Great Power Reclamation

Chapter 3131 Tianshan

The news of the successful engine test run spread like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, ripples spreading outwards in concentric circles, from the military reclamation city to the provincial capital, from the provincial capital to Beijing, and from Beijing to the whole world.

The moment Helena saw the data stabilize in the control room, she knew it couldn't be kept secret any longer. But she didn't expect the news to spread so quickly.

Three days after the successful test drive, the parking lot in front of the Junkencheng Research Institute was full of cars.

The license plates included those from the provincial capital, those from Beijing, and several with black diplomatic plates—it was unclear which country's embassy had sent them.

Reporters, carrying cameras and recording pens, completely blocked the entrance to the research institute.

There were reporters from CCTV, Xinhua News Agency, Reuters, AFP, AP, and several other media outlets whose names Yang Geyong couldn't recall, all crowding at the back, tiptoeing to peek inside.

Ye Yuze stood on the steps at the entrance of the research institute, wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit, his hair neatly combed, and leaning on his old cane.

Yang Geyong stood behind him, wearing a faded military overcoat, his hands in his pockets, his expression saying, "Aren't you reporters annoying?"

“Mr. Ye,” a young reporter wearing glasses squeezed to the front, his microphone almost poking Ye Yuze in the face:

"Why did the Warrior Group name this engine 'Tianshan'? What is its relationship with the Warrior Group's previous 'Warrior' series engines?"

Ye Yuze looked at the reporter and remained silent for two seconds. His gaze was calm, as calm as a stagnant pool, but those who knew him well knew that something was weighing down beneath that calm.

"Because this engine does not belong to the Warrior Group."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear, like nails hammered into a wooden board: "It belongs to China."

The scene fell silent. Dozens of reporters, dozens of cameras, hundreds of eyes were all fixed on Ye Yuze. No one spoke, and even the clicking of camera shutters stopped.

“Mr. Ye,” another reporter reacted and asked quickly, “Do you mean that the Warrior Group transferred the technology of this engine to the country free of charge?”

Ye Yuze glanced at the reporter. Instead of answering directly, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. It was an agreement, written in black and white, stamped with the Warrior Group's red seal. He held the agreement up to the camera.

"This is not a transfer. This is a return. The technology for aircraft engines originally belonged to the country. The Warrior Group only contributed some money and effort. Money and effort are given and don't need to be returned. But the technology must be returned."

His voice was still not loud, but every word seemed to be squeezed out of his chest, carrying a power that left no room for doubt.

“Mr. Ye,” a blond, blue-eyed foreign journalist asked in accented Chinese:

"Aren't you afraid that doing this will affect the competitiveness of the Warriors Group in the international market?"

Ye Yuze looked at him and smiled. The smile was faint, but genuine.

"The competitiveness of the warrior group has never relied on hiding technology. It relies on people. People grow old and die. But technology doesn't. Technology is passed down, and each generation is stronger than the last. That's true competitiveness."

The room fell silent again. The foreign journalist opened his mouth, as if to say something, but remained silent. He lowered his head and scribbled rapidly in his notebook, the sound of his pen cutting through the paper particularly clear in the quiet.

“Mr. Ye,” a female reporter pushed her way to the front, her voice trembling with excitement:
"You just said that this engine belongs to China. Does its name—'Tianshan'—have any special meaning?"

Ye Yuze turned his head and looked at the Tianshan Mountains in the distance. The snow-capped peaks shimmered white in the sunlight, like a silver crown.

"The water from the Tianshan Mountains flows down and irrigates the land of Junken City. The people of Junken City drink the water from the Tianshan Mountains and grow the bones of the Tianshan Mountains. The bones of the Tianshan Mountains are not afraid of wind and sand. It is appropriate to name this engine 'Tianshan'."

After he finished speaking, he turned and left. Yang Geyong followed behind him, and the two of them walked into the gate of the research institute, one after the other. The iron gate closed behind them, keeping dozens of reporters outside.

The reporters stood there, looking at each other in bewilderment. Some were writing articles, some were making phone calls, and some were carrying cameras to film the exterior of the research institute.

But no one left. Because they knew this was just the beginning. Ye Yuze's words would cause an earthquake throughout the world.

Sure enough, the news broke that afternoon.

CCTV News devoted two minutes to reporting the successful test run of the "Tianshan" engine, with the headline "China Aviation Power Achieves Major Breakthrough".

Xinghai News Agency issued a press release titled "Warrior Group Founder Ye Yuze: Technology Belongs to the Nation." Reuters' headline was "China's Aero Engine Breaks Western Monopoly, Developers Donate Technology Free of Charge."

AFP's headline was "Tianshan Mountains - China's response to Western sanctions." The Associated Press's headline was more direct: "A Chinese billionaire donates billions of dollars worth of engine technology to the nation."

The comments section exploded.

Foreign netizens' comments were varied. Some said, "Ye Yuze has gone mad, donating billions of dollars like that."

Some say, "This is the most powerful counterattack against the Western technological blockade!"
Some people even said sourly, "They dare to donate because they have even better technology hidden away."

Domestic netizens' comments were much simpler. The top comment, with over two million likes, consisted of only one sentence: "Grandpa Ye, awesome!"

London, East End docks, the same afternoon.

Yang Chenglong sat in the office of "Foundation and Wings" with a replay of "Night News" playing on his computer screen.

He saw Ye Yuze standing at the entrance of the research institute, heard him say "This engine belongs to China", and saw him turn around and leave, leaving the reporter standing there.

He turned his head and looked at Ye Guigen sitting opposite him.

"Your grandpa is really tough."

Ye Guigen leaned back in his chair, holding a cup of coffee in his hand, a slight smile on his lips.

"He's always been like this. He's as soft as water when he's soft, and as hard as steel when he's hard."

"He said he'd donate the technology, does your dad know?"

"I know. His dad made him donate."

Yang Chenglong was taken aback. "Your grandfather had your father donate it?"

"Yes. The night the engine test was successful, my grandfather called my dad."

“My dad was in New York at three in the morning. My grandfather said, ‘Ye Feng, this engine can’t stay with the Warrior Group. You should donate it.’”

My dad said, "Dad, have you thought this through? Billions of dollars."

“My grandfather said, ‘What are billions of dollars? When I came out of the Gobi Desert, I didn’t have a single penny. And I’m still alive, aren’t I?’”

Ye Guigen picked up his coffee, took a sip, and said slowly:
My dad was silent for a moment, then said, "Okay. Donate."

Yang Chenglong remained silent for a long time. He looked out the window; the Thames was grey and flowing slowly. Several white waterbirds circled low over the river.

“In the end,” he finally spoke, “what was your grandfather after?”

Ye Guigen put down his coffee cup and looked at him. "My grandfather once said something that I don't know if you've heard of it."

"What?"

He said that the most important thing in a person's life is not how much money they make, but how much they do. And how much they do is not measured by how big the things are, but by how many people's things they do for others.

Yang Chenglong silently repeated the sentence to himself.

"So, he donated the engine to do something for more people?"

"Yes. The engine is in the hands of the Warrior Group and can only be used by the Warrior Group."

"If we donate it, all the people in the country can use it. If all the people in the country use it, then all Chinese people around the world can use it. If all Chinese people around the world use it, those who are trying to hold us back will no longer be able to do so."

Looking at Ye Guigen, Yang Chenglong suddenly realized that this person—no, this family—was different from what he had previously thought.

He used to think the Ye family was rich, rich enough to buy half of London.

But now he realizes that the Ye family's money wasn't used to buy buildings, but to buy roads. To buy a road so that more people could use it.

“I want to return to my roots,” he said. “I want to be like your grandfather in the future.”

"What?"

"Spend the money you earn where it's needed."

Ye Guigen looked at him and smiled. "Isn't that what you're doing now? Most of the money you earn from selling scarves goes to those herders."

Yang Chenglong paused for a moment, then smiled. "Yes. Me too." The two sat in the office, looking out at the Thames River. The water was greyish, but sunlight filtered through the clouds, scattering across the surface like gold.

Junken City, on the same evening.

Ye Yuze sat in his study, a chess game in the middle of the board in front of him. Yang Geyong sat opposite him, slurping down a bowl of milk tea.

"Old Ye," Yang Geyong put down his bowl, "were the things you said to the reporters today prepared in advance, or did you improvise?"

Ye Yuze held a chess piece in his hand and twirled it around. "Just something I did on the spot."

"Can you really make something out of a spur-of-the-moment thing?"

"It's not that I'm good at expressing myself. It's just how things are. I'm just stating the facts."

Yang Geyong picked up the bowl and took another sip. "When you said 'the technology belongs to China,' I saw that foreign reporter's face turn green."

Ye Yuze smiled. "It's good that it's green. If it's green, then we'll remember it."

Yang Geyong also laughed. After laughing, he put down his bowl and looked at Ye Yuze.

"Old Ye, what do you think those foreigners will do?"

Ye Yuze placed the chess piece down with a snap.

"Two reactions. One is fear, the other is hatred. Those who are afraid will back down, and those who hate will seek revenge."

"Are you scared?"

Ye Yuze looked up at him.

"I'm not afraid. Because I've seen all kinds of storms in my life. From the dugouts in the Gobi Desert to today's warrior group."

"If someone wants to fight back, I'll fight back. If I can't fight back, I'll find another way to get there. If I can't get there by walking, I'll crawl."

Yang Geyong looked at him and remained silent for a long time.

"You've spent your whole life fighting. Aren't you tired?"

Ye Yuze leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling.

"I'm tired. But I can't not fight. If I don't fight, people will ride roughshod over me."

Outside the window, the stars are shining.

The lights were still on in the research institute.

Ye Hai sat at his workbench, a pile of blueprints spread out in front of him. His eyes were fixed on the dense lines and data, his brows furrowed slightly. Helena stood behind him, holding a cup of tea.

"Ye Hai, go back and rest. You have to go to work tomorrow."

"Mom, I'm not tired."

"You're not tired, but I am. Come back with me."

Ye Hai turned to look at his mother. Her face was pale, and she had dark circles under her eyes. His heart suddenly ached.

"Mom, your knee..."

"It's nothing. It just hurts a little from standing for so long. I'll be fine after lying down for a while."

Ye Hai stood up, helped Helena, and the two slowly walked out of the research institute. Outside, it was dark, the wind was strong, but the stars were bright.

"Mom," Ye Hai suddenly said, "Do you regret it?"

Helena paused for a moment. "Regret what?"

"I regret coming to the military reclamation city. I regret following my dad."

Helena stopped and looked at her son. The streetlight shone on his face, making him look young, determined, and full of hope.

"I don't regret it," she said. "Coming to the military reclamation city was the best decision I ever made in my life."

"why?"

"Because here, I found what I want to do for the rest of my life."

Ye Hai looked at her and remained silent for a long time.

"Mom, me too."

Helena smiled. She reached out and touched her son's face.

"Let's go back. Your dad's still waiting at home."

The two got into the car, which drove out of the research institute and disappeared into the night.

In the sanatorium, Ye Wancheng sat in a wheelchair, gazing at the night sky outside the window. Meihua stood behind him, holding a coat in her hand.

"Wancheng, put it on. Don't catch a cold."

Ye Wancheng didn't move. He looked at the stars in the sky, which were so densely packed that it looked like someone had spilled a bag of loose silver.

“Plum Blossom,” he said, “Yu Ping’s engine is on the news.”

"I know. I saw it."

"A reporter asked his older brother why the engine was called 'Tianshan'. Guess what his older brother said?"

Meihua walked around to him, squatted down, and looked into his eyes.

"What did you say?"

He said, "The water of Tianshan irrigates the land of Junken City. The people of Junken City have the bones of Tianshan. The bones of Tianshan are not afraid of wind and sand."

Mei Hua didn't speak. She held Ye Wancheng's hand; his hands were rough, cracked, and his knuckles were swollen.

"Wan Cheng, you are also a member of the Tianshan Mountains."

Ye Wancheng looked at her, his eyes reddening.

"Plum blossom, you've suffered a lifetime of hardship following me."

Meihua stood up, pushed the wheelchair, and walked to the bedside.

"It's not hard. With you, I'm not suffering."

Ye Wancheng didn't speak. He closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

Plum Blossom stood by the bed, watching him. Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating his face and the deep wrinkles on his skin.

She lowered her head and gently kissed his forehead.

Then she turned off the light and left the room.

The corridor was quiet, with only the sound of her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor.

The night in Junken City is pure black.