Great Power Reclamation

Yang Chenglong visited that villa in Mayfair once.

That time, Wang Jiaming arranged to meet him and told him, "I'm not with anyone."

The lights in the villa are still on, but the person sitting in the study has changed.

Wang Jiaming wasn't there. His uncle, Wang Jianguo, sat behind the mahogany desk, holding a cell phone in his hand, his face as white as paper.

Wang Jianguo is 52 years old this year and is the youngest son of Wang Dehai, the founder of the Wang Group.

Wang Dehai has three sons: the eldest, Wang Jianye, manages domestic real estate; the second, Wang Jianjun, manages Southeast Asian trade; and the youngest, Wang Jianguo, manages European business.

Of the three brothers, Wang Jianguo was the youngest and also the most astute.

He lived in London for fifteen years, growing the Wang Group's assets in Europe from zero to two billion pounds.

He was a seasoned veteran, having had tea with HSBC directors, dined with British trade officials, and discussed cooperation with Middle Eastern sovereign wealth funds. He thought he had seen it all.

But at this moment, his hands were trembling.

The person on the other end of the phone said three things. The first thing:
“Wang Jianguo, I know everything you’ve done.”

The second sentence: "If you touch Yang Chenglong, you are touching the Ye family. If you touch the Ye family, you are touching the Warriors Group."

The third sentence: "I'll give you two choices. First, leave London tomorrow and never come back."

"Secondly, I'm asking you to stay, but once you stay, you can't leave."

Wang Jianguo recognized the voice. It was Ye Feng's voice. Not Ye Yuze, but Ye Feng. The second-generation head of the Ye family, founder of the Brothers Group, and de facto controller of the Warrior Group.

That man who wielded immense power on Wall Street, inspiring fear in all his rivals. That man he never wanted to offend, yet had already done so.

The phone slipped from Wang Jianguo's hand and fell onto the carpet with a dull thud.

He had just knocked over a whiskey glass on the desk, spilling the amber liquid onto the mahogany table, which then trickled down the edge and dripped onto his custom-made dark gray trousers, but he was completely unaware of it.

The study door was pushed open. Wang Jiaming stood in the doorway, wearing a white bathrobe, his face pale and his eyes sunken.

His illness wasn't cured yet; his recovery after pancreatic cancer surgery wasn't ideal, but he could already walk. He looked at his uncle and frowned.

"Third Uncle, what's wrong?"

Wang Jianguo raised his head, looked at his nephew, his lips trembled a few times, but he couldn't say a word.

Wang Jiaming walked in, bent down, and picked up the phone from the ground. The screen was still lit, but the call had ended.

He glanced at the caller ID—a New York number, no name specified, but he recognized the area code. 212. Manhattan.

"Is it Ye Feng?" Wang Jiaming asked.

Wang Jianguo nodded.

"What did he say?"

Wang Jianguo closed his eyes and repeated the three sentences Ye Feng had said. His voice was very soft, so soft that it was as if he were talking to himself.

After listening, Wang Jiaming remained silent for a long time. He walked to the window and looked at the night view of Mayfair.

The night in London is pure black, and the streetlights in the distance look like strings of glowing beads, strung together and stretching into the unseen distance.

"Third Uncle," he finally spoke, "I told you. Don't touch Yang Chenglong."

"I didn't touch him—"

"You didn't touch it? Was it you who facilitated Liu Zixuan's money? Were the people in Bakhtiar your doing? Did you contact the Lin family to exert pressure from the shareholders of that German platform?"

Wang Jiaming turned around and looked at his uncle, his eyes filled with something indescribable—not anger, but disappointment.

"Third Uncle, I know everything you've done. I've tried to advise you, but you wouldn't listen."

Wang Jianguo stood up, his hands bracing against the desk, his knuckles white.

“I did it for the Wang family. The Ye and Yang families’ oil fields in Central Asia are a lucrative prize. Liu Zixuan has money, Bakhtiar has local connections, and I have the channels. If the three of them join forces, they can at least take a bite out of it. Did I do something wrong?”

“You made a mistake.” Wang Jiaming’s voice was not loud, but it was firm. “Because you miscalculated one thing.”

"what's up?"

"You miscalculated Ye Yuze."

Wang Jianguo was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You think Ye Yuze is old and useless. You think Ye Feng is too busy in New York to take care of things in London."

"You think Yang Geyong is retired in the military reclamation city and can't care about things outside?"

Wang Jiaming walked back to his desk, sat down, and looked at his uncle:
"But you didn't consider that these three people are tied together. If you move one, you move all three. If you move all three, you move the entire military reclamation city."

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

Wang Jianguo slowly slid down into the chair, like a deflated balloon.

"So what do we do now?"

Wang Jiaming looked at his uncle and remained silent for a long time.

"Third Uncle, please listen to my advice."

"what?"

"Tomorrow, you go back to Hong Kong. Hand over the European business to me."

Wang Jianguo suddenly raised his head. "Give it to you? Your body—"

"I'm in good health."

Wang Jiaming said, "I can hold on for a few more years. You go back to Hong Kong and lay low for a while. I'll talk to Ye Feng."

Wang Jianguo looked at his nephew; the young face was thinner than it had been a few months ago, his cheekbones were prominent, and his eyes were sunken, but his eyes were bright—

That kind of brightness is not a healthy brightness, but a brightness sharpened by illness, as sharp as a blade.

"Jiaming," Wang Jianguo's voice was somewhat hoarse, "why did you help me?"

Wang Jiaming stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to his uncle.

"Because you are a member of the Wang family."

He said, "The Wang family cannot be bullied by outsiders. But the Wang family cannot bully others either."

Outside the window, the Mayfair night wind blew, and the branches of the plane trees along the street swayed and rustled.

Looking at the bare branches, Wang Jiaming recalled the scene of meeting Ye Guigen at a dinner party in London last year.

The young man was dressed in a well-fitting suit, spoke with neither arrogance nor servility, and smiled like the spring sunshine.

He knew then and there that this man was not to be trifled with. Not because he was rich, but because there was a light in his eyes. A person with light will never be extinguished, no matter where they go.

What he didn't expect was that in less than a year, he would be on the opposite side of this man's brother.

No. It's not the opposing side. It's his uncle who's on the opposing side. He wants to bring his uncle back.

London, morning of the second day. East End docks, warehouses.

When Yang Chenglong arrived, Ye Guigen was already on the second floor.

He stood by the window, a cup of coffee in his hand, staring blankly at the Thames. Hearing the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he turned around.

How's your arm?

"Much better." Yang Chenglong shook his left arm. Although it still hurt, it was better than yesterday. "I applied ice all night, and the swelling went down."

Ye Guigen nodded, picked up an envelope from the table, and handed it to him.

"The quote from the German testing agency. The one Claudia recommended is the most efficient, but also the most expensive. The certification fee is 12,000 euros, and the processing time is six to eight weeks."

Yang Chenglong took the envelope, looked at it, folded it up, and put it in his pocket.

"We have to do it, even if it's expensive. If we don't get certified, we'll be held hostage again next time."

“That’s what I think too.” Ye Guigen sat back down in his chair. “There’s one more thing. Wang Jianguo has left London.”

Yang Chenglong was taken aback. "When?"

"This morning. British Airways BA027, London to Hong Kong. Departure at 8:10."

"How did you know?"

Ye Guigen picked up his coffee and took a sip. "Uncle Scar has connections at the airport."

Yang Chenglong sat down in the chair, his mind racing. "His departure, does that mean this is the end of it?"

Ye Guigen put down his coffee cup and looked at him. "What do you think?"

Yang Chenglong thought for a moment. "I don't think so. Liu Zixuan was sent back to London, Wang Jianguo returned to Hong Kong, and Bakhtiar had his credit cards cut off in Almaty."

"Three people, three lines, all severed. But they severed their hands, not their roots. The roots are still there."

Where are our roots?

"The roots are in the people behind them."

Yang Chenglong said, "Liu Zixuan is backed by his father, but his father has been subdued by your grandfather. Bakhtiar is backed by his grandfather, but his grandfather has stopped caring about him."

"Who is behind Wang Jianguo? He is backed by the Wang Group. The Wang Group is still around. Wang Jianguo's two older brothers are still around."

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

"When did you become so good at analysis?"

Yang Chenglong scratched his head. "You forced me to. I'm with you every day, and I've been influenced by what I see and hear."

Ye Guigen smiled. "The phrase 'to be influenced by what one sees and hears' is well used."

The two sat in the office on the second floor, where sunlight streamed in through the window, warming the wooden floor.

The sound of workers' footsteps and the buzzing of electric drills came from downstairs.

The renovation is still ongoing. The flooring is laid and the walls are painted. The next step is to install lights and move furniture.

“Given the consequences,” Yang Chenglong suddenly said, “do you think the Wang Group will retaliate?”

Ye Guigen thought for a moment. "No. Because the cost of retaliation is too high. The Wang Group is in business, not in war. They're calculating. It's not worth offending the Ye and Yang families for Wang Jianguo alone."

"What about Wang Jianguo? Will he be content with that?"

He was unwilling to accept it. But he had no choice.

Ye Guigen stood up and walked to the window. "Because he's not afraid of us. He's afraid of his older brother."

"His older brother?"

"Wang Jianye. The head of the Wang Group."

Ye Guigen turned around and said, "My dad said that Wang Jianye is a hundred times more ruthless than his brother. But he is also a reasonable person. He won't cover for his brother when he does something wrong."

Yang Chenglong was silent for a moment. "Ultimately, who exactly is your father? How does he know everyone and interfere in everything?"

Ye Guigen paused for a moment, then laughed. "My dad is a businessman. But he's been in business for so many years, he knows a lot of people and has a wide range of responsibilities."

"A little bit?" Yang Chenglong held up his little finger, comparing it to the size of a fingernail. "Just this little bit?"

Ye Guigen did not answer. He walked back to the table, picked up a document, and handed it to Yang Chenglong.

"Forget all that. Take a look at this."

Yang Chenglong took it and opened it. It was a business plan, the cover of which read "Tianma – From Scarves to Lifestyle Brand". He read a few pages, then looked up.

"Did you write this?"

"Wanwan wrote it. I helped her revise a few places."

Yang Chenglong flipped through the pages one by one. The plan was very detailed, from market analysis to brand positioning, from product line expansion to channel strategy, from financial forecasts to financing plans, every page was filled with dense writing.

He saw a new term – “lifestyle brand”.

“What does this mean?” he asked, pointing to the word.

"It means that 'Pegasus' doesn't just sell scarves. Scarves are the entry point; once you go inside, there are shawls, hats, gloves, carpets, and home furnishings."

"Anything handmade by the herders of northern Xinjiang can be sold. It's not just about selling products, but about selling a lifestyle—a handmade, slow, and warm lifestyle at the foot of the Tianshan Mountains."

As Yang Chenglong looked at those words, images of Grandpa Habuli's yurt, the pastures at the foot of the Tianshan Mountains, and the herdsmen sitting at the door of their yurts knitting scarves came to mind.

Those scenes, frame by frame, were like a movie.

"This idea, is it Wanwan's?"

"It's hers. But I think it's right."

Yang Chenglong closed the plan and placed it on his lap.

"In the end, tell me, am I too useless? You guys help me with everything. You write the proposal every night, and my grandfather provides the money. It seems like I haven't done anything."

Ye Guigen looked at him and remained silent for a few seconds.

"You did the most important thing."

"what's up?"

"You stand in front."

Ye Guigen said, "You were the one who hit Liu Zixuan, you were the one who blocked the stick, and you were the one who went to Berlin to talk to Claudia. We helped you with your ideas because you were willing to stand in front. If you had stayed in the back, no one could have helped you."

Yang Chenglong lowered his head and looked at his hands, which were covered in scars.

“You have a really nice way of speaking,” he said.

“I’m not just saying nice things. I’m stating the facts.”

Yang Chenglong stood up and tucked the project proposal under his arm.

"Okay. I'll go back and take a look. I'll call Wanwan when I'm done."

"Don't call. Video chat. She likes watching you."

Yang Chenglong blushed slightly, then turned and left.

His footsteps on the stairs were loud and rhythmic, like a galloping horse.

Ye Guigen stood by the window, watching his figure disappear at the top of the stairs, then took out his phone and dialed a number.

"Dad. Wang Jianguo is gone."

On the other end of the phone, Ye Feng's voice was calm. "I know. His older brother called me."

"What did you say?"

“Apologize. Say his brother is being irresponsible. Say the Wang Group will not participate in any actions targeting the Ye and Yang families.”

Ye Guigen remained silent for a while.

"Dad, do you believe me?"

"Believe only half of it."

"Which half?"

"I believe he won't do it. I don't believe he doesn't want to do it."

Ye Guigen leaned against the windowsill, looking at the Thames. "What about the other half?"

"You take care of the other half."

"I?"

"You are not alone in London."

Ye Feng said, "You have Jackie Chan, you have Scarface, you have Claudia, you have Lin Wanwan. You have three more things than Wang Jianguo."

Which three?

"Youth, brotherhood, and a righteous heart."

Ye Guigen held his phone without saying a word.

“Go back to your roots,” Ye Feng’s voice lowered, “Your grandfather asked me to tell you something.”

"What?"

"The road ahead is long, so take it slow. But don't stop."

After hanging up the phone, Ye Guigen stood by the window for a long time.

Outside the window, the Thames River flowed slowly, its waters a hazy gray. Several white waterbirds circled low above the river, seemingly searching for something.

He put his phone away and went downstairs.

The foreman was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. "Mr. Ye, the lights are installed. Take a look."

Ye Guigen followed him into the lobby on the first floor. The ceiling lights came on—

It wasn't the kind of blinding white light, but a warm yellow light that shone on the red brick walls, the wooden floor, and the three huge arched windows, making the whole hall look as if it were plated with gold.

"Is it nice?" the foreman asked.

Ye Guigen stood in the middle of the hall, looking at the warehouse that would soon become the "cornerstone and wings" office.

“It looks good,” he said.

He took out his phone, took a picture, and sent it to Yang Chenglong.

"The office is all set up. We're waiting for you."

The reply came quickly. "Come tomorrow. I'll look at the proposal today."

Ye Guigen looked at the line of text and smiled.

He put his phone away and walked out of the warehouse. The iron gate creaked shut behind him.

The wind was strong at the dock, making the hem of his coat flutter loudly.

But he didn't feel cold.

Because spring is coming soon.

Military reclamation city, on the same afternoon.

Ye Yuze sat in his study, a chess game in the middle of the board in front of him.

The red rook has crossed the river, while the black knight is still guarding his home turf. He holds a cannon in his hand, undecided.

Yang Geyong sat opposite him, holding a bowl of hot milk tea, slurping it down loudly.

"Old Ye, are you still thinking about Wang Jianguo?"

Ye Yuze placed the cannon on the chessboard with a snap. "I don't want to think about it anymore. Thinking too much is tiring."

"So what are you thinking?"

"I long for spring."

What's there to think about in spring?

Ye Yuze looked up at the sky outside the window. The sky over Junken City was a pure blue, without a single cloud.

"Spring is here, and the apricot blossoms are in bloom. When the apricot blossoms are in bloom, those two boys should be back."

Yang Geyong put down his bowl and wiped his mouth.

"Why did you come back?"

“Come back and take a look. See the spring in Junken City, see the tombstones on the back hill, see those old things.”

Yang Geyong remained silent for a while.

"Old Ye, do you think they'll come back someday?"

Ye Yuze thought for a moment.

"meeting."

Why are you so sure?

"Because this is where our roots are."

Ye Yuze stood up and walked to the window. "No matter how tall a tree grows, its roots are still in the soil. No matter how far they fly outside, their roots are still in the military reclamation city."

Yang Geyong also stood up and walked to his side.

"Old Ye."

"Ah."

"Do you think we're getting old? Why do our noses get so sore whenever we talk about these things?"

Ye Yuze turned his head and looked at him.

"It's not that I'm getting old. It's that I miss them."

Two elderly people stood by the window, looking at the sky over the military reclamation city.

The sky is very blue, and the clouds are very white.

The apricot blossoms hadn't bloomed yet, but they could already smell their fragrance.

(To be continued) (End of this chapter)