Great Power Reclamation

Yang Chenglong stayed in Hangzhou for three days.

In three days, he did three things: First, he went through the "Tianma" orders for the next year with Lin Wanwan.

The number of Italian boutiques has increased from 200 to 500, a German e-commerce platform is launching a "Christmas limited edition," and a French fashion blogger wants to sign an exclusive agency agreement.

Secondly, I visited the exhibition hall in the creative park. The exhibition hall wasn't large, but it had visitors every day, including buyers, bloggers, and ordinary customers.

Lin Wanwan was busy receiving guests, explaining things, and negotiating prices all by herself, so busy that she didn't even have time to drink water.

Third, I had two meals with Lin Wanwan's parents. Lin's father was still not very talkative, but he cooked braised fish, which was Lin's favorite dish, for each meal.

On the day he left, Lin's mother gave him an insulated bag containing braised duck and braised beef.

"Take it back for your classmates, don't eat it all by yourself." Yang Chenglong took it, his nose tingling with emotion.

When the plane landed in London, it was already evening. It was completely dark, and the lights of Heathrow Airport illuminated the entire terminal.

He dragged his suitcase out and saw Ye Guigen leaning against a black car, holding a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Why are you here? Weren't you supposed to be having dinner with Elizabeth's father?"

"I'm done eating." Ye Guigen opened the car door. "Get in. I'll take you somewhere."

"Where?"

"You'll know when it arrives."

The car drove for forty minutes, heading east from Heathrow, through central London, and out again, finally arriving at a place Yang Chenglong had never been before—a dock in East London.

Although it's called a dock, it's more like an abandoned industrial area. There are a few red brick warehouses, rusty iron gates, broken windows, and walls covered in graffiti.

The Thames River makes a bend here, its surface wide and its current slow, with a row of brightly lit residential buildings on the opposite bank.

"What are you doing here?" Yang Chenglong got out of the car, and a cold wind hit his face.

Ye Guigen pointed to a two-story red brick building by the river. "I want to move the 'Foundation and Wings' office here."

Yang Chenglong was taken aback. "Didn't you used to have a shared workstation in the Financial City?"

“It’s not enough.” Ye Guigen walked forward and pushed open the rusty iron gate of the building.

Inside was a spacious hall with a high ceiling of five or six meters, a cement floor, exposed brick walls, and a dense array of steel pipes and wooden beams overhead.

There are three huge arched windows on the wall facing the river. Although the glass is so dirty that you can't see outside, you can imagine what it would be like when the sunlight shines in after it's been cleaned.

"It used to be a warehouse, where supplies were stored during World War II. It's been empty for thirty years."

Ye Guigen's voice echoed in the hall, "The rent isn't expensive, 50,000 pounds a year. I plan to rent it for three years and renovate it. The first floor will be an open-plan office area, and the second floor will be divided into a meeting room and my office."

Yang Chenglong turned around, his feet landing on the cement ground with a hollow echo.

He looked up at the arched windows, outside which flowed the Thames, its surface reflecting the lights of the opposite bank.

"This place is nice. But do you have that many employees? You're just one person now."

"It'll be ready soon." Ye Guigen took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and it was a job advertisement.

"Analysts, two. Investment manager, one. Administrative assistant, one. All in place by March next year."

Yang Chenglong took the paper and looked at it. The annual salary figure wasn't high, but it was enough for him in London.

Where did you get so much money?

Ye Guigen smiled. "The North African project made a profit this year. Not much, just over a hundred thousand US dollars. The cooperative in Kenya has also started generating cash flow."

"In addition, my dad said he could match me with a sum of money for investment—however much I invest, he will match, up to a maximum of two million pounds."

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

"So, you're planning something big?"

Ye Guigen walked to the window and wiped the dust off the glass with his sleeve. Through the cleaned area, he could see the lights on the opposite bank of the Thames, twinkling like a glowing ribbon.

"My dad once said something that I think makes sense."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was steady. "He said, at twenty, you either do it or you watch. Those who watch will always be watching, while those who do are already on their way."

Yang Chenglong folded the job posting and handed it back to him. "Okay. You do it. I'll do it too."

What are you planning to do?

"Tianma will open a Tmall store next year."

Yang Chenglong leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“Wanwan has calculated it; the domestic market is even larger than the European market. Europeans buy stories, while Chinese people buy quality. The quality of the scarves speaks for itself—pure wool, hand-knitted—and they have a market in China just as well.”

Do you need money?

“It’s necessary. But not now,” Yang Chenglong said. “First, we need to secure the orders from Europe, then we can open up domestic channels. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Ye Guigen nodded. "You've finally stopped being impulsive."

"I wasn't impulsive. I just channeled my impulsiveness elsewhere."

As Yang Chenglong spoke, he took out a bank card from his pocket and twirled it twice in his hand:

“The £50,000 you invested in 'Pegasus' shares, I calculated the value, and it’s now worth £80,000.”

Ye Guigen raised an eyebrow. "It's gone up that much?"

"We've signed a long-term contract with the Italian boutique for 5,000 items a year. We're also negotiating exclusive distribution with the German boutique. Next year's sales are guaranteed at least 500,000 euros."

"And the year after next?"

Yang Chenglong put the bank card away and looked at him. "The year after next, I want to make two million."

Ye Guigen extended his hand. Yang Chenglong grasped it.

The two people's hands clasped together in the empty warehouse, like two trees rooted in the ground, invisible above ground but tightly intertwined underground.

Junken City, on the same evening.

Yang Geyong sat in Ye Yuze's study, holding a bowl of hot milk tea in his hand.

Ye Yuze sat opposite him, with a chessboard in front of him. He had already played most of the game; the red side had lost its rook, and the black side's knight had been captured.

“Old man, you made the wrong move.” Yang Geyong pointed to the chessboard with his chin. “Your cannon is over there, and my pawn is over there. You can’t hit it.”

"If I can't hit you, how can you possibly catch me?" Ye Yuze calmly moved a soldier aside.

"Your soldiers can't cross the river."

Whether it passes or not, we'll see.

Neither of them spoke, staring at the chessboard like two old oxen locked in a standoff, neither willing to give in.

The stars were shining outside the window, and the only sounds in the study were the sound of chess pieces hitting the board and Yang Geyong slurping his milk tea.

“Jackie Chan called,” Yang Geyong suddenly said.

Ye Yuze's hand froze in mid-air, not falling. "What did you say?"

"They said the girl's parents in Hangzhou have agreed. The engagement is settled."

Ye Yuze placed the chess piece down with a snap. "That's good. When do we do it?"

"Next year. The exact date hasn't been set yet."

Yang Geyong put down his bowl, took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out, and lit it. The smoke swirled in the lamplight.

"Old Ye, do you think I was too hasty?"

What's the rush?

"I'm in a rush to have Jackie Chan take over. He's only twenty, he hasn't even finished his studies, and I'm already thinking of handing the oil field over to him. What if he can't handle it?"

Ye Yuze didn't say anything, but picked up his teacup and took a sip. The tea was cold, but he didn't care.

"You just said that your cannon can't hit my pawn."

Ye Yuze put down his teacup. "But you didn't notice, your handsomeness has already been discovered by my horse."

Yang Geyong glanced down at the chessboard and his expression changed. His king had been cornered by Ye Yuze's knight and was about to be checkmated in the next move.

When will you—

"While you're thinking about Jackie Chan taking over," Ye Yuze leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped on his stomach, "Old Yang, playing chess is like doing anything else. You can't just focus on one thing. If you look to the left, someone will take over to the right. If you look to the front, someone will take over from behind."

Yang Geyong stared at the chessboard for a long time before stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Are you saying I was too hasty in making Jackie Chan his successor?"

“I mean you’re focusing too much on Jackie Chan.” Ye Yuze stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to him. “Jackie Chan is a good prospect, but he needs time. The more anxious you are, the more flustered he becomes. If you’re not anxious, he won’t be flustered.”

Yang Geyong remained silent.

"And that girl too." Ye Yuze turned around:
"When you arranged for her to get engaged to Jackie Chan, did you ever consider that she is also a person, not a pawn in your game?"

Yang Geyong lowered his head and looked at his hands. His hands were rough, cracked, and his knuckles were swollen.

“I’ve thought about it,” he said in a low voice, “so I transferred five percent of the oil field to that girl’s name.”

Ye Yuze was stunned. "What?"

"Five percent. Not much. But enough for her to live comfortably for the rest of her life." Yang Geyong looked up at the stars outside the window.

“She’s with Jackie Chan, so she’s part of the Yang family. I can’t let her suffer.”

Ye Yuze stared at him for a long time.

“You are like a bandit sometimes, and like a bodhisattva sometimes,” he finally said.

Yang Geyong didn't reply. He stood up, walked to the chessboard, picked up the old general who had been cornered, and twirled it in his hand.

"I lost this game." He put the old general back, "but the next game is another story."

Ye Yuze smiled.

"Alright. You'll play red again next round."

Yang Geyong rearranged the chess pieces on the board, sat back on the sofa, and picked up the bowl of milk tea that had gone cold.

"Old Ye," he said, "do you think these two lads will be able to take over our stuff in the future?"

Ye Yuze thought for a moment.

Whether they can accept it or not is their business. Whether they give it to us or not is our business.

He paused for a moment, then said, "We've given them what we were supposed to give, and taught them what we were supposed to teach. The rest is up to them."

Yang Geyong nodded, picked up the bowl, and took a big gulp of cold milk tea.

“Then give it to me,” he said. “Give it all away. Keep nothing.”

Ye Yuze looked at him without saying anything.

The stars outside the window were shining, dazzlingly bright.

The two elderly people in the study, one sitting and one standing, remained silent.

The chess pieces are arranged on the board, waiting for the next game to begin.

London, the next morning.

Yang Chenglong sat in his dormitory, with Tianma's business plan for next year spread out in front of him.

Lin Wanwan sent it over last night; it was a full twenty pages, densely packed with information ranging from market analysis and financial forecasts to supply chain management and brand promotion. He stared at the numbers, his mind racing.

The phone rang. It was Yang Geyong.

"grandfather."

"What are you doing?"

"Look at the project proposal. 'Pegasus' is for next year."

"Can you understand it?"

"I understand some things, but I don't understand others."

"If you don't understand, ask. Don't pretend you do." Yang Geyong coughed twice. "I have something to tell you."

"what's up?"

"I want to transfer five percent of the oil field to Lin Wanwan's name."

Yang Chenglong dropped the pen in his hand to the ground.

"what?"

Five percent. Not much. But enough for her for a lifetime.

Yang Geyong's voice was very calm, as if he were saying that the weather was nice today.

“They’ve followed you, so you can’t let them suffer. Your grandfather has never wronged anyone in his life. You can’t either.”

Yang Chenglong bent down to pick up the pen, held it in his hand, his knuckles turning white.

"Grandpa, you—you didn't tell me."

"I've said it now." Yang Geyong coughed twice more. "Alright, I'm hanging up. Take a good look at your proposal."

beep - beep - beep -

Yang Chenglong sat in his chair, holding his phone, stunned for a long while. Then he picked up his phone and sent a message to Lin Wanwan.

"Wanwan, my grandfather wants to transfer five percent of the oil field to your name."

There was a full minute of silence on the other end.

Then came a voice message. He clicked to listen, and Lin Wanwan's voice was trembling.

"Yang Chenglong, has your grandfather gone mad?"

Yang Chenglong looked at the words and smiled.

"He's not crazy. That's just who he is."

“I don’t want to. Call him and tell him you don’t want to.”

“Tell him yourself.”

"I can not."

Yang Chenglong burst out laughing.

"You're not even afraid of my dad, but you're afraid of my grandpa?"

"Your grandfather is Yang Geyong. Who wouldn't be afraid?"

Yang Chenglong laughed even harder. After he finished laughing, he sent Lin Wanwan a text message:
"Wanwan, please accept this. It's a gift from my grandfather. He'll be unhappy if you don't accept it."

There was a long silence on the other end.

Then came a short voice message, containing only two words.

"no!"

Yang Chenglong placed his phone on the table and looked out the window at London. The sky was overcast, but a ray of sunlight peeked through a gap in the clouds, shining brightly on the rooftops opposite.

Actually, he had a thought in his heart that he hadn't said: although he loved Lin Wanwan very much, he didn't want to give up his grandfather's shares.

After hesitating for a long time, I finally made the call:
“Grandpa, I don’t want you to transfer the shares to Lin Wanwan, because they belong not only to you, but also to the Yang family. I hope you will think it over carefully.”

Yang Geyong laughed loudly and said, "You've really grown up." Then he hung up the phone. When had Yang Geyong ever taken a woman so seriously? He just wanted to see his grandson's attitude.

Yang Chenglong felt no guilt. This had nothing to do with love, because it belonged to his grandfather, not him. If Lin Wanwan wanted the Pegasus, he would have given it to her without hesitation, but not his grandfather's.

He picked up the plan and continued reading.

The numbers are still the same, but they look different.

Because behind those numbers, there is someone, eight thousand kilometers away, doing the calculations with him.

That person's name is Lin Wanwan.

That person was personally selected by Yang Geyong.

The sunlight outside the window grew brighter and brighter. The clouds began to disperse.

(To be continued) (End of this chapter)