Great Power Reclamation

Three days after the speech, Wall Street opened. Brothers Group's stock price plummeted seven percent within ten minutes of opening.

There was a reason for this—at four in the morning, an anonymous report began circulating among institutional investors.

The report, which claims to be from a reputable international auditing firm, points directly to numerous related-party transactions and hidden debts within the new energy sector of the Brother Group.

The figures listed in the report were increasingly alarming. Brothers Group's stock price plummeted as if it had been pushed off a cliff.

Ye Feng stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of the Manhattan headquarters building, holding a cup of coffee that had gone cold. Outside, the Hudson River flowed slowly, its waters a hazy gray, and the Statue of Liberty appeared and disappeared in the mist in the distance.

Hedge funds are dumping shares; it's not just one or two, it's a whole group. They're buying stocks at low prices from retail investors and then borrowing even more shares from the short selling market to sell them off.

The more the stock price falls, the more panicked retail investors become; the more panicked they become, the more people sell; and the more people sell, the further the stock price falls.

This is a perfect death spiral, and at the end of the death spiral, Brothers Group was shorted.

Susie Walton called from Washington, her voice urgent, and there was someone calling her name in the background.

"Ye Feng, I've heard about the report. Who did it?"

Ye Feng took a sip of coffee; it was completely cold and bitter.

"I don't know. But I know what they want."

What do you want?

"They want me to make a statement."

"Make a statement? Make what statement?"

Ye Feng turned around, walked back to his desk and sat down, his gaze falling on the cliff-like K-line on the screen.

"I'm not getting involved in the Tianshan engine issue. I'm not getting involved in the Warrior Group issue. I'm only taking care of the Brother Group; I won't concern myself with anything else."

"I'm stating that I'm just an honest businessman who doesn't get involved in politics, technology, or anything that might displease those people in Washington."

Susie remained silent for a moment.

Ye Feng's voice remained steady. "Susie, you focus on your campaign in Washington. I'll handle things on Wall Street."

After hanging up the phone, Ye Feng pressed the intercom on the table. "Have William Ye come up."

William Ye – Uncle Si's son, Ye Feng's cousin. A partner at Wharton Capital, he has been navigating the treacherous waters of Wall Street for twenty years, having weathered every storm and fought every crocodile.

A few minutes later, William Ye pushed the door open and came in. He was wearing a light gray suit, no tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone.

"Brother, you were looking for me?"

"sit."

William Chen sat down opposite him. Ye Feng turned the computer screen towards him. William Chen looked at it for a few seconds, his lips twitched, not in a smile, but with an expression of "I knew it was coming."

"Brother, what are you planning to do?"

"You go first."

William Ye leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest twice.

"At least four hedge funds were involved in the sell-off, but they weren't the masterminds behind it. They were just doing it for money."

"Whose money are they taking? Boeing? General Electric? Airbus? Rolls-Royce? All of them are possible. It's also possible that several of them are working together."

Ye Feng nodded. "Continue."

William Ye stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the Manhattan skyline.

"Brother, this is a business war. A business war isn't a dinner party. It's a fight to the death. If they dare to mess with our brother group, we dare to mess with them."

He turned to look at Ye Feng. "Brother, I'll do whatever you ask me to do. But there's one thing you need to think about—to what extent."

Ye Feng picked up the glass of cold coffee, took another sip, and put it down. "Keep going until they stop."

William Ye smiled. "Okay."

It was lunchtime on Wall Street. William Ye walked into a members-only restaurant near the stock exchange and found the person he was looking for in a corner.

A white man in his sixties, with gray hair, wearing a dark blue suit, had a plate of fried salmon and a glass of Fiji water in front of him.

He was one of the most powerful people on Wall Street—no, not just one of them. People on Wall Street called him "The Chief." He didn't like the nickname himself, but he never stopped others from calling him that.

William Ye sat down opposite him. "Chief, it's been a long time."

The old man looked up at William Chen, his expression neither smiling nor unsmiling. "William, you've come to see me about the Brothers Group?"

"Yes."

"Then you've come to the wrong person. I did not participate in shorting Brothers Group."

William Yee said, "I know. But you know who's involved."

The old man was silent for a few seconds. He forked a piece of salmon, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

William Ye didn't rush him. He picked up the coffee the waiter had brought and sipped it slowly. To reach this level, the first thing you learn is not to rush. Whoever rushes first loses.

The old man swallowed the fish and put down his fork. "William, let me tell you the truth."

"You said."

"Brother Group has grown too fast in the past few years. So fast that it keeps people up at night. New energy vehicles, microchips, aero engines—each of these is a trillion-dollar market."

“In every market, the Brother Group is taking away other people’s jobs. Boeing, General Electric, Airbus, Rolls-Royce, any one of these names has been around for more than half a century.”

"They've been languishing in their respective fields for decades, making money for decades, and then one day they suddenly find that a Chinese person is coming to take their jobs. What are they supposed to do?"

William Ye did not respond to that.

The old man picked up his Fiji water and took a sip. "William, go back and tell your brother. It's not that I want to mess with him; he made himself a target."

William Ye stood up. "Chief, thank you for lunch. I'll treat you next time."

The old man watched his retreating figure, then forked the last piece of salmon but didn't put it in his mouth.

At 2 p.m., William Ye returned to the trading room at Wharton Capital. On the huge electronic screen on the wall, Brothers Group's stock price was still falling, with the decline widening to 11 percent.

No one spoke in the trading room. Dozens of traders stared at their screens, their fingers hovering over the keyboards, afraid to move.

William Ye walked to the center of the trading hall and clapped his hands.

"Listen up, everyone. From now on, only buy Brothers Group's stock, don't sell. Not slowly, but in a buying frenzy."

"We'll take whatever they smash. If they don't have enough funds, take it from my account. Don't ask about the price, don't ask about the quantity, don't ask about the time. We'll buy until they can't smash anymore."

The traders all stood up.

"What are you all standing there for? Get to work!"

The trading room erupted in chaos. The sounds of keyboards being typed, phone calls being made, and quotes being shouted out mingled together, dozens of sounds bouncing off the floor and hitting the ceiling, buzzing like a swarm of wasps whose nest had been disturbed.

William Ye stood in the middle of the trading hall, motionless like a nail. He looked at the fluctuating numbers on the screen, and his lips twitched—not in a smile, but as an instinctive reaction before a battle.

Manhattan headquarters building, Ye Feng's office. The door opened. Ye William walked in, sweating profusely, his tie askew.

"Brother, we've finished. They dumped all their chips, and we bought them all. Brother Group's trading volume today is equivalent to the total of the past three months. Our holdings increased by four percent, and our average cost is three percent lower than today's closing price."

Ye Feng leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest. "Have you found out? Who's behind it all?"

William Ye took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the table.

"The names of four hedge funds are all listed. Where did their money come from? We can't find out. Layer upon layer of nested structures, shell companies within shell companies, registered in seven countries across three continents—"

"Cayman Islands, Luxembourg, Hong Kong Island, Delaware, Bermuda, Singapore, Ireland. Each layer is legal, but the real investors cannot be found at any layer."

Ye Feng picked up the note, glanced at it, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

"Brother, what do we do next?"

"Wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for their second move."

William Chen was taken aback. "How did you know they would make a second move?"

Ye Feng stood up, walked to the window, and opened the blinds. The Manhattan sunset streamed in, bathing the entire office in a golden light, making even the tiny dust particles in the air shimmer.

"Because they haven't won. If they haven't won, they won't stop. If they don't stop, they'll strike again. And if they strike again, they'll expose their true colors."

William Chen watched his retreating figure without asking any further questions.

Junken City, the Ye family's old residence. The apricot blossoms are in full bloom, filling the courtyard with pink and white clouds. When the wind blows, the petals fall, drifting onto the stone table and into the teacups.

Ye Yuze sat under the tree opposite Yang Geyong, and neither of the two old brothers spoke.

Ye Yuze's phone rang, and he answered it. "Dad, the Wall Street matter is settled."

Ye Feng recounted the events of the day in detail. Ye Yuze listened without interrupting, and only spoke slowly after Ye Feng finished speaking and paused for a while.

"Ye Feng, those people won't let this go."

"I know."

"What are you going to do?"

"Wait."

Ye Yuze's lips curled up slightly. "Waiting for what?"

"Wait for their second move."

Ye Yuze didn't reply. He looked at the apricot blossoms above his head, their petals swaying gently in the wind.

Yang Geyong was holding a bowl of milk tea beside her. It was unclear whether he heard what was being said on the other end of the phone. He didn't ask, and Ye Yuze didn't say anything either.

After hanging up the phone, Ye Yuze placed it on the stone table and picked up his teacup. A single apricot petal floated in the cup; he didn't scoop it out, but drank it down along with the tea. It was slightly astringent, with a hint of sweetness in the aftertaste.

"Old Yang, how long do you think this battle will last?"

Yang Geyong put down his milk tea bowl and wiped his mouth. "Fight them until they don't want to fight anymore."

"When will they stop fighting?" Yang Geyong thought for a moment. "When they realize they can't win."

Ye Yuze looked at him and laughed. "You've been saying this kind of thing your whole life."

Which language?

"It sounds like nonsense, but it's not nonsense at all."

Yang Geyong picked up the bowl and took a big gulp of milk tea. He didn't argue, probably because he couldn't win the argument, or maybe because he was too lazy to talk to him.

The four hedge funds made their second move even faster than William Ye had anticipated. Early the next morning, just as Asian markets opened, a new anonymous report exploded on the Bloomberg terminal.

This time, not only the Brotherhood Group but also the Warrior Group were dragged into the mess. The report devoted considerable space to proving a seemingly shocking "fact"—

Warrior Group's new energy vehicle battery technology originated from an expired patent that Warrior Group acquired from a German company in its early years. The term "expired patent" is an academic expression; in plain terms, it means—theft.

William Ye was woken up by a phone call in the early hours of the morning in New York. He picked up his phone and glanced at the caller ID; it was a trader in London.

He closed his eyes and then opened them again, sitting up against the headboard, listening to the other person recount the situation. After they finished, he remained silent for a moment before speaking:
"Don't move yet. Wait for my call." After hanging up, he sat in the dark and thought silently for a while.

It was still dark. The Manhattan skyline was faintly visible in the morning mist, and the lights on the top of the Empire State Building blurred in the fog, like a hazy orange spot.

He didn't turn on the light, but put on his shirt in the dark, buttoned it up, picked up his car keys from the table, and went out.

When Ye William arrived at Ye Feng's office, it was just dawn. The corridor lights were not yet on; only the green emergency exit signs glowed faintly in the darkness.

Ye Feng was already there. He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a cup of coffee, watching the first rays of dawn on the Hudson River.

His silhouette appeared exceptionally silent in the faint morning light, like a sculpture that had stood there for a long time.

"Brother, you didn't sleep all night?"

"She fell asleep. She slept for a while."

William Ye walked over and stood beside him. The two of them looked at the sky outside the window, which changed from dark gray to light gray, from light gray to pale white, and then a faint golden light peeked through the pale white.

The sunrise in New York is so short that you won't even notice it's here unless you specifically look for it.

"How much have the Asian markets fallen?"

"Brothers Group's Hong Kong-listed shares fell by 6 percent, and Warrior Group's Hong Kong-listed shares fell by 4 percent."

Ye Feng turned around and walked back to his desk to sit down. He turned on his computer, and the light from the screen shone on his face, making the wrinkles hidden in the shadows clearly visible.

"William Ye, why do you think they want to drag the Warriors Group into this?"

William Chen sat down opposite him and thought for a moment. "Because the foundation of the Brothers Group is the Warriors Group. If the Warriors Group is cut off, the Brothers Group is like water without a source. They don't want to attack the Brothers Group, they want to attack the Warriors Group."

Ye Feng nodded. "So, do you think they're after the Brothers Group, or the Tianshan Engine?"

William Ye was stunned for a moment. He thought he had figured it out, but now he realized that he had only seen a corner of the chessboard and had not seen the overall trend of the game.

"You mean—they're not targeting the Brotherhood Group, nor the Warrior Group, but the Tianshan Engine?"

Ye Feng didn't answer. He turned the computer screen to show Ye William, which displayed an online edition of the Wall Street Journal. The headline on the front page was—

"The mystery of Tianshan Engine's funding: related-party transactions between Brothers Group and Warrior Group."

"Look, they're not trying to crash Brothers Group's stock price, they're trying to ruin Tianshan Engine's reputation."

"The term 'related-party transaction' can be a big or small issue legally, but in the public sphere, it's an indelible stain. You can't explain it clearly. The more you explain, the worse it gets."

William Ye stared at the headline for a long time. "So their shorting of Brothers Group was just a prelude."

"The real purpose is to label the Tianshan engine as 'unclean.' With this label, the FAAF can legitimately refuse to issue an airworthiness certificate."

"It can't be done openly and honestly."

Ye Feng picked up his coffee, took a sip, and when it got cold, he frowned and put it down again.

"It can be done openly and honestly. Openly and honestly, without having to sneak around. And if you don't have to sneak around, no one can stop you."

The office remained quiet for a long time. Outside the window, the sun finally rose from behind the buildings on the other side of the Hudson River, its golden light filtering through the blinds and casting long, thin stripes of light on the desk between the two people.

Washington, Capitol Hill. Susie's campaign office is in complete chaos.

A dozen or so staff members were on the phone at the same time. Some were communicating with the media, some were explaining to donors, and some were discussing countermeasures with the legal team.

The walls were covered with polling data and constituency maps, and the desk was piled high with briefing books and folders of various colors. Mark walked through the chaotic area and pushed open the door to Susie's office.

Susie sat behind her desk, the Wall Street Journal spread out in front of her. She had already read it three times, and by the third time, she wasn't angry anymore.

"Susie, the media is asking us whether we should respond."

"What response?"

"In response to that Wall Street Journal report."

Susie took off her glasses and rubbed her temples. "That was a report about Brothers Group, not about me. What should I respond to?"

Mark hesitated for a moment. "The reporters will ask about your relationship with Ye Feng. They'll dig it out sooner or later."

Susie looked at him without saying anything.

“Susie, I’m not advising you to cut ties. I’m reminding you. It’s too late to cut ties. What you can do now is not avoid it, but face it.”

Susie leaned back in her chair, looking at the flickering light on the ceiling.

"Mark, you go out first. Let me think about it."

Mark nodded, turned and walked out, gently closing the door behind him.

Susie sat alone in her office. She took the brooch out of her drawer. The bald eagle's eyes gleamed faintly under the light, like two tiny red stars.

She gently stroked the eyes with the pad of her thumb, feeling the cool and delicate touch of the ruby's surface.

She's made up her mind.

Susie stood up, pushed open the door, and walked into the open-plan office area. Everyone was busy—some making phone calls, some typing, and some making copies.

When they saw her come out, some people stopped, while others didn't stop but pricked up their ears.

"Everyone, stop for a moment."

The entire office fell silent.

“You’ve all seen that Wall Street Journal article. The reporter asked us if we wanted to respond. I said—yes.”

She glanced around.

"But this isn't a response to that report. That report was about Brothers Group, not me. What I want to respond to is the question that reporters have been asking but I haven't dared to answer."

She paused for a moment.

"My relationship with Ye Feng."

The air in the office felt like it had been sucked out.

Susie stood in the middle of the office area, like a nail. Behind her, the wall was covered with her campaign posters, in which she smiled—

That smile is the standard politician's smile, with the same curve at the corners of the mouth. After seeing it so many times, even I feel unfamiliar with it.

But at this moment, she didn't smile. Her expression was like a stone in the Gobi Desert, worn smooth by wind and sand for decades, its edges rounded but its hardness undiminished.

"I've known Ye Feng for almost thirty years. He's my friend, my comrade-in-arms, and the most important man in my life."

“When I ran for president, he didn’t donate a single penny. Not because he didn’t want to, but because I wouldn’t let him. I want the people of this country to know that Susie Walton got to where she is today not because of anyone’s money, but because of my own two legs.”

She paused for a moment.

"That's my response. Whoever wants to write about it, whoever wants to report it, whoever wants to make a fuss about it—go ahead."

Someone in the office cried. Not a loud sob, but the kind of crying where tears welled up in their eyes for a long time before finally being held back and slowly streaming down their cheeks.

Mark stood in the corner, head down, pressing the back of his hand against his eyes.

Military Reclamation City, Research Institute. When Ye Hai finished working overtime and walked out of the materials laboratory, it was already past ten o'clock at night.

The research institute's courtyard was deserted, with only the streetlights still on. Ayiguli was waiting for him downstairs, wearing her red windbreaker and with her hair in a ponytail, the red ribbon at the end of her ponytail flashing under the streetlights.

"Why so long?"

"The last few sets of data need to be verified. Director Zhou and his team are coming tomorrow, so there can't be any problems."

Aygul took his arm, and the two walked side by side out of the research institute's gate, slowly strolling along the road lined with poplar trees.

The night wind blows from afar across the Gobi Desert, carrying the scent of sand and gravel. It's dry and astringent, but it feels wonderful to breathe into your lungs.

"Ye Hai, do you think tomorrow's review will go smoothly?"

"meeting."

Are you so sure?

"Because our stuff can withstand scrutiny."

Aygul didn't reply, burying her face in his shoulder. He reached out and touched her hair, the red ribbon at the end of her braid slipping through his fingers.

The two walked to the entrance of the naan shop. The charcoal fire in the oven was still glowing red, and the aroma of baking naan wafted across half the street.

"Boss, two naan breads."

"Alright! Fresh out of the oven, be careful, it's hot!"

Ye Hai took the naan, broke it in half, and stuffed one half into Ayiguli's hand. She took the naan, blew on it, took a bite, and hissed from the heat.

"Is it tasty?"

"good to eat."

"Is Master Ma's cooking better, or is the naan shop's cooking better?"

Aygul thought for a moment. “They’re different. Master Ma’s naan tastes like home, while the naan from the naan shop tastes like…like the military reclamation city.”

Ye Hai looked at her but didn't say, "How come you're so eloquent?", "You're better at talking than me", or "I enjoy listening to you talk." He said nothing at all.

He simply tightened his grip on her hand. (End of Chapter)