Great Power Reclamation

Cherry blossoms have fallen all over the streets of Washington. Petals carpeted the shores of the Tidal Basin, like a layer of pink and white snow.

In her office on Capitol Hill, Susie Walton stood by the window, gazing at the dome of the Jefferson Memorial in the distance. She was waiting for news, news that would determine the very survival of the Progressive Party.

The Future Progressive Party—the third pole of American politics. More than a decade ago, Ye Feng organized a group of young people utterly disillusioned with both the Democratic and Republican parties.

The core principles are threefold: economically, support technological innovation and small and medium-sized enterprises; socially, support racial equality and immigration reform; and diplomatically, advocate cooperation rather than confrontation.

At the time, no one thought this party could amount to anything; in the history of American politics, the third party was practically synonymous with being a runner-up.

From Theodore Roosevelt's Progressive Party to Ross Perot's Reform Party, they started with great fanfare but ended in disgrace, neither truly shaking the two-party system. But the Future Progressive Party is different. It caught a lucky break.

First, there's Ye Feng's support. Public opinion can be manipulated at any time, but all of this requires money. In a capitalist society, money is essentially the one controlling everything.

As it happened, their propositions represented the interests of many people, and so the political party grew bigger and bigger, becoming a legendary entity in American history.

The phone rang, and Susie answered it. The person on the other end only said one sentence, but she stood there holding the phone for a long time before walking to her desk, sitting down, opening a drawer, and taking out a document.

The cover features the emblem of the Future Progressive Party—a bald eagle with outstretched wings, holding not an arrow, but an olive branch in its talons.

She turned to the first page, which showed the current seat distribution of the Future Progressive Party: 47 seats in the House of Representatives, 11 seats in the Senate, and 3 governors.

This number is still far behind that of the Democratic and Republican parties, but it is nearly ten times higher than it was ten years ago.

More importantly, these seats didn't fall from the sky; they were won piece by piece from the territories of both parties.

A Pennsylvania coal miner, a Silicon Valley engineer in California, a Hispanic immigrant in Texas, a retiree in Florida—

Furthermore, the new energy industry invested in by the Warrior Group, although this industry now poses a huge threat to traditional energy, the course of history is irreversible.

Today, new energy has become the third largest pillar industry of energy, and those who work in these industries have naturally become staunch supporters of the Progressive Party in the future.

Although there are only a few hundred thousand people at present, don't forget that they all have relatives and friends, and don't underestimate their influence.

Their votes for the Future Progressive Party were not because they were dissatisfied with the Democratic or Republican parties, but because they genuinely believed that this emerging third party could bring about change.

In the party primaries at the end of last year, Susie withdrew from the Democratic Party and became the future Progressive Party candidate, winning the presidential nomination with 78% of the vote. She will formally accept the nomination and deliver her speech this Sunday.

In the history of American politics, this was the closest a third-party candidate ever came to the White House.

In fact, Ye Feng initially disagreed with this decision. He only wanted to develop his career in a low-key manner and had no ambition for the presidency.

But Susie disagreed, because she felt that would be too slow, and that becoming president would be the best opportunity for a new party to develop rapidly.

In the end, Ye Feng compromised. In fact, he knew from the beginning that Susie was right, but he didn't want to put his woman in the spotlight.

Polls show her approval rating at 23 percent, trailing the Democrats at 41 percent and the Republicans at 35 percent. It seems like there's still a long way to go, but politics is like chess. Having more pieces left doesn't mean you've won; you only win when you can checkmate your opponent.

There was a knock on the door. Campaign manager Mark walked in, carrying a thick stack of briefing books.

"Susie, take another look at Sunday's speech. There are a few parts that I think could be polished a bit more."

He placed the briefing book on the table, flipped through it, and then closed it again.

"Don't look at it."

"Not watching anymore?"

Mark was taken aback. He had worked with her for over a decade and knew that she was never ambiguous when it came to public speaking. She would meticulously consider every word and practice every pause repeatedly. Sometimes she would agonize over a single word for an entire night.

With less than two days until the speech, she said she wasn't going to watch it. Mark didn't press her for a reason—he knew she must have her reasons, and he trusted them.

"Susie, have you seen the poll numbers?" Susie nodded. Twenty-three percent, neither high nor low. Too high and people will become complacent; too low and people will lose confidence.

"What are your plans for handling this number?"

Susie stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the Capitol dome gleaming white in the sunlight, like a giant crown.

"I won't deal with it. Twenty-three percent is twenty-three percent. It's not thirty percent, it's not fifteen percent. It is what it is. I don't need to make it higher or lower. It's how the voters see me right now. I accept it. And then I try to change it."

Mark watched her retreating figure and didn't ask any more questions.

Sunday, Washington Convention Center. Two hours before the speech was scheduled to begin, a long line had already formed outside the venue.

There were young students, elderly people with gray hair, young couples pushing strollers, and veterans leaning on canes. They came from different states, different backgrounds, and different lives, but today they gathered here for the same person.

In the backstage dressing room, Susie sat in front of the mirror as the makeup artist touched up her makeup.

She closed her eyes and went over the speech in her mind again—not the whole thing, but a particular section. That section had nothing to do with policy or the election; it was a personal statement that she had carefully considered before adding it.

The door was pushed open. Mark poked his head in. "Someone wants to see you."

"Who?"

Mark didn't answer, but pushed the door open a little wider.

Ye Feng stood at the door.

Susie paused, and the makeup artist stopped. She said, "You can go out now," and the makeup artist put down her brush and left. Ye Feng walked in and closed the door.

The two stood facing each other, neither speaking. This was their first meeting this month; the last time was at the beginning of the month.

Ye Feng is in New York, and she is in Washington, hundreds of kilometers apart. They talk on the phone every day but can't meet in person. The several phone calls they've had together have covered a lot more than they would have talked face-to-face today.

Why are you here?

"I came to see you."

"Look at me or my poll numbers?"

Ye Feng's lips curled up slightly. It wasn't a smile, but the kind of expression where someone really wanted to laugh but held it back, leaving only a trace at the corner of their mouth.

"Look at you. I can see the poll numbers in New York too."

Susie looked at him but didn't ask any more questions. How he got in, when he arrived in Washington, where he was staying that night—she didn't ask. She only did one thing—she went over and took his hand.

Ye Feng took a small box out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. "Open it and take a look."

Susie opened the box. Inside was a brooch—shaped like a bald eagle, holding an olive branch in its talons, and the emblem of the Future Progressive Party.

The eagle's body was inlaid with platinum, and its eyes were two extremely fine rubies that shimmered slightly under the lights of the dressing room.

"Did you design this Party emblem?"

"I had someone design it." "When?"

"Ten years ago."

Susie pinned the brooch to her collar, stepped back, and asked him if it looked good.

Ye Feng looked at the brooch, which resembled a little eagle resting quietly on her chest, with an olive branch in its claws pointing diagonally towards her left shoulder.

"nice."

The speech began. The conference center's lobby was packed with people; all two thousand seats were occupied.

Susie stood on the side stage, listening to the host introduce her resume—Harvard Law School graduate, civil rights lawyer, member of Congress, and future Progressive Party presidential candidate.

Each of these titles is the result of her hard work and dedication.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, the thin mist in her eyes had dissipated. She straightened her clothes and touched the brooch with her fingertips—the bald eagle's eyes were cool, like two drops of solidified red wine.

"Next, please welcome Susie Walton!"

Thunderous applause erupted.

Susie walked onto the stage, stood behind the podium, and scanned the entire audience. A sea of ​​black heads, bright, sparkling eyes.

She knew there were her supporters and her opponents among them, people there to watch the spectacle, people there to find fault, people there to write reports, people there to take photos—all sorts of people were there, and she didn't care.

All she needed were those people who would listen quietly to her finish speaking.

Thank you. Thank you everyone.

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was steady—the entire hall fell silent the moment she spoke.

"I'm standing here today not because I want to be president. It's because I believe America needs a different future. Not to the left, not to the right, but forward."

Some people clapped, and the applause went from sparse to dense, like raindrops hitting a tin roof.

"The Democrats and Republicans have taken turns in power for decades. They say only they can govern this country. But I ask you—how well have they governed?"

"The income gap is widening, the infrastructure is getting older, health insurance is becoming more expensive, and student loans are getting higher."

"This is not governance, this is dereliction of duty. It's not just the dereliction of duty of one party, it's the dereliction of duty of both parties. So many changes of leadership, yet not a single problem has been solved, and some have even become more serious."

The applause grew louder, some people stood up, and some whistled.

"I'm not here to insult them. Anyone can insult people. I'm here to get things done."

She took a piece of paper out of her pocket, unfolded it, and read it aloud.

"First, establish a National Technology Foundation to invest in basic scientific research. The funding source is not taxpayers' money, but voluntary donations from technology companies."

"Second, abolish the current student loan system and replace it with an 'income-sharing agreement'—students repay their loans with a certain percentage of their income after graduation and finding a job. If they can't find a job, they don't have to repay a single penny."

"Third, legislate at the federal level to protect the right to abortion. This is not a political issue, it is a medical issue. Women's bodies are their own responsibility."

She read the policies aloud on stage, line by line, clause by clause, as if she were giving a lecture. But among the more than two thousand people in the audience, no one was distracted—because beneath the ink of each line lay a patient's medical record, a student's unpaid bill, and a mother's right to choose.

The speech is almost over.

Susie stopped.

She took off her glasses and looked down at the audience. She looked into their eyes.

"I'd like to say one last thing. Something unrelated to the election. Something about a friend in my life."

The audience suddenly became even quieter.

"More than 20 years ago, at Harvard, I met a man. He wasn't American. He had lived in the United States for decades, but he never considered himself American. He wasn't Chinese either."

He said he was someone standing in the middle. He could see both sides, but couldn't go back to either. But he didn't complain. He didn't complain about fate, he didn't complain about his status. He just stood in the middle, looking at both sides. And then he did his thing—

"Do what he can do, do what he thinks is right. No matter what others think of him, no matter what they say he is."

Her voice was a little hoarse.

"This person taught me one thing—what matters is not which side you stand on, but where you stand and do the work. Those who do the work don't need to take sides. Those who do the work just need to do the work."

She put on her glasses and looked at the camera.

"I am not the Democratic candidate, nor the Republican candidate. I am the candidate for the Future Progressive Party. I am not here to divide the cake, I am here to make the cake. If the cake gets bigger, everyone will have a share. That is my promise. Thank you."

The applause rang out, not sparsely, but in unison, like waves crashing in one after another.

Susie stood on the stage watching the applauding crowd. Some were laughing, some were crying, some were hugging. She touched the brooch on her lapel; the bald eagle's eyes were cool and piercing.

In the dressing room, Ye Feng sat on the sofa, a replay of the speech playing on the television. On the screen, Susie stood on the stage, a scene he could see clearly from below—the brooch on her chest twinkled like a tiny star. He pressed his finger against Susie's face on the screen and whispered a few words.

The door was pushed open.

Susie walked in, her face covered in sweat, her eyes shining like two stars.

"Did you hear that?"

"heard it."

"That passage wasn't written in advance. I added it on the spot."

"I know."

Susie looked at him, her eyes red but she didn't cry.

"Ye Feng, thank you."

"Thank me for what?"

"Thank you for standing in the middle. It allows people on both sides to see."

Ye Feng stood up, walked over, and hugged her. Susie buried her face in his chest and finally cried. The tears she had held back for months burst forth, soaking a large patch of the front of his dark blue suit.

The Washington night sky outside the window was nearly empty of stars; the light was too intense. But Susie knew that thousands of kilometers away, the night sky over the military settlement was filled with stars. Those stars weren't lights; they were the silent people of the Gobi Desert, lighting up the long, dark night one by one, guiding all those who were lost. (End of Chapter)