Great Power Reclamation

The news of the goods being released was like a fever reducer, easing the tension that had been building up for Yang Chenglong for several days.

But as he relaxed, he also felt a kind of inexplicable fatigue—not physical fatigue, but mental fatigue.

The feeling of being stabbed in the dark without even knowing where the knife came from is worse than getting into a fight in an alley.

He sat on his bed in the dormitory, scrolling through the emails Marco had sent him, reading them three times.

Three hundred scarves, shipped this afternoon, will arrive before Christmas. Marco said he's communicating with the 20% of customers who requested refunds, and most are willing to withdraw their refund requests.

The losses decreased from 20,000 euros to around 5,000 euros, mainly due to the freight costs of a batch of expedited air shipments.

Five thousand euros. Yang Chenglong did the math in his head; it was equivalent to half a month's profit for "Tianma." Not much, but it stung.

It's not that I'm heartbroken about the money, it's that I'm heartbroken about those scarves—knitted by Grandpa Habuli's wife, Nurgul's daughter-in-law, and Baheti's old lady.

Every stitch and every thread is handmade, represents time, and embodies the image of herders sitting at the entrance of their yurts, sometimes for an entire day. And yet, they're criticized for withholding money.

He picked up his phone and sent a message to Lin Wanwan:
"The loss is about five thousand euros. Marco is still communicating with the client, hoping to minimize it."

The reply came quickly: "Five thousand euros is acceptable. Don't get upset."

"I'm not feeling hot."

“You’re lying. Every time you say ‘I’m not feeling hot,’ you are.”

Yang Chenglong looked at the words and the corners of his mouth involuntarily curled up slightly.

Lin Wanwan knows him too well, she knows him like the back of her hand.

Sometimes he felt it was a good thing, sometimes he felt it was a disaster—because he couldn't hide anything from this person.

My phone vibrated again. It wasn't Lin Wanwan, it was Ye Guigen.

"Come to the warehouse. Something's up."

Yang Chenglong's heart skipped a beat when he saw those four words. Ye Guigen never sent such brief messages. He usually added an emoji or said a few more words.

"Come to the warehouse, I'll show you the latest progress." "Come to the warehouse, the foreman wants to discuss the flooring with you." But this time it was just four words—"Come to the warehouse. Something's up." Even the punctuation conveyed a sense of seriousness.

Yang Chenglong put on his coat and went out.

By the time I arrived at the East End pier by taxi, it was almost dark. In London in December, it gets dark as early as 4:30 pm, as dark as if ink had been splashed on the ground.

The streetlights at the dock came on, their orange glow illuminating the red brick walls and making the graffiti look like bizarre paintings.

Ye Guigen stood at the warehouse entrance, his hands in his coat pockets and his scarf wrapped around his nose.

Seeing Yang Chenglong get out of the car, he turned around, pushed open the iron gate, and went inside. Yang Chenglong followed behind, and the iron gate creaked shut behind him.

The lobby on the first floor has been completely transformed. The walls have been cleaned, revealing the red bricks, which look warm and inviting under the lights.

Half of the floor was covered with wood-grain flooring, while the rest was piled with materials and tools.

The three arched windows facing the river were cleaned, and you could clearly see the lights on the opposite bank of the Thames, twinkling like a glowing ribbon.

But Yang Chenglong wasn't paying attention to any of this. Ye Guigen's expression was off.

"What's wrong?" Yang Chenglong asked.

Ye Guigen didn't say anything, but took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to him.

Yang Chenglong took it and unfolded it. It was a document with the heading in German, which he couldn't understand.

"A termination letter from a German e-commerce platform."

Ye Guigen's voice was calm, but Yang Chenglong could tell that something was pressing beneath that calm:

"They unilaterally terminated their cooperation with 'Tianma'. All outstanding orders were cancelled."

Yang Chenglong held the paper, his hand beginning to tremble.

How many orders?

"Two hundred pieces. Christmas limited edition. Eighty pieces have already been produced, and the rest are still being knitted."

"What's the reason?"

Ye Guigen took another piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to him. This time it was in English, and Yang Chenglong understood it.

"According to our company's quality inspection, the handmade scarves of the 'Tianma' brand do not meet the EU textile safety standards and pose a safety hazard. In order to protect consumer rights, our company has decided to terminate the cooperation."

Yang Chenglong stared at the words "safety hazard," his eyes becoming bloodshot again.

"What safety risks could there be in our scarves? They're made of wool, hand-knitted, and even the dyes are made from minerals and grass roots from the mountains—a hundred times safer than those chemically dyed scarves!"

"I know." Ye Guigen leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

"But the Germans recognize test reports. If you don't have EU textile safety certification, they say you have a potential risk, and that's it."

Yang Chenglong crumpled the paper into a ball and held it in his hand until his knuckles turned white.

"Tell me straight. Who's behind this?"

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

"It's still Liu Zixuan. But he's not alone. One of the shareholders of this German e-commerce platform is a partner of the Liu Group. Liu Zixuan is using this relationship to put pressure on the platform."

"It's Liu Zixuan again." Yang Chenglong threw the crumpled paper on the ground. "Didn't he promise his grandfather to deregister Milan's company?"

"He closed the company in Milan, but his money is still there. His people are still there. His network of connections is still there."

Ye Guigen bent down, picked up the crumpled paper, unfolded it, and smoothed it out:
"Jackie Chan, closing a company is like pulling out a weed. The roots are still there, and it will grow back next spring."

Yang Chenglong took two steps in the empty hall, his footsteps bouncing on the brick wall like the echo of a heartbeat.

He stopped and looked at Ye Guigen.

"Given the truth, do you think I underestimated Liu Zixuan?"

"Yes."

Was I too impulsive?

"Too."

Yang Chenglong clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. It hurt, but he needed the pain to clear his head.

"Then what should I do now?"

Ye Guigen walked to the window and looked at the lights on the opposite bank of the Thames.

"Two paths. First, you admit defeat, shut down 'Tianma,' return to Junken City, and help your grandfather manage the oil field. No matter how arrogant Liu Zixuan is, he won't dare touch your grandfather's oil field."

"And the second one?"

"Secondly, you fight him. But not with your fists, you fight with your brain."

Yang Chenglong walked over to him and looked out the window as well. The river was dark, but it reflected the lights on the opposite bank, creating a shimmering effect.

"I choose the second option. But I don't know how to use my brain."

“I understand.” Ye Guigen turned around. “But you have to listen to me.”

"I'll listen to you."

"No matter what I say?"

"No matter what you say."

Ye Guigen looked at him, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly, but he quickly looked away.

"First, you go to Germany. Go there in person."

What are you going to Germany for?

"Go find the purchasing director of that e-commerce platform. Her name is Claudia, she's German, in her forties, and has been in this industry for twenty years."

"She's not Liu Zixuan's person. She was only pressured by the company's higher-ups to issue that termination letter."

Yang Chenglong was taken aback. "How do you know all this?"

"I checked." Ye Guigen took out his phone from his pocket and showed a photo.

The photo shows a blonde, middle-aged woman in business attire standing at an exhibition, holding a scarf in her hand.

“She was very interested in Tianma’s products at last year’s Berlin Textile Fair. She talked with Lin Wanwan for a long time and said that our scarves were the ‘most interesting products’ she had ever seen.”

As Yang Chenglong looked at the photo, something flashed through his mind.

"So, she doesn't really want to terminate the contract?"

"She didn't want to. But her boss did."

Ye Guigen put his phone away. "Go to Germany and talk to her face to face. Let her know that you're not going against her, but helping her. Help her keep the products she's interested in and help her gain a foothold in the company."

Yang Chenglong thought for a moment. "My German isn't good. Will she be able to understand English?"

“Yes. Her English is very good.” Ye Guigen paused. “And I’ll go with you.”

"Didn't you say you had something to do?"

"I can postpone my business."

Yang Chenglong looked at him and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Given the reason, why did you help me?"

Ye Guigen thought about it.

"Because you are Yang Chenglong. Because my grandfather said that the Yang family members should not be bullied."

"Your grandfather said that?"

"Yes. My grandfather said so."

Yang Chenglong lowered his head and looked at his dusty shoes.

Ultimately, your grandfather was more capable than my grandfather.

Ye Guigen was taken aback. "Why do you say that?"

"Because my grandfather listens to your grandfather."

Yang Chenglong raised his head. "My grandfather respected no one but your grandfather in his entire life. He once said that Ye Yuze was the smartest person he had ever met. He followed Ye Yuze and never made a mistake."

Ye Guigen remained silent. He knew Yang Chenglong was telling the truth. The relationship between Yang Geyong and Ye Yuze was more than that of brothers, and more than that of master and servant.

Yang Geyong was the one who charged ahead, while Ye Yuze was the one who watched the way from behind. One provided the physical strength, the other the intellect. Sixty years have passed, and nothing has changed.

"Let's go." Ye Guigen patted him on the shoulder. "Go back and pack your things. We're flying to Berlin tomorrow."

Junken City, on the same evening.

Ye Yuze sat in his study, a chess game in front of him. The red rook had already crossed the river, while the black knight was still guarding the house.

He held a cannon in his hand, hesitant, his brow furrowed like a folding fan.

Yang Geyong sat opposite him, holding a bowl of hot milk tea, slurping it down loudly. His eyes weren't on the chessboard, but on Ye Yuze's face.

"Old man, what are you thinking?"

Ye Yuze didn't answer, but placed the cannon on the chessboard with a snap.

"I'm wondering if Liu Zixuan has been kept here for too long."

Yang Geyong put down his bowl and wiped his mouth.

"You mean, it's time to move around?"

Ye Yuze looked up at him.

"It's not about targeting Liu Zixuan. It's about targeting the people behind him."

Yang Geyong frowned. "Boss Liu? Didn't he call to apologize?" "He apologized. But his son is still causing trouble."

Ye Yuze leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly twice on the armrest:
"That German e-commerce platform terminated its contract with 'Tianma'. Do you know who the shareholders of that platform are?"

"Who?"

"The Liu Group's partner. The Lim family of Singapore."

Yang Geyong's expression changed. "The Lin family? The Lin family that makes rubber?"

"Yes. It's that Lin family."

Ye Yuze stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to him:
"Liu Zixuan used his connections with the Lin family to put pressure on the German platform. His grandfather called to apologize, but he continued to cause trouble behind the scenes. This man is even more ruthless than his grandfather."

Yang Geyong clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking.

"Old Ye, what do you suggest we do?"

Ye Yuze turned around and looked at him.

"Don't move. Let Guigen move."

Yang Geyong was taken aback. "Guigen? He's only twenty years old."

"Twenty is enough." Ye Yuze walked back to the chessboard and sat down.
"When I was twenty, I was already running a garment factory. Ultimately, he's smarter than me, so he's capable."

Yang Geyong stared at the chessboard for a long time, then picked up the knight that had been neglected for a long time and made a move.

"Okay. Let Gui Gen do it. But you have to watch from behind."

"I won't watch."

Ye Yuze pushed the cannon forward another step. "I'll stand in front."

Yang Geyong raised his head and looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, it's my turn to step in."

Ye Yuze's voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail:
"Did Boss Liu think he could just make a phone call and be done with it? His son messed with my grandson, my grandson's brother, and my grandson's brother's business. This isn't something that can be resolved with just one phone call."

The study was quiet for a few seconds. The old clock on the wall ticked away.

Yang Geyong put down the horse he was holding and looked at Ye Yuze.

"Old Ye, how do you plan to handle this?"

Ye Yuze took a business card out of the drawer and placed it on the coffee table.

The business card was dark blue, with a name and a list of titles printed on it. The name was "Ye Yuze," and the titles were "Founder and Honorary Chairman of the Board of Directors of Warrior Group."

"Tomorrow, I'm flying to Singapore."

Yang Geyong was stunned. "Singapore? To find Boss Liu?"

"Yes. Let's go have tea with him."

"Are you going alone?"

Ye Yuze looked at him and smiled.

"You accompany me."

Yang Geyong paused for a moment, then smiled.

"Okay. I'll go with you."

"Take two things with you," Ye Yuze said.

"what?"

"First, your cigarette. Second, your fist."

Yang Geyong clenched his fists, looking at his rough, cracked hands with swollen knuckles.

"My fists are getting old. I don't know if they can still fight."

"You don't need to hit me."

Ye Yuze stood up and picked up the chess pieces one by one from the chessboard:
"You can just stand there."

Yang Geyong watched as he put the chess pieces into the box, sixteen for the red side and sixteen for the black side, not one missing.

"Old Ye, do you think Boss Liu will back down in Singapore?"

Ye Yuze closed the box and placed it on the highest shelf of the bookshelf.

"It's not a matter of admitting defeat or not. It's a matter of whether he's sensible or not. If he's sensible, we'll drink tea. If he's not, we'll drink something else."

Yang Geyong did not ask what "drink something else" meant.

He knew Ye Yuze well; he never spoke without certainty. If he said "drink something else," then there must be something else to drink.

What time is your flight tomorrow?

"Nine o'clock in the morning. Flying from WLMQ."

Yang Geyong stood up and picked up his coat from the sofa.

"Then I'll go back and pack my things."

"Old Yang," Ye Yuze called out to him.

Yang Geyong turned around.

"You've followed me for sixty years." Ye Yuze's voice was very soft, almost as if he were talking to himself. "You don't regret it?"

Yang Geyong stood at the door, silent for a long time.

"Regret what?" he finally asked. "Following you, I developed an oil field. Without you, I'd still be building roads in the Gobi Desert. Tell me, do I regret it?"

Ye Yuze remained silent.

Yang Geyong opened the door and went out.

The door closed. Only Ye Yuze remained in the study, accompanied by the ticking of the old clock on the wall.

He walked to his desk and picked up the photograph. In the photo, Yang Chenglong and Ye Guigen were standing on a lawn in London, their eyes narrowed into slits with laughter.

“You two lads,” he muttered to himself, “Grandpa will clear the way for you.”

He put the photo back on the table and turned off the light.

The study was plunged into darkness. The stars outside the window shone brightly, almost blindingly so.

Berlin, the afternoon of the second day.

It was almost dark when Yang Chenglong and Ye Guigen walked out of Berlin Tegel Airport.

Berlin in December was colder than London, and the wind felt like knives cutting into your face. Yang Chenglong pulled his scarf up higher, covering half of his face.

"Have you booked the hotel?" he asked.

"It's booked. Near the exhibition center."

Ye Guigen took out his phone and found an address:

“Claudia is available tomorrow morning. We've arranged to meet at 10 a.m. in her office.”

How did you manage to get a date with her?

"Sent an email. Wrote three thousand words."

Yang Chenglong glanced at him. "Three thousand words?"

"Yes. I wrote about everything from the origin of 'Tianma' to the Tianshan Ranch, from Grandpa Habuli's sheep to Lin Wanwan's exhibition hall. I wrote all night long."

"She replied?"

"She replied. She said—'I'm very touched.'"

Yang Chenglong paused for a moment, then laughed.

"You're the kind of person who can make people cry even when you're writing an email."

"It's not that I can write it. It's that the story is good."

Ye Guigen hailed a taxi and opened the car door:

"The stories of the Tianshan Mountains and the herdsmen are moving enough on their own without any embellishment."

The two got into the car. The taxi drove out of the airport and headed towards the city. Outside the window, the streetlights of Berlin were shining brightly, illuminating the streets.

Yang Chenglong leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed.

"Returning to one's roots".

"Ah."

"Do you think Claudia will agree to resume cooperation tomorrow?"

Ye Guigen thought about it.

"Not necessarily. But at least she'll know we're not here to argue. We're here to tell stories."

Yang Chenglong opened his eyes and looked out the window.

The night in Berlin is different from that in London. The night in London is gray and gloomy, like a dirty rag.

The night in Berlin is clear and pure black, with the streetlights casting sharp, distinct lines of light and shadow, as if cut by a knife.

"In the end, your grandfather went to Singapore."

Ye Guigen turned his head. "How did you know?"

“My grandfather just called me. He said that your grandfather went to Singapore to have tea with Mr. Liu. He’s accompanying him.”

Ye Guigen remained silent for a while.

“My grandfather didn’t tell me.”

“He probably doesn’t want you to worry,” Yang Chenglong said. “But my grandfather said that your grandfather’s trip this time isn’t for tea. It’s to draw his sword.”

Ye Guigen looked out the car window at the night scene without saying a word.

The car drove through the streets of Berlin. Streetlights swept by one by one, their orange glow shining through the car windows and illuminating the faces of the two people, flickering on and off.

“Jackie Chan,” Ye Guigen suddenly said.

"Ah."

"Regardless of whether tomorrow's plans succeed or not, don't act impulsively."

"I'm not impulsive."

"You promise?"

Yang Chenglong looked at him and reached out his hand.

"ensure."

Ye Guigen grasped his hand.

The two people's hands were clasped together on the back seat of the taxi, like two trees rooted to the ground. They couldn't see it from the surface, but they were tightly intertwined underground.

The car continued driving. It was dark in Berlin, but the streetlights were still on.

Tomorrow will be a new day.

(To be continued) (End of this chapter)