Great Power Reclamation

Boeing's counterattack came faster and was more forceful than expected. The Wall Street Journal report was just an appetizer; the main course arrived three days later—

A patent infringement lawsuit, exceeding 400 pages, has been formally filed with the U.S. International Trade Commission. The complaint bears the signatures of Boeing, General Electric, and Rolls-Royce.

They accused Tianshan Engine of infringing on more than 20 of their patents in terms of core technology.

From the aerodynamic shape of the fan blades to the layout of the cooling holes in the turbine blades, from the structure of the combustion chamber's flame tube to the software algorithms of the control system, every component was listed, every patent was cited in its corresponding paragraph, and every paragraph was marked with the conclusion of "substantially similar".

The lawsuit, spanning over four hundred pages, says the same thing in every single sentence—you stole our things.

When Ye Feng saw the complaint in New York, he was reviewing documents in his office. Ye William pushed open the door, placed a stack of printed complaints on the table, and said:
"Brother, they've made their move."

Ye Feng picked up the complaint and flipped through it, not reading the contents, just turning the pages. On the last page, he saw the official seals of three companies stamped side-by-side, bright red, like three glaring eyes. He closed the complaint and placed it on the table.

"William, please send this to my legal team. Have them look at it and tell me what their chances of winning are."

“Brother, this isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about dragging things out. They’re not trying to win the lawsuit; they’re trying to buy time. They’re trying to drag it out until the Junken No. 2 order falls through, until our customers can’t wait any longer and switch to them, until our production line is idle. If we drag it out for a year, half of our orders will be gone. If we drag it out for two years, all our customers will be gone. They’re waging a war of time, not a legal war.”

Ye Feng leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "I know. But we can't not fight. If we don't fight, it's the same as admitting guilt. If we admit guilt, we'll be branded as thieves. And if that's true, customers will be even less likely to buy. So we have to fight. If we win, our reputation will be cleared. Once cleared, customers will dare to buy. If they buy, we'll keep the orders. And if we keep them, the production line can get back on track."

William Ye turned and left. Ye Feng sat alone in his office, picked up the complaint and flipped through it again. The dense legal terms jumped, rearranged, and lined up in front of him, like rows of troops ready to be deployed.

When the news reached the military reclamation city, Ye Hai was revising blueprints in the testing hall. The design for the sixth prototype had reached its fourteenth version, with some details still needing fine-tuning. Upon hearing the news, he put down his pen without looking up.

"They said we stole their things?"

“Yes.” Aygul stood beside him, her voice neither loud nor soft:
"They say that the layout of the turbine blade cooling holes in the Tianshan engine is substantially similar to that of General Electric's patent."

Ye Hai looked up at the window. The snow-capped peaks of the Tianshan Mountains shimmered white in the sunlight, like a giant mirror reflecting this land and the people on it.

“They’re wrong. I didn’t steal it. I thought about it. I thought about it in the basement of Boston, on the test bench in the research institute. It took me so long to come up with, and they say I stole it. Who did I steal it from? I haven’t stolen from anyone.”

His left eyebrow was higher than his right, and his eyes were a little red, but he wasn't crying. He doesn't shed tears easily now; he had already cried his tears much earlier.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was steady. "Aygul, call Dad for me. Tell him to investigate. If they find out the truth, they'll know I didn't steal. If they can't find out, then they're incompetent. Only incompetent people accuse others of stealing."

When Ye Yuping received the call, he was having lunch in the canteen of the aircraft manufacturing plant in the provincial capital. Master Ma had already retired, and his apprentice was now in charge of cooking, and his skills were still improving.

Ye Yuping put down his chopsticks, held his phone, and listened to Ayiguli finish speaking. After a moment of silence, he said:

"Tell them they're welcome to come and inspect. The R&D institute's doors are wide open; they can freely access the data on the test benches and look at the blueprints. After they've inspected, they can write a report. Once the report is finished, send it to me. After I've read it, I'll sign it. My signature represents my stance."

After Boeing filed its complaint with the ITC, the U.S. Department of Commerce also took action. An application to investigate whether the Junken No. 2 engine involved "unfair trade practices" was sent to the Secretary's desk, along with a 200-page investigation report specifically targeting the supply chain of the Tianshan engine.

The report claims that the engine parts supply chain of the Junken No. 2 is "highly dependent on US suppliers," intending to create a logical trap—if the Tianshan engine uses US parts and technology, then it should be subject to US export controls.

If it's not used, then it's not advanced enough. This is the logic that only by muddying the waters can one profit, and it's a tried-and-true tactic in trade wars.

Ye Feng received the news immediately. He dialed Ye Yujie's number.

"Fourth Uncle, someone at the Ministry of Commerce is pushing for an investigation. Can you stop them?"

Ye Yujie paused for a moment on the other end of the phone. "We can't stop them. But we can stall them. Stall them until they stop making a move. Stall them until the storm passes, until more people buy our planes, then we won't be able to stop them anymore."

Ye Feng held his phone. "How long will this drag on?"

"It could take as little as one month, or as long as three months."

Three months. That's enough.

After hanging up, Ye Feng dialed another number and called Susie. "Susie, there are some people causing trouble at the Department of Commerce. Could you make a statement to Congress? Not saying you support us, but saying you support free trade."

Susie's voice was tinged with weariness, but her tone remained firm.

“I have a speech next week on the topic of ‘Free Trade and US Competitiveness.’ I will mention the Junken No. 2 aircraft. I’m not speaking for it, but for American passengers. American passengers need cheap tickets, cheap tickets need cheap planes, cheap planes need competition, and competition needs a level playing field.”

Ye Feng didn't say thank you, he just held his phone and waited for her to finish. "Ye Feng, you do your thing. I'll do mine. After you're done, go home."

EA's order was officially signed at this point. Twenty aircraft—not a letter of intent, but a formal contract. The signing ceremony was held in Addis Ababa, with Ye Mei representing the East African government and the General Manager of COMAC's International Business Department in attendance.

The two sat on opposite sides of a long table, signed their names, exchanged documents, shook hands, and drank champagne in front of a row of cameras.

When a reporter asked Ye Mei why she bought China Southern Airlines' aircraft, she said one sentence—

"Because it's cheap. Because it's fuel-efficient. Because it's easy to repair. Because people in England don't earn their money by chance."

The contract with RU was also signed. Lev personally went to the Russian airline, watched the CEO sign the contract, then took the pen and signed his name in the witness section. After signing, he put the pen back on the table.

The CEO of the Russian airline was an elderly man with gray hair. He looked at Lev and said:
"Mr. Lev, how long can this plane fly?"

Lev thought for a moment. "It can fly for a long time. Its engine was developed by the Chinese over several decades. Something developed over several decades can't be bad."

UA's contract was signed a little later. At the signing ceremony, UA's Minister of Transportation said, "We are buying Chinese aircraft not for political reasons, but for economic reasons." This statement was captured by a reporter and featured in the news.

The legal battle launched jointly by Boeing and Airbus has lasted for more than a month. During that time, lawyer's letters have been flying back and forth across the Pacific.

Ye Feng spent a fortune hiring the best intellectual property lawyers in the entire United States, assembling a large legal team. The team's assessment was:

Boeing's patent infringement allegations are unfounded. While the turbine blade cooling hole layout of the Tianshan engine shares similarities with GE's patent, the key technological approaches are entirely different.

General Electric's patent uses a specific cooling method, while Tianshan Engine uses another one—the two are fundamentally different and do not constitute infringement at all.

The opinion was sent to the judge's desk. After reading it, the judge remained silent for a long time. He then summoned both lawyers to court and verbally presented their preliminary opinions.

He closed the file, his gaze slowly shifting between the two lawyers.

"The court preliminarily finds that the plaintiff's patent infringement allegations lack substantial evidentiary support."

The Wall Street Journal published a brief report later that day. The headline was quite restrained—

"ITC rejects Boeing's preliminary patent infringement lawsuit." No comments, no analysis, no conspiracy theories, just a single, cold sentence, like a stone being turned over, revealing the damp soil that had been pressed down for a long time.

When the news reached Junken City, Ye Hai was revising blueprints in the testing hall. The design for the sixth prototype had been revised to its eighteenth version.

Aygul pushed open the door and came in, holding a mobile phone in her hand. On the screen was a message: "ITC has rejected Boeing's lawsuit." Ye Hai did not put down his pen.

"I see."

Are you happy?

He looked up at her; his left eyebrow was higher than his right, and his eyes were bloodshot. He thought for a moment, then said:
"Be happy. But don't be happy for too long. If you're happy for too long, you won't want to work. If you don't work, the engine won't start. If the engine doesn't start, nothing you say will help."

He lowered his head and continued revising the blueprints. Aygul watched him; his back sat steadily under the lamplight, like someone who never needed rest.

She walked over, sat down next to him, opened her notebook, and began calculating data. They didn't speak, but both knew the other was there.

At the horse farm, Yang Geyong squatted by the stable, watching the foal. Emily walked over and squatted down beside him.

"Grandpa Yang, we won the lawsuit."

Yang Geyong stroked the foal's head, and it snorted, nudging his palm with its nose. It was wet and warm.

"It's good to win. If you win, you can keep going. If you keep going, you can keep winning. If you keep winning, life will be easier."

By the third year of its operation, Yang Wei's platform had covered seven pastures and more than 2,000 herder households in northern Xinjiang.

Qingshuihe, Hongshan, and Guozigou—those remote places that were once inaccessible by road—now have sheep that can be transported out, scarves that can be sold in Europe, children's tuition fees that can be paid, and the elderly that can afford medicine.

The platform was built single-handedly by Yang Wei, starting from a dilapidated warehouse and a few people, and has grown to where it is today. He hasn't stopped, but he's thinking about where to go next.

The platform's journey has come to an end; not that it can't go on, but that it's almost finished. The road to helping farmers has been paved with curbs and streetlights installed; the rest should be handed over to the younger generation. He had another matter on his mind—the military reclamation city.

Junken City is their root. Back then, his grandfather and Ye Yuze's father's generation came from the inland areas to this Gobi Desert. They had nothing, but they built this city out of nothing.

Decades have passed, and the city has aged. Like people, it becomes less active as it gets older. Walls are crumbling, pipes are rusting, roads need repair, trees need to be replaced, and the underground pipe network needs to be replaced.

Young people from big cities come to the military reclamation town on business. Looking up at the dusty old buildings, the potholed roads, and the rows of low shop signs, only two words come to mind:
Old and outdated.

This city shouldn't be like this. It needs a makeover.

Yang Wei sat in his office for several days, locking himself away to think things through, before finally calling Ye Yuze. "Uncle Ye, I want to discuss something with you."

"explain."

“I want to completely rebuild Junken City. Not just repairs, but a major overhaul. Widen the roads, upgrade the pipeline network, increase the greenery, renovate old residential areas, and implement the smart city system—streetlights, traffic, and security, all connected to the network.”

"I want to develop Junken City into an ecological, environmentally friendly, and intelligent modern city. It should be comparable to first-tier cities in China."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

"Wei Zi, have you thought this through?"

“I’ve thought it through. Jianjiang can handle the platform project. I need to do something else. My dad is getting old, and my son is still in school. The Junken City project can’t wait for them; someone has to start now.”

Ye Yuze remained silent for a while. "If you want to do it, then do it. Just tell me what you need."

"I need money. A lot of money."

"Money isn't the problem. The problem is whether you can make it happen."

Yang Wei gripped his phone tightly. "I can. If I can't, I'll write my name Yang Wei backwards."

After hanging up the phone, Yang Wei sat down in a chair. Write it backwards? He laughed. Backwards it's "Wei Yang," which doesn't sound good. But the military reclamation city has improved, so even if it doesn't sound good, it's worth it.

The next day, Yang Wei went to the Military Reclamation City Planning Bureau. He talked with the director of the planning bureau for the entire morning.

The director, surnamed Sun, was in his fifties, with gray hair and wearing black-rimmed glasses. He spoke slowly and deliberately. Director Sun had worked in the planning bureau for nearly twenty years, rising from a clerk to the director. He knew every inch of the military reclamation city by heart.

After Yang Wei finished explaining his idea, Director Sun took off his glasses, wiped the lenses, put them back on, and looked at him.

"Yang Wei, do you know how much it costs to build a smart city?"

"do not know."

"I don't know either. But I do know it's not cheap. The military reclamation city's finances can't afford it."

"I'll figure out the money. Uncle Ye said money isn't a problem."

Director Sun paused for a moment, then stood up, walked to the wall, drew back the curtains, and pointed to the gray, dusty city outside the window.

“Look, the military reclamation city isn’t big, but it has everything you need. In the old city area, the buildings are all over thirty years old, and the pipe network is old. The heating is not good in winter, and the water supply is insufficient in summer.”

"The industrial zone in the south of the city used to be a factory of the Production and Construction Corps. Now most of it is empty, with idle factory buildings and barren land. The area in the east of the city, near your father's horse farm, is newly developed, but the supporting facilities are not up to par. The roads are narrow, the lights are dim, and there isn't even a decent park."

“If you’re going to do this, it’s not just about a neighborhood or a road; it’s about an entire city. Developing an entire city is harder than developing an engine. An engine is inanimate, but people are dynamic. People are harder to manage than an engine.”

Yang Wei stood up, walked to his side, and also looked out the window. The gray buildings gleamed with an old light in the sunlight, like a faded old photograph.

"Director Sun, do you know how my grandfather's generation built this city? They had nothing, but they built a city out of the Gobi Desert."

“Now we have roads, electricity, water, internet, and people. It’s much better than they were back then. They could build, and so can we renovate. It’s not about building new things, it’s about renovating the old. Out with the old, in with the new. If we don’t renovate, things will just stay old.”

Director Sun turned to look at Yang Wei. His face was half-lit and half-shadowed by the light from the window.

“Okay. You do it. The planning bureau will cooperate with you. You provide the plan, I'll provide the blueprints. You provide the money, I'll provide the manpower. You take the lead, I'll provide the labor.”

Yang Wei extended his hand. Director Sun shook it.

The plan took two months to develop. Director Sun and the young people from the planning bureau worked overtime to remeasure every piece of land in the military reclamation city, re-mark every street, and re-evaluate every old building.

The stack of plans lay on the table in front of Yang Wei, like a thick brick. Yang Wei opened to the first page and saw a huge planning diagram.

The military reclamation city is divided into several areas: the old city renovation area, the industrial zone transformation area, the new city expansion area, and the ecological conservation area.

Each area was marked with a different color: green, blue, orange, and purple, like a colorful mosaic.

He turned to the second page and saw a rendering. The gray buildings in the old town had been painted a warm yellow, the rooftops were covered with greenery, the exterior walls were insulated, and the windows were replaced with double-glazed windows.

The streets have been widened, the sidewalks are paved with permeable bricks, and trees are planted on both sides of the road. There are benches under the trees, and people are sitting on the benches.

People are sunbathing, chatting, and looking at their phones. There's WiFi, and the streetlights are smart, automatically adjusting their brightness based on pedestrian traffic. Garbage is sorted and recycled, rainwater is collected and reused, and rooftop solar panels generate electricity.

He turned to the third page and saw the planning map of the industrial zone in the south of the city. The idle factory buildings had been transformed into creative industrial parks, technology incubators, exhibition centers, cafes, and small theaters.

The red brick walls were preserved and painted with varnish, revealing their original color. The steel frame structure was also retained and painted with anti-rust paint. The old factory building has been transformed into a new space.

Yang Wei closed the plan, placed it on the table, and looked at Director Sun. "Director Sun, how many years will this plan take to complete?"

"It will take at least five years, and at most eight years."

Five years. Is five years enough?

Director Sun thought for a moment. "Five years is a tight schedule. But there's a proper way to manage it. We'll tackle the most urgent tasks first—the old city's pipe networks, roads, and exterior walls. Then we'll address the industrial zone's transformation in the south of the city. Finally, we'll focus on the new city expansion and ecological conservation. We should see results in five years."

Yang Wei nodded. "Then let's do it for five years."

When the news reached the horse farm, Yang Geyong was squatting by the stable, brushing the foal's coat. Emily came from the research institute and told him the news. Yang Geyong paused for a moment, then continued brushing, stroke by stroke.

"Is Wei Zi planning to build a military reclamation city?"

"Yes. Ecological, environmentally friendly, and smart city planning. The five-year plan has been completed."

Yang Geyong didn't say anything. He squatted there brushing the horsehair, finishing one side and then brushing the other.

His movements remained neither faster nor slower, but steady and methodical. Emily knelt down, cleaned the bristles off the brush, and handed it back to him.

"Grandpa Yang, are you unhappy?"

“Happy. How could I not be happy? Junken City was built by his grandfather, and his father built the roads. Now he wants to build an eco-friendly and smart city. If he does it well, Junken City will be transformed. If he does it poorly, his grandfather will curse him from below. But I believe he can do it well.”

Emily looked at him; his face was etched with deep and shallow wrinkles in the sunlight, and the corners of his mouth were turned up, whether from the foal rubbing against his palm or from his son doing something important, she couldn't tell.

Yang Geyong stood up, put the brush into the bucket, and patted the bristles off his hands.

"He manages his city, I raise my horses. We each do our own thing. When we're done, we sit down and drink together."

As the sun set, Yang Wei drove back to his old house from the planning bureau. He pushed open the door and saw Yang Geyong sitting in the courtyard, two bowls of milk tea on the stone table. Yang Geyong pointed to the stone chair opposite him. "Sit."

Yang Wei sat down, picked up the milk tea, and took a sip. It was salty, hot, and had a strong milky taste; there wasn't enough salt. It didn't taste good, but he still took a big gulp and put the bowl down. "Dad, did you make this?"

"Yeah. Your mom's not here, so Emily's cooking isn't very good. The ones I cooked myself aren't very good either, but they're drinkable."

Yang Wei looked at his father. He had aged; his hair was completely white, his face was etched with deep wrinkles, and his back was hunched, but his eyes were still bright.

"Dad, I'm going to work on the Military Reclamation City. Not on a small scale, but on a large scale. In five years, I'll transform the Military Reclamation City into an eco-friendly, intelligent city."

“I know. Director Sun told me.”

Yang Wei was taken aback. "How do you know Director Sun?"

"When I met him, he was just a clerk. Your grandfather's generation knew him. The military reclamation town wasn't big; everyone knew each other."

"If you want to do it, then do it. If you succeed, the military reclamation city will be better. If you fail, the military reclamation city will remain the same as it is now. And it's not bad as it is now. It won't be much worse."

"Dad, aren't you afraid I'll mess this up?"

Yang Geyong picked up the milk tea bowl, took a sip, and put it down. "If you messed it up, it's your fault. You're responsible. If you can't take responsibility, I'll take it for you. If I can't, your son will. If your son can't, your grandson will. Generation after generation, someone will always be responsible."

Yang Wei picked up the milk tea bowl and took another sip. "Dad, please don't make milk tea anymore."

"why?"

"It doesn't taste good."

Yang Geyong looked at him, paused for a moment, and then laughed. When he laughed, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gathered together, like a folding fan. He reached out and slapped Yang Wei on the back of the head.

"You drank two big bowls even though it didn't taste good?" (End of Chapter)