Great Power Reclamation

In June, London finally felt like summer.

The sunlight is no longer the soft, tentative warmth of spring, but a real, substantial heat that feels heavy on the skin.

The lawn on campus was filled with students sunbathing, shirtless and wearing sunglasses, looking like a group of lazy seals.

But Ye Guigen and Yang Chenglong didn't have time to sunbathe. Summer classes had begun.

The agricultural economics classroom was on the third floor of the old teaching building, a small lecture hall filled with about twenty people.

Professor Sachs stood on the podium, wearing a short-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his tanned forearms.

"Today we'll be discussing real-world case studies of agricultural development in Africa,"

Professor Sachs distributed a stack of materials. “This is a survey I conducted in Tanzania in 2018. You have one week to write a 3,000-word analysis report. There is only one requirement for the report: propose your solution.”

The classroom was silent for a few seconds, then someone raised their hand.

"Professor, is this done individually or in a group?"

"personal."

Someone else raised their hand: "What are the scoring criteria?"

Professor Sachs glanced at the student, a blond British boy wearing an expensive polo shirt with the collar turned up.

"The standard is: can your solution be used in Tanzania?"

The blond boy paused for a moment. "But we've never been to Tanzania."

“So you need to use your brain,” Professor Sachs said. “Otherwise, what do you think university is for? Just for memorizing?”

Some people in the classroom chuckled. The blond boy's face flushed slightly, but he didn't say anything more.

Ye Guigen sat in the third row by the window, flipping through the document. It described a small village in Tanzania with three hundred farmers who grew corn and cassava.

The problems are: low production, poor sales, and no processing capacity. The materials include data, photos, and interview records; it's a thick stack of over forty pages.

He started reading. He read very intently, his brows furrowed slightly, his lips moving unconsciously, as if he were silently reciting something.

Yang Chenglong sat next to him, also reading, but noticeably slower. His reading habits were ingrained from childhood—reading word by word, not missing a single detail. This made him thorough, but it also made him slow.

Ye Guigen is different. He scans things quickly, his eyes sweeping across the paper, but he doesn't miss a single important point. This is what Ye Yuze taught him—look at the framework first, then the details; if the framework is right, the details won't go astray.

Ye Guigen finished reading the forty-odd pages of material in forty minutes. Yang Chenglong read about two-thirds of it.

"Have you finished reading?" Yang Chenglong asked in a low voice.

"Ah."

"How about it?"

“Interesting. The situation in this village is somewhat similar to that of Red Mountain Ranch. Both are remote areas, and both have agricultural products that cannot be sold. But the situation in Africa is more complicated—the climate, soil, and infrastructure are all worse than in Red Mountain Ranch.”

Yang Chenglong nodded and continued watching.

After class, the two walked out of the teaching building. The sunlight was dazzling, and Ye Guigen took out a pair of sunglasses from his bag and put them on.

"When did you buy these sunglasses?" Yang Chenglong asked.

“It was a gift from Elizabeth. She said it’s an Italian brand, but I don’t know anything about it.” Ye Guigen adjusted his glasses. “Does it look good?”

"Like a spoiled brat."

"I am a spoiled brat," Ye Guigen laughed. "Let's go eat."

The two walked towards the restaurant. They passed a lawn where several people were sitting and chatting.

One of them was the blond boy in the polo shirt in class, and there were three or four other people next to him. Judging from their clothes and appearance, they were not ordinary people.

"Hey, Chinese!" the blond boy shouted.

Ye Guigen stopped and turned around.

"Your name is Ye Guigen, right?" The blond boy stood up, brushed the grass clippings off his pants, and walked over. He was very tall, over 1.8 meters, a head taller than Ye Guigen.

His face wore a half-smile, not a provocation, but not a friendliness either; it was more like an assessment.

“I am William Astor. My father is the chairman of the Astor Corporation.”

Ye Guigen nodded. "Hello."

“You read the materials very quickly in class just now,” William said. “Forty pages, finished in forty minutes. Did you really understand them?”

"I've gotten into it."

William chuckled. "Are you sure? That's Professor Sachs's case study; you can't just flip through it and understand it."

Yang Chenglong stood to the side, silent. He could sense something in William's tone—not a question, but a test.

A common way for the children of wealthy families to test each other, to see if the other is a mule or a horse.

Ye Guigen smiled too. "How long have you been watching?"

William's expression stiffened slightly. "An hour and a half."

“Then you should know more than I do,” Ye Guigen said. “If I can’t write it later, I’ll ask you for advice.”

That was a perfectly worded statement. It neither directly addressed the provocation nor prevented the other party from making a graceful exit. William paused for a moment, then smiled.

“Sure. You’re welcome anytime.” He extended his hand and shook hands with Ye Guigen. “There’s a party tonight at a private club in Covent Garden. It’s mostly classmates from school. Want to come?”

Ye Guigen thought for a moment. "Okay. What time?"

"Eight o'clock. I'll have someone send you the address."

"it is good."

William turned and walked back to the group of people on the lawn. Ye Guigen and Yang Chenglong continued walking towards the restaurant.

"Why do you want to go?" Yang Chenglong asked.

“Let’s go take a look,” Ye Guigen said. “My grandfather used to say, ‘Know yourself and know your enemy.’ These people will either be partners or rivals in the future. It’s better to get to know them sooner rather than later.”

“What you just said was quite good. ‘I’ll ask you for advice later’—by putting down your airs, he actually had no choice but to remain silent.”

Ye Guigen smiled. "My grandfather taught me that. He said, when dealing with people, don't rush to show your fists. Give way three steps first, and then show your fists when it's time."

"What happens after the third step?"

"After three steps, we'll see if he's sensible or not."

The two entered the restaurant and each ordered lunch. Ye Guigen ordered a sandwich and coffee, while Yang Chenglong ordered rice and curry chicken.

"Tell me," Yang Chenglong said while eating, "how do you plan to write about the Tanzanian case?"

Ye Guigen took a bite of the sandwich, chewed it, and said:

“I haven’t decided yet. But I think the key is not agricultural technology, but the way it’s organized. The problem in that village is, on the surface, low yield and poor sales, but in reality, it’s because no one is taking the lead.”

“Three hundred farmers, each doing their own thing, can’t form a cohesive force. If we can form a cooperative, with unified procurement, sales, and processing, we can achieve economies of scale.”

Yang Chenglong put down his chopsticks and looked at him. "You've only been watching for forty minutes."

"I thought of it after I finished reading it," Ye Guigen said matter-of-factly.

“Isn’t that exactly what Red Mountain Ranch does? The platform your dad built is essentially a large cooperative. I just moved that model to Tanzania.”

Yang Chenglong paused for a moment. “You’re right. But what I’m thinking about is the issue of feed and varieties. The data says that their corn varieties have degenerated severely, and the yield is only half of the potential yield. If we can introduce new varieties, the yield can double.”

“That makes sense,” Ye Guigen said. “Your perspective is from a technical standpoint, while mine is from an organizational standpoint. The two perspectives are not contradictory and can be combined.”

Yang Chenglong nodded. He had to admit that Ye Guigen's thinking was faster than his. It wasn't a matter of intelligence, but a matter of mindset.

The children taught by Ye Yuze never look at problems from the perspective of "how to do this well", but rather "what is the framework of this matter? If the framework is right, the details will naturally follow."

The children taught by Yang Wei are those who start with details and solve problems one by one, which is solid but slow.

After finishing lunch, the two returned to their respective dormitories.

At 8 p.m., Ye Guigen arrived at the private club in Covent Garden on time.

The clubhouse is located in a small alley. From the outside, it looks like an ordinary Georgian-style row house with red brick walls, white window frames, and two brass lamps hanging at the door.

But once you push open the door, you're greeted by a completely different world—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and several paintings on the walls whose authenticity is hard to discern.

William was waiting for him at the door, next to a boy with an Asian face, wearing a black Versace shirt and with his hair slicked back.

“Ye Guigen, let me introduce you,” William said. “This is Wang Haoran, from Singapore. His father is a director of DBS Bank.”

Wang Haoran extended his hand and shook hands with Ye Guigen. The handshake was firm, neither too strong nor too weak, just right—clearly someone who had practiced.

“Returning to one’s roots,” Wang Haoran said, “I have long admired your name.”

"Have you heard of me?"

"Of course. The eldest grandson of the fourth generation of the Ye family, the son of Ye Feng, and the grandson of Ye Yuze. Who hasn't heard of the Ye family of Junken City?"

Ye Guigen smiled but didn't reply.

Three people walked into the hall. There were already more than a dozen people inside, sitting in twos and threes, chatting and holding wine glasses.

There were men and women of all skin colors, dressed in different ways, but they all shared a common quality—the quality of someone who grew up in a privileged environment and never had to worry about money.

William showed Ye Guigen around and introduced him to a few people. One was from Russia; his family was in the energy business.
One is from Brazil, whose family owns the world's largest iron ore company; the other is from Saudi Arabia, whose name contains the character "Ben," and you can tell what kind of background he has just by hearing it.

There was also a French girl named Emily DuPont, whose family was in the luxury goods business, the same DuPont as Louis Vuitton.

She wore a white dress, her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her features were as delicate as a porcelain doll.

"You're Ye Guigen?" Emily looked at him and said in French-accented English, with a languid tone:

"William just said you finished reading Professor Sachs's materials in forty minutes of class. Is that true?"

"real."

"Then you're better than me. I studied it for two hours." She picked up her wine glass and took a sip. "How do you plan to write it?"

"I haven't decided yet."

“Don’t be modest.” Emily smiled. “You Chinese always say ‘I haven’t thought about it yet,’ but you’ve actually thought about it a long time ago.”

Ye Guigen was a little embarrassed that she had hit the nail on the head.

“Okay,” he said, “my general idea is to set up a cooperative. We’ll organize three hundred farmers together, with unified purchasing, sales, and processing. This way, we can lower costs and raise prices.”

After hearing this, Emily tilted her head and glanced at him.

“Interesting. I think it’s different from yours. I think the key is infrastructure. That village doesn’t even have a decent road. How are the agricultural products transported out? We need to build the road first, then we can talk about other things.”

“Roads need to be built,” Ye Guigen said, “but building roads costs money. Who will pay for it? The government? NGOs? Or private capital? Even if someone pays for the roads, if the way farmers are organized doesn’t change, they will still be poor.”

Emily thought for a moment. "You have a point. But can the cooperative model work in Africa? Trust is very expensive in Africa, and tribal and family conflicts are very complex."

“Whether it will work or not depends on how it is implemented,” Ye Guigen said. “I saw a similar case in North Africa. A village started a photovoltaic agriculture project, and at first no one believed in anyone else. Later, they started with a small pilot project, with ten households doing it first. Once it was successful, others naturally followed suit.”

Emily looked at him, and there was something new in her eyes—not the politeness of a social occasion, but genuine interest.

North Africa? You've been to North Africa?

"I went there. Last year."

"doing what?"

"A photovoltaic agriculture project. It helped build a solar power station for a village to pump water for irrigation."

Emily was silent for a moment. "How old are you?"

"nineteen."

“I’m twenty.” She picked up her glass and clinked it against his. “You’re very capable.”

“You’re very capable too,” Ye Guigen said.

The two looked at each other and smiled.

Just then, a voice came from the side.

"Oh, isn't this the eldest young master of the Ye family?"

Ye Guigen turned his head. A young man in a white suit walked over, holding a glass of champagne, with a half-smile on his face. He was Chinese, or rather, of Chinese descent; not tall, but very arrogant.

“Let me introduce myself,” he said. “I am Liu Zixuan. My father is the chairman of the Liu Group.”

The Liu Group. Ye Guigen knew of this family. They were the largest palm oil producer in Southeast Asia, with operations spanning Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines. They also had substantial investments in China and had interacted with the Ye family a few times, but they weren't exactly friends.

"Hello." Ye Guigen extended his hand.

Liu Zixuan didn't shake hands, but instead looked him up and down.

“Returning to one’s roots,” he said. “I heard you started a fund in London called ‘Cornerstone and Wings’? Is it investing in African agricultural projects?”

"Correct."

“Do you know what my dad said?” Liu Zixuan took a sip of champagne. “He said that people who invest in African agriculture are either fools or saints. Which one are you?”

The hall was silent for a few seconds. Several people turned to look at them.

Emily frowned, as if she wanted to say something, but Ye Guigen spoke first.

What else did your dad say?

Liu Zixuan was taken aback, not expecting him to ask that question.

He said...African agriculture is politically risky, has high credit risk, and poor infrastructure; nine times out of ten, the money invested will go down the drain.

“Your father is right,” Ye Guigen said. “African agriculture does indeed have these problems.”

"Then why did you still vote?"

"Because high-risk areas also offer high returns," Ye Guigen said. "But not everyone has that vision."

Liu Zixuan's expression changed. "What do you mean?"

“What I mean is,” Ye Guigen said slowly, picking up his glass, taking a sip, and speaking deliberately:

"Your father is in the palm oil business. He's been deeply involved in Southeast Asia for thirty years. What did he rely on? He entered the market earlier than others. When he went to Indonesia thirty years ago, people said he was foolish. But look at him now. The Liu Group is the largest palm oil producer in Southeast Asia."

Liu Zixuan opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"The current state of agriculture in Africa is similar to that in Southeast Asia thirty years ago."

Ye Guigen continued, “The risks are high, but the opportunities are also high. Whoever gets in first will reap the rewards. Your father understands this principle. He dared to go to Indonesia back then, and I dare to go to Africa now. We are the same kind of people.”

Liu Zixuan's face turned pale and then flushed. He wanted to argue, but couldn't find a reason.

Because everything Ye Guigen said was true. His father did indeed start from scratch in Indonesia and was among the earliest Chinese entrepreneurs to invest in Southeast Asia.

“So,” Ye Guigen put down his wine glass, “don’t try to pressure me with your dad’s words. If your dad knew what I’ve done, he’d probably praise me.”

He smiled, turned around, and left.

Emily followed, a look of disbelief on her face.

“You were amazing just now,” she said.

“It’s nothing,” Ye Guigen said. “His father and my grandfather were old acquaintances. I met his father once when I was a child; he was a very shrewd old man. His son is far inferior.”

"You know his father?"

“Not really. But my grandfather knows him,” Ye Guigen said. “My grandfather said that the owner of the Liu Group is one of the most business-savvy Chinese in Southeast Asia. It’s a pity that his son isn’t so good at it.”

Emily laughed. "You're quite an interesting person."

The two walked to a corner of the hall and found a sofa to sit down. William brought over two glasses of wine and handed one to Ye Guigen.

"Are you at odds with Liu Zixuan?" William asked.

"He started the trouble first."

“I know. That’s just how he is, always talking nonsense.” William sat down. “But what you just said was brilliant. ‘If your dad knew what I did, he’d probably praise me’—that’s something he’ll remember for the rest of his life.”

Ye Guigen smiled but didn't say anything. "However," William said, "be careful. Liu Zixuan is petty. If you embarrass him today, he'll definitely find a chance to retaliate."

"Let him be," Ye Guigen said.

William looked at him, his eyes showing a newfound respect.

“Alright,” he raised his glass, “to you. You dare to do what you believe is right.”

The three of them clinked glasses.

After the party, Ye Guigen took a taxi back to his dormitory. Sitting in the car, he took out his phone and sent a message to Yang Chenglong.

"Someone tried to cause trouble today. I shut them down."

"Who?"

"Liu Zixuan. From the Liu Group. The one in Southeast Asia."

"How did you respond?"

Ye Guigen recounted the events in general terms.

Yang Chenglong's reply came. "What would your grandfather say if he found out?"

Ye Guigen thought for a moment. "He would say, 'Good for him. But don't do it again next time. Let him run into a wall.'"

"So, will you still argue next time?"

"It depends on my mood."

Yang Chenglong sent a laughing-crying emoji.

Ye Guigen leaned back in his seat, gazing at the London nightscape outside the car window. Neon lights flowed across the window, red, green, and blue, like a colorful river.

He suddenly realized that this kind of life wasn't so bad. Attending classes, arguing with people, working on projects, dealing with all sorts of people. Not everything was meaningful, but everything was interesting.

If Ye Guigen's "slap in the face" relied on intelligence and eloquence, then Yang Chenglong's "slap in the face" relied on fists—but not physically, but academically.

The incident occurred a week later during summer classes.

Professor Sachs asked everyone to submit preliminary proposals for the Tanzanian case, and each person was to speak for five minutes.

This is Ye Guigen's forte; he has spoken on various occasions since childhood, and he is particularly adept at it in the classrooms of the London School of Economics.

He walked up to the podium, opened the PowerPoint presentation, and began to speak calmly.

“My plan is to establish agricultural cooperatives. The framework consists of three steps: First, select ten pilot farmers, provide them with technical training and high-quality seeds, and purchase them at a price 20% higher than the market price after the yield increases.”

"The second step is to use the successful cases of pilot farmers to drive the whole village and expand the scale of the cooperative."

"The third step is to establish small processing plants to process corn into products such as cornmeal and corn oil, thereby increasing added value."

He switched to a different slide in the PowerPoint presentation, which featured a chart.

“I’ve done the math. Following this model, the income of pilot farmers can double in the first year. In the third year, the average income of all 300 households in the village can increase by 150%. In the fifth year, after the processing plant goes into production, the income can increase by another 50%.”

He finished speaking. The entire presentation lasted five minutes, no more, no less, with a perfect pace. The PowerPoint presentation was beautifully designed, with clear charts and a tight logical structure.

A round of applause filled the classroom. Professor Sachs nodded, a slight smile appearing on his face—this was quite rare.

“Very good,” he said. “Solid data, clear logic, and high feasibility. Next.”

The next few people also spoke well, but compared to Ye Guigen, they all fell short. William's plan was a conventional one: infrastructure first, building roads, warehouses, and introducing logistics companies.

Emily's plan is to brand the corn, packaging it as "organic African corn" and selling it in high-end supermarkets in Europe.

Then it was Yang Chenglong's turn.

He walked up to the podium and opened the PowerPoint presentation. The first page was simple, with only one line: "From Seed to Table - The Restructuring of Tanzania's Maize Supply Chain".

He took a deep breath and began to speak.

“My proposal is similar to Ye Guigen’s, both emphasizing cooperatives. But I’m more focused on the technology side.”

"According to the information provided by Professor Sachs, the corn yield in this village is only half of its potential yield. There are two reasons for this: first, the variety has degenerated, and second, the soil fertility has declined."

He turned to the second page, where there was a form.

“I checked the information and found that the Tanzanian Agricultural Research Institute released a new variety in 2017 called ‘Tanzania White Maize No. 2’, which has a 40% higher yield than local varieties.”

"Moreover, it is drought-resistant and resistant to pests and diseases. However, the adoption rate of this new variety is very low because farmers in this village have no way to obtain it."

"My plan is: First, contact the Tanzanian Agricultural Research Institute to obtain seeds and technical support."

"The second step is to establish a soil improvement demonstration area in the village, replace chemical fertilizers with green manure and organic fertilizers, and restore soil fertility in two to three years."

"The third step is to promote the new varieties and soil improvement technologies to the whole village."

He turned to the third page, where there was a diagram depicting a closed loop.

"This closed loop starts with seeds and soil and ends with the market. The cooperative is responsible for unified seed procurement, unified technical guidance, and unified sales."

"The processing plant is responsible for processing corn into high-value-added products. Branding and operation will sell the products to urban markets. A portion of the profits will be returned to farmers, and another portion will be invested in research and development and soil improvement."

He glanced at his watch; there was still one minute left.

"Finally, I want to emphasize one point. The core of this plan is not funding or technology, but people. If these 300 farmers don't believe this plan can succeed, then everything is for nothing."

"So the first step is not to distribute seeds or build processing plants, but to squat down, sit with them, and listen to what they have to say."

He finished speaking.

The classroom was silent for about three seconds. Then Professor Sachs was the first to applaud.

“Very good,” he said. “A very good plan. Especially the last point—‘squat down and sit with them’—that’s the best development economics principle I’ve ever heard.”

He stood up and walked up to Yang Chenglong.

"What's your name?"

"Yang Chenglong".

“Yang Chenglong,” Professor Sachs said, “have you been involved in agricultural projects before?”

Yang Chenglong hesitated for a moment. "My father ran an agricultural product sales platform in Northwest China, helping herders sell their sheep. I learned a lot from him."

Professor Sachs nodded. "No wonder. What you're talking about isn't something you learned from books. It's something you did."

Yang Chenglong stepped down from the podium and returned to his seat. Ye Guigen gave him a thumbs-up from the side.

“Impressive,” Ye Guigen said in a low voice, “Your concept of ‘from seed to table’ is better than mine.”

“Each has its own merits,” Yang Chenglong said.

After class, several people gathered around Yang Chenglong to chat. William patted him on the shoulder.

"Brother, well said. That point about 'crouching down' is brilliant."

Emily also came over. "Yang Chenglong, your plan is very solid. It's better than mine. My branding strategy is just castles in the air."

“Each has its own focus,” Yang Chenglong said. “Your branding strategy is correct, but it needs to be more grounded in reality.”

The group chatted for a while, then dispersed.

Yang Chenglong and Ye Guigen walked out of the teaching building together.

“You spoke very well today,” Ye Guigen said, “especially the last part. It wasn’t from the book; it was your own idea.”

“My dad taught me that,” Yang Chenglong said. “He told me that the most important thing in doing agricultural projects is not accounting, but sitting down with the farmers.”

"They'll only tell you the truth once you sit down. Only then will you know where the problem lies."

Ye Guigen nodded. "Your dad is a good teacher."

"Your grandfather was too."

The two reached a fork in the road. Ye Guigen stopped.

"Tomorrow's the weekend, want to come to my place for dinner? Hans said he wants to research Xinjiang cuisine and make big plate chicken."

"Can he do it?"

“I don’t know. But he said he has the recipe, accurate to the gram.”

Yang Chenglong smiled. "Okay. I'll go."

Yang Chenglong returned to his dormitory, sat on his bed, and took out his phone to send a message to Yang Wei.

“Dad, we talked about the Tanzanian case in class today. I used what you taught me. The professor said it was very good.”

The reply came very quickly.

"What did he say?"

Yang Chenglong gave a brief overview of the plan.

Yang Wei's reply was a voice message. He clicked to listen; Yang Wei's voice sounded tired, but with a smile.

“Son, you’re better than your dad. Dad can only do things, not talk. You can do both, so you’ll definitely be more successful than me in the future.”

Yang Chenglong listened to it twice, then put the phone next to his pillow.

He remembered when he was a child, Yang Wei was always away, and he would only see him a few times a 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.

And those people are now living better lives because of his platform.

He closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

When Yang Chenglong arrived at Ye Guigen's dormitory on Saturday noon, the kitchen was already a mess.

Hans was wearing a German flag apron, and in front of him were three cookbooks, an electronic scale, a stack of measuring cups and spoons, and a huge iron pot.

His face was covered in flour and his hair was scrambled with scallions, but his expression was extremely serious, as if he were conducting a scientific experiment.

"Are you cooking or dismantling the kitchen?" Yang Chenglong stood at the door, looking at the table full of ingredients and tools.

"Big Plate Chicken," Hans said without looking up, "I studied it for three days, combined six recipes, and found the best one."

Ye Guigen sat on the sofa in the living room, holding a book on development economics, but he clearly couldn't concentrate on reading it.

He glanced toward the kitchen every now and then, his expression a mixture of anticipation and worry.

"Do you think he can do it?" Yang Chenglong sat down next to him.

"I don't know. But he was still marinating chicken in the kitchen at three o'clock last night."

Ye Guigen lowered his voice, “I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and saw him standing in front of the stove, muttering ‘five grams of salt, three grams of sugar, ten milliliters of soy sauce.’ I thought he was sleepwalking.”

Yang Chenglong suppressed a laugh.

“And another thing,” Ye Guigen continued, “he made a special trip to the Arab supermarket in the East District to buy chili peppers and cumin from northern Xinjiang, which took him two hours round trip.”

"Commendable spirit."

"I just don't know how it tastes."

Forty minutes later, Hans came out carrying a large iron pot and placed it in the center of the dining table.

The pot contained a large plate of braised chicken—chicken, potatoes, green peppers, red peppers, and wide noodles. The colors were well-matched, and the aroma was indeed enticing.

"Please try it." Hans stood to the side, like a student waiting for an examiner to grade him.

The three of them sat down. Ye Guigen picked up a piece of chicken, put it in his mouth, and chewed it.

There was a three-second silence.

"How is it?" Hans asked, his voice a little nervous.

Ye Guigen swallowed the food and picked up another piece of potato.

“To be honest,” he said, “it’s better than the XJ restaurant next to the school.”

Hans's eyes lit up.

"Really?"

"Really. The chicken is very tender and flavorful. It's just a little spicy."

“I added the chili peppers according to the recipe,” Hans said. “Xinjiang Dapanji is supposed to be spicy.”

Yang Chenglong also picked up a piece and tasted it. "It's really delicious. Hans, you could open a restaurant."

Hans sat down, a look of relief on his face.

“I finally understand,” he said. “You Chinese people’s ‘a little’ and ‘appropriate amount’ are not imprecise, but a higher level of precision. It relies on experience, intuition and on-site judgment. This is something that machines cannot replace.”

“You’ve finally figured it out,” Ye Guigen said.

The three of them started eating. The portion of big plate chicken was huge, and it took them half an hour to finish it. In the end, Hans even used the remaining broth to mix a bowl of rice, which he ate clean.

After dinner, Hans went to wash the dishes. Ye Guigen and Yang Chenglong sat in the living room, the sunlight streaming in through the window, warm and inviting, making them feel sleepy.

"Jackie Chan," Ye Guigen said, "have you finished your report?"

"Not yet. It's still being revised."

"I'm making changes too. Professor Sachs has very high standards."

The two remained silent for a while.

“Going back to our roots,” Yang Chenglong suddenly said, “Do you think we’ll really go back to Junken City in the future?”

Ye Guigen thought for a moment. "I don't know. But I feel that no matter where we are, Junken City will always be in our hearts."

Yang Chenglong nodded.

“Sometimes I think,” he said, “that my grandfather’s generation really had it so tough. They had nothing and had to rely on themselves for everything. We have everything now, but sometimes we don’t know which way to go.”

"That's because their path was forged through experience, while our path was already laid out."

Ye Guigen said, "A ready-made road is easy to walk, but once you've walked it, you don't know how far you've gone. You remember every step of the road you walk yourself."

Yang Chenglong looked at him. "When did you become so eloquent?"

Ye Guigen laughed. "Probably after eating Hans's big plate chicken."

The two laughed for a while. Then they fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

The sunlight outside the window moved slowly, from one end to the other. The dormitory was quiet, with only the sound of water as Hans washed dishes in the kitchen and the occasional laughter from the distant campus.

“Jackie Chan,” Ye Guigen said, “what is your grandfather doing now?”

Yang Chenglong checked his watch. Junken City is seven hours behind London; it should be evening there.

"Probably walking his horse in the yard. Or playing chess with Grandpa Ye."

"My grandfather never beat your grandfather at chess."

"That's because your grandfather is accommodating to him."

They both laughed.

The sunlight shone on their young faces, on their clean shirts, and on the cell phones and laptops on the table.

Outside the window, the London sky was a deep, clear blue, with a few white clouds drifting slowly by.

Days passed by like this.

Teaching classes, writing reports, working on projects, attending parties, and interacting with all sorts of people. Ye Guigen became increasingly adept in the classroom, while Yang Chenglong's reports became more and more solid.

The two of them gradually found their rhythm in their studies in London.

Not everything goes smoothly, but everything is moving forward.

Just like Ye Yuze said: The road ahead is long, but there's no rush.

(To be continued) (End of this chapter)