delicious. I ate two bowls for you."

Yang Wei looked at the photo and smiled.

He put down his phone and walked to the window. The snow outside was falling heavier and heavier, but the light from the streetlights was warm.

In the distance, the outline of the mountain behind was faintly visible in the snowy night.

He recalled Ye Yuze's words: "The purpose of a bridge is not to stand on it, but to let people walk across it."

He recalled what Habuli had said: "It's not that you should, it's that you're willing."

He recalled Yang Geyong's words: "You are doing a great job now."

He stood by the window for a long time.

Then he turned around, turned off the light, and lay down on the bed.

The snow was still falling, but his heart was warm.

Spring is really almost here. (End of Chapter)