Great Power Reclamation

In July, it gets dark very late in London.

At nine o'clock in the evening, the sun had just set, and a touch of orange-red remained on the horizon, like someone had casually smeared a line of paint with a brush.

The streets of SoHo are bustling with activity. Bars, restaurants, and nightclubs stand side by side, their neon lights illuminating the entire street in a vibrant display of red, blue, and purple.

Ye Guigen was summoned by William.

"Come to SoHo, there's a newly opened bar. The owner is Italian and his bartending is top-notch."

William's voice on the phone carried an irresistible enthusiasm: "Call your friend, Yang Chenglong, and come along."

Ye Gui had no intention of going. He was revising his report on Tanzania, and even on the third draft, Professor Sachs was still not satisfied.

But he glanced out the window; London was enjoying rare good weather, and it would seem a shame not to go out and enjoy the summer.

He made a phone call to Yang Chenglong.

"Come out. SoHo. William's treating."

"No, I'm reading."

What books are you reading?

Rural Development Studies. Chapter Seven.

"Let's see tomorrow. We'll come out tonight."

"Don't go."

“Then I’ll tell Hans that you’re not going, and he’ll ask you every day why you’re not going.”

There was a three-second silence on the other end of the phone.

"...I'll change my clothes."

Yang Chenglong arrived wearing a plain gray T-shirt and jeans.

Ye Guigen was also dressed casually, in a black polo shirt, dark blue casual pants, and a pair of clean white sneakers.

Standing together, the two men looked like ordinary college students. But if someone looked closely at the watch on Ye Guigen's wrist and the craftsmanship of Yang Chenglong's shoes, they would know that these two were not so ordinary.

However, they themselves don't care about these things.

William had booked a semi-open private room on the second floor of the bar, with a view of the entire lobby on the first floor.

There were already seven or eight people in the private room, men and women, all familiar faces: Emily, Wang Haoran, and a few others whom I had seen at the last gathering.

"You're here!" William stood up, shook hands with Ye Guigen, and nodded to Yang Chenglong. "Sit down. What would you like to drink?"

"Beer will do," Ye Guigen said.

“Me too,” Yang Chenglong said.

William frowned. "Drinking beer in a place like this? Never mind, I'll order for you."

He turned to the waiter and said a few words in Italian. The waiter nodded and left.

Soon, the drinks arrived. Not beer, but two beautifully colored cocktails, one deep red and the other pale gold, each rimmed with a thin slice of orange peel and a cherry.

“This is called Negroni Sbagliato,” William said. “My favorite. Try it.”

Ye Guigen picked up the glass and took a sip. Bitter, sweet, and strong flavors were mixed together, a bit pungent, but with a pleasant aftertaste.

“It’s delicious,” he said.

Yang Chenglong also took a sip and nodded.

The group started chatting. They talked about courses, reports, and their summer plans.

Emily is going to Morocco to conduct a research project on female artisans.

Wang Haoran is going back to Singapore to intern at his father's bank. William is going to the south of France, where his family owns a villa.

"And you?" William asked Ye Guigen.

“I might go to Kenya. It’s time for the mid-year evaluation of the fund’s microcredit project, and I need to go there in person.”

“Kenya?” William raised an eyebrow. “Is that place safe?”

"It's alright. I have someone to meet me."

William nodded and didn't ask any more questions. He roughly knew what Ye Guigen meant by "someone to meet him"—he had heard about the Ye family's influence in Africa.

Just as the atmosphere was getting right, a commotion broke out at the stairwell.

Several people walked up. Leading the way was a young man with an Asian face, wearing a white linen suit with a black silk shirt underneath, the top two buttons of his collar undone, revealing a thin gold chain.

He was followed by three or four people, men and women, all dressed very elegantly.

Ye Guigen recognized him. Liu Zixuan.

Liu Zixuan also saw them. His gaze swept around the private room, finally landing on Ye Guigen, and the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

"Oh, Young Master Ye. We meet again."

Ye Guigen nodded. "Young Master Liu."

Liu Zixuan walked over and stood at the entrance of the private room, his hands in his pockets, looking rather lazy.

"What, you didn't bring your Africa project to talk today?" His tone was barbed.

"Or is today about your microfinance business in Kenya? Is a project worth tens of thousands of dollars worth flying all the way there in person?"

The private room fell silent for a few seconds. Several people's gazes darted back and forth between Ye Guigen and Liu Zixuan.

Ye Guigen picked up his wine glass, took a sip, and said slowly:
"A project worth tens of thousands of dollars isn't really that big. But if someone needs it, I'll do it. What have you been busy with lately, Mr. Liu? Are you still helping your father manage that palm oil business?"

The subtext of this statement is obvious: You're still relying on your dad, but I'm already doing things on my own.

Liu Zixuan's expression changed slightly, but he quickly recovered.

"What's wrong with me helping my dad manage his business? The Liu Group has an annual revenue of two hundred billion US dollars, and I manage the largest palm oil refinery in Southeast Asia. What about you? How big is your fund? Two million? Three million?"

"Two million," Ye Guigen said calmly.

"Two million?" Liu Zixuan laughed loudly, deliberately making sure everyone around could hear.

"A two-million-dollar project, is that something you talk about every day? The Ye family is a world-class family, how come in your generation, it's become all about charity?"

Someone in the private room chuckled.

Yang Chenglong sat to the side, holding a wine glass, without saying a word.

But he tapped his fingers lightly on the side of the cup twice, a habit he had when he was nervous.

Ye Guigen glanced at Liu Zixuan, his eyes calm, but Yang Chenglong knew that beneath that calm lay a fire.

“Young Master Liu,” Ye Guigen said, “do you know what my grandfather said about your father?”

Liu Zixuan was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

He said that the owner of the Liu Group is one of the most business-savvy Chinese in Southeast Asia. When he went to Indonesia, he was penniless and had nothing. But he dared to venture out, dared to work hard, and dared to take root in places that others dared not go. It took him thirty years to build the Liu Group that it is today.

He paused.

“But your father dared to go to Indonesia in the 1980s. What was Indonesia like then? Anti-Chinese sentiment, coups, and economic collapse. Your father settled down in that environment not because of the family’s money, but because of his own courage.”

Liu Zixuan's face turned ugly. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but Ye Guigen didn't give him the chance.

"The suit you're wearing now is Armani, right? Your dad at your age was wearing shirts he bought from street stalls."

"You're drinking champagne that costs three thousand yuan a bottle, while your dad at your age was drinking beer that cost one yuan a bottle on the street."

Ye Guigen stood up, holding his wine glass, and walked up to Liu Zixuan.

“You said my fund is small, two million dollars. Yes, it is small. But this money was not given to me by my grandfather, I earned it myself.”

"The North African project was unprofitable last year, but it's started to turn a profit this year. The Kenya project has an annualized return of 12%. It's not a huge amount, but every penny is clean and every penny is spent where it's needed."

He looked into Liu Zixuan's eyes.

"Young Master Liu, how long have you been helping your father manage that refinery? Three years? Five years? Tell me, what is the profit margin of that factory? How many employees does it have? What is its market share?"

Liu Zixuan's face flushed red. "This data is a trade secret..."

“You don’t know,” Ye Guigen finished for him. “Your father put you in charge of that factory because you’re his son, not because you know anything about it. You’re in that position because your surname is Liu, not because you’re capable.”

The bar fell completely silent. Even the music from downstairs seemed distant.

Liu Zixuan's face went from red to white, then from white to green. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“Returning to one’s roots,” he squeezed out through gritted teeth, “don’t go too far.”

"I went too far?" Ye Guigen laughed, but there was no warmth in his smile.

"You started this trouble first. Last time at the gathering, you said people who invest in African agriculture are fools. Today you come again and say I'm doing charity. Liu Zixuan, do you think the Ye family is easy to bully?"

Liu Zixuan remained silent. The people behind him also fell silent; no one dared to utter a sound.

“I’m telling you,” Ye Guigen’s voice wasn’t loud, but every word was clear:
“The Ye family doesn’t cause trouble, but they’re not afraid of trouble either. You think your Liu family is rich? Yes, they are. But your father has to call my grandfather ‘Brother Ye.’ Your father owes my grandfather a debt that could last three lifetimes.”

He picked up his glass and drank the rest of the wine in one gulp.

"This drink is on me today. Next time we meet, please be more polite."

He put the wine glass on the table, turned around and left.

Yang Chenglong followed. The two went downstairs one after the other and walked out of the bar. Behind them, William and Emily looked at each other, while Wang Haoran picked up his glass, took a sip, and shook his head.

“Liu Zixuan is a person who doesn’t learn his lesson,” Wang Haoran said.

Stepping out of the bar, the night breeze from Soho blew in, carrying a mixture of barbecue and perfume scents.

Ye Guigen stood on the side of the street, took a deep breath, and then exhaled.

"That felt great," he said.

Yang Chenglong looked at him. "You were too impulsive just now."

“I know. But I don’t regret it.” Ye Guigen put his hands in his pockets and walked slowly down the street. “If you don’t confront Liu Zixuan, he’ll keep coming back. Now that I’ve confronted him today, it’ll be peaceful from now on.”

"Didn't your grandfather say, 'Give way three times'?"

"We've completed the three steps," Ye Guigen said.
"I let him off the first time at the party. The second time was in class, and he was sarcastic. Today is the third time. After three steps, it's time to show our fists."

Yang Chenglong remained silent. He knew Ye Guigen was right.

The two walked along the street for a while. SoHo was bustling at night, with people everywhere.

There were office workers in suits who had just finished get off work, fashionable young men and women, food delivery workers pushing bicycles, and street performers squatting in the corner playing guitar.

“You know what,” Ye Guigen suddenly said, “when I was saying those things just now, I was thinking about my grandfather.”

What are you thinking about him for?

"Think about his youth. When he first started his business, he was looked down upon. He was just a kid from a military reclamation town, with nothing and no one to know."

He went to negotiate business deals, but people wouldn't even let him in the door because of his attire. But he wouldn't give up. If once didn't work, he tried twice; if twice didn't work, he tried three times. He stubbornly persevered and eventually made the business a success.

Ye Guigen stopped and looked at the neon lights across the street.

“My grandfather said that his greatest skill in life was not doing business, but his refusal to admit defeat. If someone said he couldn’t do it, he would prove them wrong.”

Yang Chenglong nodded. "Your grandfather was a formidable man."

“Your grandfather was the same,” Ye Guigen said. “Your grandfather may seem rough around the edges, but he was actually very meticulous. He donated money to send you to UCL not because you were not capable, but because he didn’t want you to take the wrong path.”

Yang Chenglong remained silent for a while.

“I know,” he said, “so I won’t let him down.”

The two continued walking. They came to a crossroads, the light turned red, and they stopped to wait.

“Given the root of the matter,” Yang Chenglong said, “you just said that Liu Zixuan’s father owes your grandfather a favor. What happened?”

Ye Guigen thought for a moment. "I'm not too sure about the specifics. It seems to be sometime in the 90s, when Liu Zixuan's father encountered an anti-Chinese riot in Indonesia, and his business almost went bankrupt."

“It was my grandfather who helped him out by introducing him to several buyers and selling his palm oil.”

"So your grandfather helped him."

"Yes. But his father is a man of great stature, he knows how to be grateful. Every time he comes to China, he goes to the military reclamation city to see my grandfather. It's his son who is ignorant and arrogant."

The green light came on, and the two people crossed the street.

“In the end,” Yang Chenglong said, “I got nervous when you said those things just now.”

What's there to be nervous about?

"I'm afraid you'll fight with him."

Ye Guigen laughed. "A fight? It's unlikely. Liu Zixuan is stubborn and cowardly. He won't dare to make a move."

"how do you know?"

"Because a truly daring person wouldn't cause trouble in a bar. They would do things in the shadows, making you lose without you even realizing it. Liu Zixuan doesn't have that kind of brain."

Yang Chenglong glanced at him. "When did you become so perceptive?"

“It was probably after I came to London,” Ye Guigen said. “The people here are so complicated, I have to learn a lot.”

The two people walked to the entrance of a subway station and stopped.

"Did you go back?" Yang Chenglong asked.

"Yes. I still need to revise the report tomorrow."

Ye Guigen was about to go downstairs when his phone rang. It was a message from William.

"Ye, I apologize for what happened earlier on Liu Zixuan's behalf. He was drunk and didn't watch his mouth. Please don't take it to heart."

Ye Guigen replied, "It's okay. I won't hold it against him."

William replied again. "But what you said just now was too harsh. Liu Zixuan's face turned green. He'll probably have to avoid you from now on."

Ye Guigen smiled and put his phone away.

“Let’s go,” he said to Yang Chenglong, “take the subway back.”

The two people went down the stairs and swiped their cards to enter the station. There weren't many people on the platform, and a few fluorescent lights hummed, illuminating the entire platform in a pale white light.

“After all,” Yang Chenglong said, leaning against a pillar, “do you think we might end up like that? Like Liu Zixuan, using our family’s money to bully people everywhere?”

Ye Guigen thought about it.

“No,” he said, “because we’ve suffered.”

What hardships have we endured?

“It’s not that kind of hardship,” Ye Guigen said. “It’s seeing people who have suffered. I’ve seen what my grandfather looked like when he was young, I’ve seen your grandfather get up at five o’clock every day to make breakfast, I’ve seen Uncle Habuli drive sheep for three days to deliver people. Having seen these things, you won’t become like that.”

Yang Chenglong nodded.

The sound of the subway rumbled in the distance, growing louder and louder. The wind from inside the tunnel arrived first, whistling through the tunnel and carrying a smell of rust and engine oil mixed together.

The subway arrived at the station. The doors opened, and two people stepped inside.

The carriage wasn't crowded, with a few empty seats. Ye Guigen sat down, and Yang Chenglong sat next to him.

The subway started moving. The tunnel outside the window was pitch black, with only the occasional flash of a light.

“Jackie Chan,” Ye Guigen said, “what do you think Liu Zixuan will do when he gets home tonight?”

Yang Chenglong thought for a moment. "I'll probably call his dad."

"Let him fight then." Ye Guigen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "If his dad knew about today's events, he'd probably scold him, not me."

"why?"

"Because his dad understands. Someone who knows how to start from scratch won't look down on someone else who starts from scratch. Even if that 'zero' is two million dollars, it's still starting from zero."

Yang Chenglong remained silent. He gazed at the darkness outside the window, pondering Ye Guigen's words.

Two million dollars is nothing to Liu Zixuan. But in that village in North Africa, two million dollars means electricity, water, children going to school, and the elderly receiving medical care.

Liu Zixuan didn't understand this principle. But his father did.

The subway rumbled through the tunnel, carrying the two young people through the depths of London, towards their dormitory.

Ye Guigen's phone rang again. This time it was Elizabeth.

"Where are you?"

"On the subway. Just finished drinking with friends."

"Did you drink too much?"

"No."

"When you come back, could you bring me a bag of potato chips? I'll be waiting for you at your dorm."

Ye Guigen was taken aback. "What are you doing in my dorm?"

I miss you. Is that not okay?

Ye Guigen smiled. "Okay. What flavor?"

"It's salty and vinegar flavored."

"Can you eat that stuff?"

"Leave me alone."

"Okay. Salt and vinegar flavor."

He hung up the phone and found Yang Chenglong looking at him.

“Elizabeth?” “Yes. She’s waiting for me in my dorm.”

Yang Chenglong didn't say anything, but the corner of his mouth curled up slightly.

"What are you laughing at?" Ye Guigen asked.

"It's nothing. I just feel that you're living a very fulfilling life."

Ye Guigen smiled too. "It's alright."

The subway arrived at the station. The two people got off the train, went up the stairs, and exited the subway station.

A cool night breeze blew through London. The orange glow of the streetlights cast a soft reflection on the wet sidewalk.

The two walked side by side, their shadows trailing behind them, one long and one short.

"Back to our roots," Yang Chenglong said, "Are we going to the library again tomorrow?"

"Go. The report isn't finished yet."

See you tomorrow.

"See you tomorrow."

The two parted ways at the fork in the road. Ye Guigen turned into a side alley to buy potato chips at a convenience store. Yang Chenglong continued walking, heading back to his dormitory.

Yang Chenglong took a few steps and then looked back. Ye Guigen's figure disappeared behind the glass door of the convenience store, the light casting a long shadow.

He smiled, turned around, and continued walking.

The streetlights shone brightly, illuminating the road. The London night grew quiet.

In mid-July, Ye Guigen went to Kenya.

He wasn't flying first class or business class; he was flying economy. Elizabeth offered to upgrade him, but he refused.

"It's not like we're going on vacation, why upgrade to a different class?"

Elizabeth glanced at him but didn't say anything. She knew that Ye Guigen had his own principles on certain matters.

It wasn't the kind of deliberate persistence meant to impress others; it was something ingrained in his very being. The things his grandfather taught him were already ingrained in him.

Nairobi's airport isn't large, but it's bustling. Ye Guigen dragged his suitcase out and immediately spotted Mbeki holding a sign at the arrivals gate.

Mbeki was a friend of Professor Sachs, a rural finance expert in Kenya. He was in his fifties, tall and thin, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and spoke slowly and deliberately, but every word he uttered carried weight.

“Mr. Ye,” Mbeki extended his hand and shook hands with him, “Welcome back to Africa.”

"Just call me Guigen."

“Alright, back to the point.” Mbeki smiled. “Professor Sachs mentioned you to me, saying you are one of the best students in his class.”

"He flatters me."

The two walked out of the airport and got into an old Toyota SUV. Mbeki drove, and Ye Guigen sat in the passenger seat.

The car drove out of Nairobi and headed north. The scenery outside the window changed from city to countryside, and from asphalt roads to dirt roads.

The houses on both sides became shorter and more dilapidated, turning from brick houses into tin sheds, and from tin sheds into mud walls.

“Your project is in Machakos County,” Mbeki said.
"It's about a two-hour drive from Nairobi. It's a small village called Kitui. There are 320 households, and they mainly grow corn and beans. The microcredit project you invested in started last October, and it's been nine months now."

"How's the effect?"

Mbeki thought for a moment. "There are pros and cons. The good thing is that the average income of the farmers who participated in the project increased by 15%. The bad thing is that the coverage is not enough. Out of 320 households, only 60 have participated. Many people are still observing."

"why?"

“It’s a trust issue,” Mbeki said. “The people in this village have been scammed by NGOs before. A few years ago, an international aid organization came to the village and said they would give each family two cows on the condition that they participate in their training.”

"The training was over, but the cattle weren't distributed. Later, the people from that organization ran away, and the cattle were gone too. Since then, the villagers have been skeptical of any outside projects."

Ye Guigen remained silent.

“So,” Mbeki said, “the first thing for your project to succeed in this village is not lending money, but building trust.”

How do I set it up?

Mbeki glanced at him. "You already have the answer in your heart."

Ye Guigen didn't speak. He remembered what Yang Chenglong had said in class: "Squat down and sit with them."

The car drove for an hour and a half before arriving at Kituyi village.

The village is small, with dozens of mud houses scattered on the red soil slope, and the roofs are made of tin or thatch.

At the entrance of the village stands a giant baobab tree, its trunk so thick that three or four people could not wrap their arms around it, and its canopy like a large umbrella, providing a large area of ​​shade.

Several children were playing under a tree when they saw the car approaching and gathered around it. They were barefoot and dressed in tattered clothes, but their eyes were bright and their smiles were innocent.

Ye Guigen got out of the car, took out a handful of candy from his bag—candy he had specially bought in London—and gave it to the children. The children took the candy, laughed, and ran away.

The village chief was Joseph, a thin, black old man in his sixties, wearing a faded shirt and worn-out leather shoes.

He walked over, shook hands with Mbeki, and then looked at Ye Guigen.

"Are you the Chinese guy?" he said in Swahili, with Mbeki translating beside him.

"Yes. My name is Ye Guigen."

Joseph looked him over for a moment, then nodded.

"Come in."

He led Ye Guigen and Mbeki into the village. The village was quiet, and most people were working in the fields.

Occasionally, you can see a few elderly people sitting in front of their houses, or a few women drawing water from the well.

Joseph led them to a slightly larger mud house and pushed open the door. Inside was a simple office with a table, a few chairs, and a bookshelf.

There was a yellowed photograph on the wall, which was of Kenya's first president, Kenyatta.

“Sit down,” Joseph said.

The three people sat down. A woman brought in three cups of tea, served in tin cups; the tea was very strong and had a lot of sugar added.

“Your project,” Joseph said, “Mbeki told me about it. It’s microfinance, with a maximum loan of 50,000 Kenyan shillings per household, an annual interest rate of 8%, and no restrictions on the use of the loan. In nine months, only sixty households have participated.”

“I know,” Ye Guigen said. “I came here today to hear what you have to say. Why aren’t the others involved?”

Joseph remained silent for a moment.

“Because they didn’t believe it,” he said. “Many people came before, all white, well-dressed, driving nice cars.”

"They said they would help us, but they left and never came back. Money? Stuff? They left nothing behind."

He picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"Your project has lent out the money. Of the sixty households, some bought seeds, some bought sheep, and some started small businesses."

"But others are still watching. They're seeing if these sixty households can really make money. If they can, they'll follow suit. If they can't, they'll say, 'See, it's another scam.'"

Ye Guigen nodded.

“Chief Joseph,” he said, “I’m not here today to inspect. I’m here to listen. I want to hear your and the villagers’ thoughts. What do you think this village needs most?”

Joseph looked at him, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

"You want to hear our thoughts?"

"Correct."

Joseph remained silent for a long time. Then he stood up, walked to the door, and looked out at the village.

“What’s most needed,” he said, “is proof.”

"What proof?"

"This proves that someone truly cares about us. They didn't just come and go, or give us money and run away. They stayed and stayed with us."

Ye Guigen stood up and walked to his side.

"I'll be staying for three days. I'd like to talk to every household. Is that alright?"

Joseph turned and looked at him. He looked at him for a long time.

“Okay,” he said.

Ye Guigen stayed in Kituyi Village for the next three days.

He visited sixty households that participated in the project and twenty households that did not.

He sat in front of the mud house, drinking tea with too much sugar, listening to everyone tell their stories.

There was a woman named Mary, in her early thirties, whose husband had died and who was raising four children alone.

She borrowed 30,000 shillings and bought two goats. The goats gave birth to lambs, and she sold two of them, making money to pay for her children's school fees.

“Without this money,” Mary said, “my eldest son wouldn’t be able to go to school.”

There was a young man named James, in his early twenties, who failed to get into university after graduating from high school. He borrowed 50,000 shillings, bought a second-hand motorcycle, and started a transport business in the village.

From the village to the town, one person charges 100 shillings and can make two or three trips a day.

“I can earn 20,000 shillings a month now,” James said. “It’s better than working in town.”

There were also people who didn't participate.

There was an old man named Mwai, over seventy years old, who had spent his entire life farming. He sat at his doorstep, gazing at the distant fields, and slowly said:
"I don't borrow money. I've never owed anyone money in my entire life. I won't owe anyone even when I die."

Ye Guigen didn't try to persuade him. He just sat beside him and listened to him for an hour.

He spoke of his youth, the land he cultivated, the cattle he raised, and his deceased wife.

On the afternoon of the third day, Ye Guigen sat under a baobab tree and chatted with Village Chief Joseph.

“Village chief,” he said, “I want to do something. I want to establish a cooperative in the village. I won’t manage it; you will manage it yourselves. I will provide the start-up capital, and you will elect your own board of directors and decide how the money is used.”

Joseph looked at him. "What are the conditions?"

"There is only one condition: 20% of the cooperative's profits shall be retained as operating funds, 30% shall be distributed to the members, and 50% shall be used for public works in the village. You can decide for yourselves whether to build roads, dig wells, or build schools."

Joseph remained silent for a long time.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You’re not Kenyan, you’re not African. Why are you helping us?”

Ye Guigen thought about it.

“Because my grandfather once told me something,” he said. “He said that the most important thing in a person’s life is not how much money they make, but how much they do. And how much they do is not measured by how big the things are, but by how many people’s things they do for others.”

He looked at Joseph.

“I don’t feel like I’m helping you. I feel like I’m just doing something I should do.”

Joseph looked at him for a long time.

Then he reached out his hand.

"Pleasant to work with."

Ye Guigen grasped his hand.

On the morning of the fourth day, Ye Guigen left Kitui village.

As the car started moving, he saw in the rearview mirror that Mayor Joseph was standing under a baobab tree, waving at him.

The children chased the car for a while, shouting "China! China!"

Ye Guigen rolled down the car window and waved to them.

"Go back!" he shouted. "Go back!"

The children stopped, stood on the red dirt road, and watched the car drive further and further away.

Mbeki drove in silence for a long time.

“In the end,” he finally said, “the cooperative model you just mentioned is not quite the same as what Professor Sachs taught in class.”

"What's different?"

"Profit distribution: 20% retained for operations, 30% distributed to members, and 50% used for public utilities. Can the members accept this ratio? Won't they feel they're getting too little?"

Ye Guigen thought about it.

“I think it’s possible,” he said. “Because the problem in this village is trust, not money. If all the money from the cooperative is distributed, the village will remain the same. The roads will still be in bad shape, the wells will still be dry, and the school will still be dilapidated.”

“If the villagers don’t see any changes, they won’t believe that the cooperative is truly doing what’s best for them. But if they see that a portion of the money the cooperative earns is used for public works in the village.”

"Once the roads are repaired, the wells are dug, and the schools are renovated, they will believe it."

He paused.

"Moreover, this 50% wasn't wasted. With the roads repaired, agricultural products can be transported out. With the wells dug, farming can increase yields."

"The school has been renovated, and the children can receive an education. When these things are done well, everyone's life will be better. When the time comes, everyone will receive more money, not less."

Mbeki remained silent for a moment.

“You’re only nineteen,” he said.

"Correct."

"You talk like you're forty."

Ye Guigen smiled. "I probably learned it from my grandfather."

Mbeki smiled too.

The car bumped along the red dirt road, kicking up a cloud of red dust. The scenery outside the window changed from villages to grasslands, and then from grasslands to savannahs.

On the distant horizon, a few acacia trees stand alone, like open umbrellas.

“Mbeki,” Ye Guigen said, “do you think this cooperative can succeed?”

Mbeki thought for a moment.

“Yes,” he said, “because you did one thing right.”

"what's up?"

"You squatted down."

Ye Guigen paused for a moment, then smiled.

He thought of Yang Chenglong. He remembered what Yang Chenglong had said in class: "Squat down and sit with them."

The car entered downtown Nairobi. The streets became more crowded with pedestrians, motorcycles weaved through traffic, and vendors hawked their wares along the roadside. It was bustling and chaotic, yet brimming with vitality.

"Go straight to the airport?" Mbeki asked.

"To the airport."

Ye Guigen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. In three days, he had visited eighty households and listened to eighty stories. Everyone had their own difficulties, and everyone had their own hopes.

He thought of Fatima. He thought of the girl from that village in North Africa, now training in country A, studying new energy management. He sent her a message, but hadn't received a reply yet.

The phone rang. It was Fatima.

“Mr. Ye, I received your message. I learned a lot in Country A: how to maintain solar panels, care for batteries, and repair inverters. I’m going back next month. I want to teach what I’ve learned to the people in the village.”

Ye Guigen looked at the line of text and smiled.

He replied, "Okay. I'll come see you when you get back."

Put your phone away. The car has arrived at the airport.

Ye Guigen got out of the car and shook hands with Mbeki.

“Thank you,” he said. “I have learned a lot from these three days.”

“You’re welcome,” Mbeki said. “What you’ve done is more meaningful than a hundred reports.”

Ye Guigen smiled, turned around, and walked into the airport.

Nairobi's airport wasn't large, but it was bustling. The waiting area was packed with people: businessmen in suits, tourists with backpacks, and people returning home with large bags and small packages. Ye Guigen found a corner to sit down, took out his phone, and sent a message to Yang Chenglong.

"I spent three days in Kenya. I visited eighty families. I learned a lot. I'll tell you all about it when I get back."

The reply came quickly. "Okay. Be careful on the road."

Ye Guigen put his phone away, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

He was surrounded by a cacophony of voices, announcements, and the clatter of suitcase wheels. But his heart was at peace.

He recalled the words of Mayor Joseph: "What is most needed is proof."

This proves that someone genuinely cares about them.

He recalled Ye Yuze's words: "In this life, the most important thing is not how much money you make, but how much you do."

How much you do is not measured by the magnitude of the work, but by the number of people you help.

He opened his eyes and looked at the people coming and going in the waiting hall.

Everyone is on their way. Everyone has their own destination.

His destination was still far away.

But he wasn't in a hurry.

The road ahead is long, take it slow.

(To be continued) (End of this chapter)