Great Power Reclamation

Bakhtiar did not live to see the next day.

It was almost 10 p.m. when Yang Chenglong and Ye Guigen came out of the restaurant. The freezing rain had stopped, but the wind was stronger, making the trash cans on the street rattle.

The two walked back to the dormitory with their necks hunched over. There were few people on the road, except for the occasional passing taxi that splashed water.

When Yang Chenglong reached the dormitory building, he stopped.

The light at the building entrance was broken, leaving it pitch black. But he could smell something—smoke.

It didn't taste like ordinary cigarettes; it was the kind of Moskva cigarette that Kazakhs often smoke, the kind that's incredibly pungent.

He suddenly grabbed Ye Guigen's arm.

"Don't go."

Ye Guigen was taken aback. "What's wrong?"

"Someone."

As soon as he finished speaking, three dark figures emerged from the shadows at the building entrance. It wasn't Bakhtiar, but his three bodyguards in black suits.

The leader, who was over 1.9 meters tall, was like a moving wall. None of the three spoke, but their actions were clear: they blocked the building entrance and their escape route.

Yang Chenglong pushed Ye Guigen behind him and stood in front of him.

"Bakhtiar sent you?" His voice was low, as if it came from underground.

The lead bodyguard didn't answer. He pulled an extendable baton from his pocket, swung it, and with a click, the baton extended. The other two bodyguards also pulled out the same batons.

Three telescopic batons gleamed coldly under the streetlights.

Yang Chenglong glanced back at Ye Guigen. "I'll hold them off, you run. Go call the police."

Ye Guigen didn't move.

"Just run when I tell you to!" Yang Chenglong said anxiously.

"Why are you running?" Ye Guigen's voice was calm, even a little impatient.

He took his phone out of his pocket, pressed a few keys, and the screen lit up, showing that he was on a call.

"You heard everything?" Ye Guigen said into the phone.

A steady voice came from the other end of the phone: "Yes, I heard you. Three minutes."

Yang Chenglong was stunned. "When did you make that call?"

"When you leave the restaurant," Ye Guigen put away his phone and looked at the three bodyguards, "you have two and a half minutes. Think it over."

The lead bodyguard hesitated for a moment. He didn't know who was on the other end of the phone, nor did he know what "three minutes" meant.

But he saw Ye Guigen's eyes, and those eyes didn't seem like bluffing. They were the eyes of someone who had seen the world, the eyes that could only be honed at the negotiating table and in the arena of power.

He gritted his teeth and swung the extendable baton. "Go!"

Three bodyguards rushed over at the same time.

Yang Chenglong didn't back down. He went to meet him.

The first blow came at his head, but he dodged it by tilting his head. The blow grazed his ear and hit his shoulder, making him groan in pain.

But he didn't stop. He punched the leader directly in the face with his right fist. It was a straight punch that Old Mike taught him. He used his waist and legs to generate power, and concentrated all his weight on his fist.

With a thud, the burly man, over six feet tall, fell backward, blood spurting from his nose and splattering onto Yang Chenglong's sleeve.

But two other sticks fell at the same time, one hitting his back and the other hitting his arm.

Yang Chenglong was knocked back and staggered forward two steps, almost kneeling on the ground.

He gritted his teeth, steadied himself, turned around, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Come on!" he roared, his voice so loud it echoed through the alley.

The two bodyguards were startled by his shout, and their sticks paused for a moment.

Taking advantage of the opening, Yang Chenglong grabbed the collar of the man on the left and slammed him against the wall.

The man's head slammed against the brick wall with a dull thud, and his body went limp.

The remaining bodyguard took a half step back, holding his stick, but dared not step forward.

Yang Chenglong's lip was cut, and blood dripped down his chin onto his clothes. His back and arms burned with pain, but he stood there like a wall.

"One minute left," Ye Guigen said from behind, his voice still calm.

The bodyguard glanced at his two companions lying on the ground, then at Yang Chenglong covered in blood, and finally couldn't take it anymore. He dropped the stick, turned, and ran.

Yang Chenglong didn't chase after him. He bent over, put his hands on his knees, and gasped for breath.

"Are you alright?" Ye Guigen walked over.

"It's nothing." Yang Chenglong straightened up and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "When you said three minutes, were you serious or just bluffing?"

"Just kidding."

"..."

Yang Chenglong glared at him, wanting to curse, but his lip hurt terribly, so he could only bare his teeth.

“But I didn’t lie all the way through,” Ye Guigen said. “My dad has connections in London. I just sent my location.”

As soon as he finished speaking, two black Range Rovers turned the corner, their headlights blazing brightly, illuminating the entire alley.

The car stopped, and four burly men in dark jackets got out. The leader was a Chinese man in his forties with a buzz cut and a scar on his face that ran from his eyebrow to his cheekbone.

"Young Master Ye," he glanced at the two bodyguards on the ground, "just these three?"

“One of them escaped,” Ye Guigen said. “Take care of these two first. The one on the ground has a broken nose and needs to go to the hospital.”

Scarface nodded and waved to the men behind him. Two men stepped forward and lifted the three bodyguards off the ground. One was unconscious, one had a nosebleed, and the other was huddled in a corner and shoved into a car.

"Where is Bakhtiar?" Ye Guigen asked.

Scarface pulled a phone from his pocket; the screen displayed a map location. "Hilton next to Covent Garden. Should we go find him?"

Ye Guigen glanced at Yang Chenglong.

Yang Chenglong clenched his fist, the skin on his knuckles broke again, and beads of blood oozed out.

“Go,” he said.

"You're injured like this and you still want to go?" Ye Guigen frowned.

"What's a little injury?" Yang Chenglong wiped the blood off his sleeve.
“My grandfather broke two ribs when a rock fell on him while he was building a road in the Gobi Desert, but he still went to the construction site the next day. What am I compared to that?”

Ye Guigen looked at him and remained silent for two seconds.

"Okay. Go. But don't do anything."

"why?"

"I'll handle the physical work."

Yang Chenglong was taken aback. "You came? How did you get here?"

Ye Guigen didn't answer, turned around and got into the Land Rover.

The car pulled up in front of the Hilton Hotel. Scarface had already checked the room number; it was a penthouse suite, registered under Bakhtiar's name.

Ye Guigen got out of the car, followed by Yang Chenglong. Scarface and two other men walked at the very back.

Inside the elevator, Ye Guigen straightened his collar in front of the mirror and pulled his rain-soaked hair back.

"What are you going to do?" Yang Chenglong asked, looking at him.

"Let's talk business," Ye Guigen said. "Stand behind me and don't say anything."

"Why?"

"You look like a fighter who just finished an underground boxing match, covered in blood. Nobody will take what you say seriously."

Yang Chenglong wanted to refute, but then he looked at his reflection in the elevator mirror.

His lip was cut, his left cheek was swollen, and his clothes were covered in blood. He didn't look like someone who came to discuss business; he looked like someone who came to cause trouble.

The elevator reached the top floor. Scarface knocked on the door.

Bakhtiar's voice came from inside: "Who is it?"

“Delivering alcohol,” Scarface said in accented English.

The door opened a crack. Scarface kicked it open, and Bakhtiar stood behind it in a bathrobe, holding a glass of whiskey. He recognized the person and his face turned deathly pale.

"You—security guards! Security guards!"

"Stop shouting." Ye Guigen walked in and sat down on the sofa. "The security guard on this floor just went downstairs. He won't be back for a while."

Bakhtiar glanced at the scarred face, then at Yang Chenglong, whose face was covered in blood, his wine glass trembling.

"What are you trying to do? This is Britain, a country ruled by law..."

"A country ruled by law?" Ye Guigen laughed. "You send three bodyguards with extendable batons to beat someone, and you're talking to me about the rule of law?"

Bakhtiar's lips trembled. Ye Guigen took a piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the coffee table.

"This is your share transfer agreement. I just took it."

Bakhtiar's face turned even paler. "You...when did you..."

“I knew about it when your legal advisor drafted it for you.”

Ye Guigen leaned back on the sofa, crossed his legs, and said, "Who do you think your legal advisor works for?"

Bakhtiar's eyes widened.

“He came from my dad’s law firm,” Ye Guigen said. “My dad could see every email he sent in London.”

The air in the room seemed to freeze.

Bakhtiar's glass fell onto the carpet, spilling whiskey everywhere, but he didn't care.

"You—your Ye family—" His voice trembled, "What exactly do you want?"

Ye Guigen stood up and walked up to him. The two were very close, so close that Bakhtiar could see his own reflection in Ye Guigen's eyes—a pale-faced, trembling loser in a bathrobe.

"I want you to remember one thing."

Ye Guigen's voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail:
“Yang Chenglong is my brother. If you touch him, you are touching me. If you touch me, you are touching the Ye family. The Ye family is not without influence in Central Asia. Why is your grandfather's shareholding reduced to only two percent? It's not because we used underhanded tactics, but because you are not worthy.”

He stepped back and straightened his cuffs.

"Tomorrow, fly back to Almaty. Tell your grandfather not to mention the oil field again. If he insists on bringing it up, tell him to go find Yang Geyong. But Yang Geyong is over sixty years old, has a bad temper, and is hard of hearing. Your grandfather might not be able to hear what he's saying."

Bakhtiar gritted his teeth, unable to utter a single word.

Ye Guigen turned and walked to the door, then stopped.

"By the way, one of your three bodyguards broke his nose and is at St. Mary's Hospital. I've paid the medical bills. You're welcome."

The door closed.

In the corridor, Yang Chenglong followed behind Ye Guigen without saying a word.

Once inside the elevator, Yang Chenglong finally couldn't hold back any longer.

"Were those words you just said prepared in advance?"

"No." Ye Guigen pressed the button on the first floor. "It was impromptu."

"Is your story about that legal advisor real, or just a hoax?"

"real."

"So you really monitored his emails?"

Ye Guigen turned his head and looked at him, a sly glint in his eyes.

"It's not surveillance. It's compliance review. My dad's law firm regularly follows up with all clients that former employees have been in contact with."

“Coincidentally, that legal advisor had contact with the Akkolie family. Coincidentally, he drafted a share transfer agreement. Coincidentally, my dad saw that agreement.”

Yang Chenglong looked at him and remained silent for a while.

“You are a very cunning person,” he said.

“That’s called strategy,” Ye Guigen laughed. “As your grandfather said, fighting a war isn’t just about fists, it’s also about brains.”

The elevator reached the first floor. The two stepped out of the hotel, a cold wind hitting them in the face. Yang Chenglong shivered; he had worked up a sweat during the fight, and now the wind made his bones ache.

"Go to the hospital," Ye Guigen said.

"No, it's just a superficial wound."

Did you get stitches in your lip?

"No need to sew."

"You still need a tetanus shot. That bodyguard's stick is all rusty."

Yang Chenglong thought about it and then stopped arguing.

The two got into the car and drove towards the hospital. Yang Chenglong leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed.

“In the end,” he said, “do you think Bakhtiar will come looking for trouble again?”

"meeting."

"What should I do?"

“Every time he comes looking for us, we’ll block him. We’ll keep blocking him until he doesn’t dare to come anymore.”

Yang Chenglong opened his eyes and looked out the car window at the London night view. Neon lights flowed across the window, red, green, and blue, like a colorful river.

"In the end, don't you think we're too young? This kind of thing should be handled by my grandfather's generation."

Ye Guigen thought about it.

"Their generation has already dealt with it. Now it's our turn."

Yang Chenglong looked at him and smiled. The smile pulled at the wound on his lip, causing him to wince in pain, but he still smiled.

"Alright. Our turn."

The car pulled up in front of the hospital. Yang Chenglong got out of the car, took a couple of steps, then suddenly stopped and turned around.

"Ultimately, wasn't it intentional that you said 'I'll pay the medical bills'?"

"What do you mean, intentional?"

"Try to provoke him. Make him feel like he owes you something."

Ye Guigen smiled. "You figured it out?"

“Nonsense,” Yang Chenglong said. “You always have a backup plan for everything you do.”

Ye Guigen did not deny it, and got out of the car to help him walk towards the emergency room.

The emergency room lights were blindingly white. Seeing Yang Chenglong's face covered in blood, the nurse quickly pushed a wheelchair over. Yang Chenglong waved his hand, "No need, my leg is fine."

The nurse glared at him, but still pushed the wheelchair over.

Sitting in his wheelchair, Yang Chenglong felt like a fool. The tall man, over 1.8 meters, was crammed into a small wheelchair, his knees pressed against the front panel.

Ye Guigen stood to the side, suppressing a laugh.

"Laugh if you want to," Yang Chenglong said.

Ye Guigen couldn't help but laugh. After laughing, his expression turned serious.

"Jackie Chan, there's something I haven't told you yet."

"what?"

“The person behind Bakhtiar is not his grandfather.”

Yang Chenglong was taken aback. "Who is that?"

“It’s not certain yet. But my dad said that there’s a fund operating in London recently, specifically targeting the Ye and Yang families’ businesses. Bakhtiar is just a pawn. The real player hasn’t shown up yet.”

The lights in the emergency room hummed. Yang Chenglong sat in his wheelchair, looking at Ye Guigen's face. His face appeared somewhat pale under the white light, but his eyes were deep.

“So,” Yang Chenglong said slowly, “what happened tonight is not the end. It’s the beginning.”

Ye Guigen nodded.

"start."

Footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. A doctor in a white coat approached, holding a medical record in his hand.

"Yang Chenglong?"

"it's me."

"Come in. Let's clean the wound first."

Yang Chenglong stood up from his wheelchair and glanced at Ye Guigen.

"wait for me."

“I won’t wait,” Ye Guigen said. “I’ll go in and keep an eye on things. If the doctor stitches it up crookedly, I can take a picture and use it as leverage later.”

Yang Chenglong couldn't help but swear as he walked into the consultation room.

Ye Guigen followed behind him and switched his phone to camera mode.

The door to the consultation room closed. The corridor fell silent, with only the hum of the overhead fluorescent lights.

But something lies hidden beneath that quiet.

Like the calm before a storm.

(To be continued) (End of this chapter)