Great Power Reclamation

The moment Scarface's convoy disappeared around the corner of Berlin, Yang Chenglong thought the matter was truly over for the time being.

His left arm was swollen so badly that Ye Guigen dragged him to the Humboldt University Hospital in Berlin for an X-ray.

When the X-ray came out, the emergency room doctor, an elderly man with gray hair, looked at it for a long time while wearing reading glasses, and said in English with a heavy German accent:

"The bone is fine. It's a soft tissue contusion. Apply ice for 48 hours. Don't lift anything with this hand."

Yang Chenglong nodded, thinking to himself: I've fought my way through all the fights in my life, what else is there to mention?
Ye Guigen was queuing at the pharmacy to pick up his medicine, while Yang Chenglong sat on a plastic chair in the emergency room, looking down at his left arm.

The sleeve was torn open by the stick, and a bluish-purple ridge swelled up on the skin inside, extending from the wrist to the elbow joint like a winding snake.

He touched the ridge with his right hand and hissed in pain.

But he felt at ease. Not because he won—there are never real winners in fights.

It was because he knew he had to fight this battle. Not for himself, but for Lin Wanwan, for the herdsmen, and for "Tianma".

If he takes even half a step back in front of Liu Zixuan, he can forget about ever standing up straight again.

Ye Guigen walked over carrying a bag of medicine and sat down next to him.

"Apply ice gel three times a day. Take anti-inflammatory medication twice a day after meals. Wrap the bandage yourself, but don't wrap it too tightly."

He shoved the medicine bag into Yang Chenglong's arms. "What were you thinking about just now?"

"I'm wondering how Liu Zixuan's father will treat him when he returns to Singapore."

Ye Guigen leaned back in his chair, looking at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling of the emergency room.

The stark white light shone on his face, making his skin almost transparent. "His dad will break his legs."

"Really?"

“It’s true. But not now. His father wants to see what we have first. We have recordings, photos, and evidence that he sent people to Hangzhou. Any one of these things could cause the Liu Group’s stock price to drop by three points.”

Ye Guigen turned to look at him, "So Boss Liu is no longer Liu Zixuan's father, but the chairman of Liu's Group. The chairman's primary responsibility is to protect the company's stock price. His son's affairs come second."

Yang Chenglong was silent for a moment, then placed the medicine bag on his lap. "Gui Gen, tell me, weren't we too ruthless?"

"ruthless?"

Ye Guigen stood up and pulled him up from the chair:

"When Liu Zixuan sent people to Hangzhou to threaten Lin Wanwan, wasn't he ruthless? When he made the German platform terminate its contract with 'Tianma,' wasn't he ruthless? When he made you kneel down and beg him in Claudia's office, wasn't he ruthless?"

"Jackie Chan, being ruthless to ruthless people isn't true ruthlessness. Being cowardly to ruthless people is true ruthlessness towards yourself."

Yang Chenglong opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found that he couldn't win the argument.

Ye Guigen is a man of few words, but every word he utters is to the point, like a nail that once it's in, it can't be pulled out.

The two walked out of the hospital. It was already completely dark in Berlin, and the orange glow of the streetlights shone on the wet sidewalk.

I don't know when it rained, but the ground was glistening, like a giant mirror, reflecting the streetlights and the shadows of two people.

"Back to London tomorrow?" Yang Chenglong asked.

No. I'm going to Frankfurt tomorrow.

What are you going to Frankfurt for?

Ye Guigen pulled a crumpled business card from his pocket, on which was printed a name and a string of German characters.

"Claudia introduced me to the head of a testing agency in Frankfurt. We'll meet tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. to discuss certification. After that, I'll fly to London this afternoon."

He put the business card away. "With your arm like that, are you sure you can manage?"

"It'll work. It's not like it can't be used."

Ye Guigen looked at him and shook his head. "When will you ever learn to show weakness?"

"When no one bullies me anymore."

The two hailed a taxi and headed towards the hotel. Yang Chenglong leaned against the car window, watching the Berlin night view flash by.

The Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag Building, the Spree River—those landmarks he had seen in history books—stood silently in the night, like silent old men.

He suddenly remembered the military reclamation city. He remembered the tombstone on the back hill, the desk lamp in his grandfather's study, and the old apricot tree in Yang Geyong's yard.

Those things stood silently, waiting for him to return.

His phone vibrated. It was Lin Wanwan's video call.

He answered the phone. On the screen, Lin Wanwan was sitting in her rented room in Hangzhou, with a wall covered in sticky notes behind her. Her eyes were red, as if she had just been crying.

"What happened to your arm?" That was her first question.

"It's nothing. Just a superficial injury."

"You're lying. Ye Guigen sent me photos. Your arm is swollen like a radish."

Yang Chenglong turned his head and glared at Ye Guigen. Ye Guigen looked out the window nonchalantly, pretending not to have heard anything.

"Wanwan, you're really okay. The bone isn't broken. The doctor said that applying ice for two days will be fine."

Lin Wanwan stared at the screen for a long time, her lips moved as if she had a lot to say, but in the end she only said one sentence:
"Yang Chenglong, you owe me a braised fish."

Yang Chenglong was stunned for a moment. "What?"

“When you came to Hangzhou last time, my dad made braised fish. You said you'd make it for me next time you came. You still owe me that.”

Yang Chenglong's nose suddenly stung with tears. He remembered the insulated bag that Lin's mother had given him, Lin's father had cooked braised fish for every meal, and Lin Wanwan's red-rimmed eyes when she saw him off at the airport.

Those images flashed through his mind like a movie, frame by frame, as clear as if it were yesterday.

“I remember,” he said. “Once I’m done with things here, I’ll go to Hangzhou. I’ll cook for you.”

"You said it. You can't go back on your word."

"No regrets."

After hanging up the video call, Yang Chenglong pressed his phone against his chest and closed his eyes.

The taxi was quiet, with only the hum of the engine and the rustling of the tires as they rolled over the wet pavement.

"Back to your roots." He didn't open his eyes.

"Ah."

"Thank you for sending Wanwan the photos. Even though you scared her."

"You're welcome. You should let her know. The more you hide it from her, the more worried she'll be. Once she sees it, she'll feel more at ease."

Yang Chenglong opened his eyes and looked out the car window.

The sky was dark in Berlin, but the streetlights were bright.

Singapore, Changi Airport, private helipad.

The gangway of the Gulfstream G650ER descended, and the cabin door opened. Liu Zixuan was the first to step out, followed by two bodyguards—but not the two he had brought in Berlin.

The two men, one knocked unconscious by Yang Chenglong and the other covered in blood after being hit in the face by a potted green ivy by Ye Guigen, were both lying in a private hospital in Berlin.

The two men accompanying him are men sent by Boss Liu. They are nominally bodyguards, but in reality, they are escorts.

Mr. Liu stood at the bottom of the gangway, wearing a dark gray polo shirt, khaki pants, and casual shoes.

He looks like an ordinary middle-aged father picking up his son from the airport.

But his hand was behind his back, clutching something—

A rattan cane. About the thickness of a thumb, about a meter long, dark brown, and shiny, clearly an old item that has been used for many years.

Liu Zixuan stepped down the gangway and saw the vine; his expression changed. "Dad—"

Boss Liu didn't say anything. He stepped forward, grabbed Liu Zixuan's arm, and dragged him toward a black car parked not far away.

Liu Zixuan struggled, but Boss Liu's hand was like an iron clamp, completely unmoving. Two bodyguards followed behind, expressionless, like two gatekeepers.

The car door opened, and Boss Liu pushed Liu Zixuan into the back seat, got in himself, and closed the door.

The bodyguards didn't get into the car; they stood outside, their backs to the door, like two walls.

The car was quiet. The air conditioning was on, and the cold air made one's scalp tingle.

Boss Liu placed the rattan cane on his knees, looking straight ahead without glancing at Liu Zixuan.

What did you do in Berlin?

His voice was calm, as calm as a stagnant pool. But Liu Zixuan knew that the calmer it was, the more terrifying it was.

"Dad, I just—"

"I'm asking you what you did." Boss Liu's voice didn't rise, but every word was like a knife.

Liu Zixuan's lips trembled. "I went to see Claudia, the German purchasing director. I wanted her to stop cooperating with Yang Chenglong."

"anything else?"

"I also...said a few words to Yang Chenglong."

"What did you say?"

Liu Zixuan lowered his head. "I'll make him kneel down and beg me."

The car was silent for five seconds. The air conditioner blasted cold air, giving Liu Zixuan goosebumps.

Boss Liu picked up the rattan cane from his knee and weighed it in his hand. "Hold out your hand."

Liu Zixuan's body trembled violently. "Dad—I already know I was wrong—"

"Hands out."

Liu Zixuan gritted his teeth and slowly extended his right hand. His palm was facing up, and his fingers were trembling.

The first lash came down. With a crack, it was as crisp as shattering glass.

A red mark ran across the palm of my hand, like a red snake.

Liu Zixuan screamed and tried to pull his hand away, but Boss Liu grabbed his wrist and wouldn't let him.

The second lash. *Crack*. Another red mark appeared on top of the first, the skin torn and blood seeping out.

The third lash. *Crack*. Tears fell from Liu Zixuan's eyes, not from crying, but from the pain. After the three lashes, Boss Liu released his wrist and placed the cane back on his knee.

"These three lashes were for Yang Geyong."

His voice remained calm, "You messed with Yang Chenglong's business, you harassed Yang Chenglong's fiancée, and you made Yang Geyong unable to hold his head up in front of Ye Yuze."

I've known Yang Geyong for thirty years. I owe him a debt of gratitude I can never repay in this lifetime. You can't ever repay it.

Liu Zixuan clenched his right hand, blood seeping from between his fingers and dripping onto the black leather seat, drop by drop, like dark red tears.

"Starting today, your credit cards are suspended. Your car, your house, your company—everything is being taken back."

Mr. Liu took a plane ticket out of his pocket and threw it on Liu Zixuan's lap.

"Tomorrow, you fly to London. Finish your MBA. Before graduation, you are not allowed to return to China. You are not allowed to use your family's money. You are not allowed to contact Bakhtiar, and you are not allowed to contact Wang Jianguo."

Liu Zixuan stared at the plane ticket, his lips trembling.

"Dad, you're leaving me—alone in London—"

You're twenty-one.

Mr. Liu finally turned his head and looked at his son. There was no heartache or anger in his eyes, only a deep, overwhelming weariness.

“When I was your age, I was already negotiating with the locals in the jungles of Indonesia. You studied for ten more years than me and suffered ten years less. Now, it’s time to make up for it.”

He pushed open the car door and got out. After taking two steps, he stopped without looking back.

"Zixuan, it's not that Dad doesn't love you. Dad can't let the entire Liu family be ruined in your hands."

The car door closed. Liu Zixuan sat alone in the back seat, holding his bleeding hand, looking out the window.

The night sky over Singapore is devoid of stars. But he knows that eight thousand kilometers away, in the military settlement, the night sky is full of stars.

Those stars were lit one by one by his father when he was young.

He looked down at the plane ticket in his hand.

London.

He's going back to London. But not to swagger around; he's going back to study.

A person, without credit cards, bodyguards, a car, or a house. Just like an ordinary international student.

He didn't know if he could do it. But he knew he had to. Because he couldn't afford the consequences of failing.

London, the second night.

Yang Chenglong and Ye Guigen flew back from Frankfurt, landing at 8 p.m.

The Heathrow Airport terminal was brightly lit and bustling with people, the Christmas holiday atmosphere was so strong that it was hard to believe it – there were decorations everywhere, Christmas trees, and volunteers in red clothes collecting donations.

The announcement was playing flight information in both English and French, and a female voice said:

"Please take good care of your personal belongings."

Yang Chenglong dragged his suitcase out of the arrival gate and immediately saw Scarface.

It wasn't because Scarface was waving or calling his name, but because the man stood there, like a stone thrown into a river—

The crowd around him automatically moved around him, forming a semi-circular blank area.

Scarface was wearing a black leather jacket, and the scars on his face looked particularly gruesome under the fluorescent lights.

He nodded to Ye Guigen, then looked at Yang Chenglong.

"Young Master Yang, Young Master Ye sent me to pick you up."

"Thank you, Uncle Scar," Yang Chenglong said.

Scarface didn't say anything, turned around and left. The two men followed him out of the terminal and got into a black Mercedes-Benz van.

The car drove out of the airport, onto the M4 highway, and headed towards the city.

The car was quiet. Scarface drove steadily and calmly, just like the man he was.

“Uncle Scar,” Ye Guigen suddenly spoke up, “any news from Wang Jianguo’s side?”

Scarface glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Yes. He's in London."

Ye Guigen frowned slightly. "He's in London? When did he arrive?"

“Yesterday. I stayed in Mayfair, not far from Wang Jiaming’s villa.”

What's he doing here?

“I don’t know. But he’s been meeting with people. Yesterday he met with a director at HSBC, and this afternoon he met with an official from the UK Department for Trade.”

Ye Guigen leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on his knees—a habit he had when he was thinking rapidly.

"Is he here to discuss business?"

"Doesn't seem like it." Scarface pulled his car into the fast lane.

"The people he met with had no direct connection to his business. HSBC's directors oversee the private banking division, not the corporate finance division. The trade department officials are in charge of visa policy, not trade policy. The people he met with didn't match the work he was doing."

Yang Chenglong sat beside him, completely bewildered. "What are you talking about? Who is Wang Jianguo?"

Ye Guigen turned to look at him. "Wang Jiaming's uncle. The head of the Wang Group's European operations. I mentioned it to you last time, Liu Zixuan, Bakhtiar, and Wang Jianguo are all working together to get you."

Yang Chenglong's mind raced for a moment. "So, Wang Jianguo is the one behind it all? Not Liu Zixuan?"

"Liu Zixuan provided the money. Bakhtiar provided the manpower. Wang Jianguo provided the channels."

Ye Guigen raised three fingers, then withdrew them one by one:
“Three people, three lines, all tangled together, trying to take over your grandfather’s oil field. Liu Zixuan’s line broke, and Bakhtiar’s line broke too. But Wang Jianguo’s line hasn’t broken yet.”

Yang Chenglong clenched his fist. "So, he came to London to continue his scheme?"

"I don't know." Ye Guigen looked at him, "But regardless of whether he wants to continue, we need to be prepared."

The car exited the highway and turned into central London. Streetlights flashed by on both sides of the street, their orange glow reflecting off the car windows like a flowing river.

"Back to your roots," Yang Chenglong suddenly said, "Aren't you afraid?"

Ye Guigen was taken aback. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid of Wang Jianguo. I'm afraid he's even more ruthless than Liu Zixuan."

Ye Guigen thought for a moment. "I'm not afraid. Because I'm not alone."

Yang Chenglong looked at him and smiled.

"You're not alone either."

The car stopped downstairs in front of the dormitory building. Yang Chenglong got out of the car and took a suitcase out of the trunk.

His left arm was still hurting, but he carried the box with his right hand and refused any help.

"See you tomorrow," he said to Ye Guigen.

"See you tomorrow," Ye Guigen said.

Yang Chenglong dragged his suitcase into the dormitory building. In the elevator, he looked at his face in the mirror—the gauze on the corner of his mouth had been removed, leaving a pink scar.

The bruise on his left cheek had mostly subsided, but a faint yellow tinge remained. His hair was a mess, like a bird's nest, and his eyes were bloodshot.

He looked like he had just finished a tough battle. But in reality, the battle was only halfway through.

The elevator arrived. He stepped out, took out his keys, and opened the door. The door opened, and Hans was sitting in the living room, holding a book. When he saw him come in, he put the book down.

"You're back?"

"I'm back."

What happened to your arm?

"It's nothing. I just bumped into something."

Hans looked at him and remained silent for two seconds. "You're lying. But if you don't want to talk about it, I won't ask."

He stood up, went to the kitchen, took a plate of sausages and mashed potatoes wrapped in plastic wrap from the refrigerator, and put it in the microwave. "Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Wait. Two minutes."

Yang Chenglong pushed his suitcase into the room, changed into clean clothes, washed his hands, and sat down at the dining table. Hans brought over the heated sausages and mashed potatoes, and poured a glass of milk.

"Eat up. Once you're full, everything will be fine."

Looking at the simple German dish, Yang Chenglong suddenly felt a lump in his throat.

"Hans, thank you."

"What are you thanking me for? You're my roommate."

Hans sat down opposite him. "Even though you often come back in the middle of the night covered in blood, which terrifies me, you're my roommate."

Yang Chenglong lowered his head and ate heartily. The sausage was salty, the mashed potatoes were greasy, and the milk was bland. But this was the best meal he had ever eaten. Not because it tasted good, but because someone was waiting for him to come back.

After finishing his meal, he washed the dishes, returned to his room, and closed the door. He sat on the edge of the bed, took out his phone, and sent a message to Lin Wanwan.

"Wanwan, I've arrived in London. My arm doesn't hurt anymore. I'll start the certification process tomorrow."

The reply came quickly. "Go to sleep early. Don't stay up late."

Yang Chenglong looked at the words and smiled. He placed his phone beside his pillow, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

Outside the window, the London night wind howled. But his heart was not cold.

Because he knew that eight thousand kilometers away, someone was waiting for him. That person's name was Lin Wanwan.

There was another man in an old house in the military reclamation town, smoking, drinking milk tea, and playing chess with his old buddies. That man said he had grown up. He wanted to live up to that statement.

He closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

Unbeknownst to him, at the same moment, in a villa in Mayfair, Wang Jianguo was making a phone call.

On the other end of the phone was someone he couldn't afford to offend.

The man said three sentences. Upon hearing them, Wang Jianguo dropped his wine glass, which shattered on the ground. (End of Chapter)