Great Power Reclamation

On the day the convention center was completed, a light rain fell in Junken City. Rain on the Gobi Desert comes and goes quickly. It stopped in less than half an hour, and the sun came out again, making the entire building sparkle.

The white snow lotus flower shimmered softly in the sunlight, and the glass dome refracted colorful light, casting a dappled shadow on the damp ground.

Yang Wei stood at the entrance of the convention center, looking up at the huge snow lotus flower, its petals dazzlingly bright in the sunlight.

Director Sun stood next to him and said, "It's been two years of repairs, but it's finally finished."

Yang Wei said, "Two years is not slow."

Director Sun said, "Not slow, but not fast either. Just right."

The opening ceremony was scheduled for 10:00 AM. Many people attended, including city leaders, representatives from the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps, engineers from COMAC, technical personnel from the research institute, and purchasing representatives from around the world.

Western-looking reporters crowded at the front, their cameras pointed at the snow lotus, flashes going off in the sunlight like a swarm of tireless fireflies.

She stood quietly at the entrance, wearing a dark blue suit dress, a D badge pinned to her head, her hair neatly styled. She spoke into the microphone, her voice soft but steady:

"The completion of the Snow Lotus Convention and Exhibition Center marks a solid step forward for the Military Reclamation City on the road to modernization and internationalization. This building is not just a convention and exhibition center; it is a flower on the Gobi Desert and a door for the Military Reclamation City to open to the world."

The applause rang out, not enthusiastic, but sincere enough.

The ribbon-cutting ceremony was very simple; there were no flower baskets, no ribbons, and no balloons.

Jingjing, Yang Wei, and Director Sun each took a pair of scissors and cut the red ribbon in unison. The ribbon fell to the ground, like a red river.

Crowds poured into the exhibition hall, which was very large, with a ceiling height of over ten meters and a huge glass dome at the top. Sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating the entire space.

In the center of the exhibition hall stands a model of the Junken No. 2 aircraft, a 1:10 scale model with a silver-white fuselage and two engines mounted under its wings. The model is incredibly detailed, with even the placement of the rivets perfectly accurate.

A blond, blue-eyed foreign buyer squatted in front of the model for a long time, took out his phone and took several photos from various angles, then stood up and asked the staff member next to him in English with a heavy German accent:
"is this real?"

The staff member smiled and replied in fluent English:

"It's true. The real plane is already flying. This is a model, but it's scaled down to the real plane, with an error of no more than one millimeter."

The buyer nodded, then squatted down again to continue taking photos.

The second floor of the convention center is the city planning exhibition hall. The four walls are covered with planning maps of the military reclamation city, from the initial hand-drawn sketches to the latest 3D renderings, arranged in chronological order, like a diary of a city's growth.

In the most prominent position hangs a huge panoramic rendering—the future military reclamation city, full of greenery, with ring roads like ripples, the lake in the central park shimmering blue in the sunlight, the Snow Lotus Convention Center quietly blooming on the edge of the city, and the airport runway stretching straight towards the Tianshan Mountains.

Below the picture is a line of text: "Military reclamation city, a desert pearl on the Gobi Desert."

Several foreign journalists gathered in front of the renderings; some were taking photos, some were scribbling furiously in their notebooks, and others were whispering amongst themselves. A French journalist said to his colleague in French:

"Is this real? This looks like Singapore, even better than Singapore."

My companion replied in French, "I don't know if it's true. But if it is, I'd like to move here."

Next to the convention center, the new city commercial district has already opened. A coffee shop is located at the very edge of the commercial district. The shop is not big, with a few rattan chairs placed at the entrance, and the seats are covered with cushions printed with camel patterns.

The café is named "Camel Bells," a name given by Yang Wei. He said that Junken City used to be a place where camels traveled, but now camels are no longer used, yet the name must remain.

The café owner was a young Uyghur girl with a long braid tied with a red ribbon, a gift from her mother.

She stood behind the bar, making coffee for a customer with practiced ease. There were quite a few people drinking coffee—locals, people from other parts of the country, and foreigners.

A blond, blue-eyed middle-aged man sat in the doorway, a cappuccino in front of him, flipping through a brochure about tourism in northern Xinjiang.

He turned to a page, stopped, and squinted at it for a long time. The page showed a picture of the Tianshan Mountains, with snow-capped peaks gleaming white in the sunlight and a green grassland at their foot.

The middle-aged man said to the boss, "This place is beautiful."

The boss smiled and said in accented Mandarin, "It will be even more beautiful in the future."

She pointed out the window, which faced the snow lotus flower at the convention center.

"Look, that's the future. And that's our past."

Yang Chenglong stayed in the military reclamation city for a week and did not return to London. He visited many places in the new town, saw the lake in Central Park, the solar panels in the residential area, the intelligent control of streetlights, and the glass dome of the convention center.

He walked along the clean and wide pedestrian path, the leaves of the poplar trees by the roadside rustling in the wind, and sunlight filtering through the gaps in the leaves, casting flickering spots of light on his face.

He recalled riding horses with Yang Geyong on this Gobi Desert when he was a child. Back then, there was nothing here, and the wind and sand made it impossible to open one's eyes.

He asked Yang Geyong, "Why is there nothing here?"

Yang Geyong said, "Because no one has planted it yet."

Now people have planted them, the trees have grown, buildings have been erected, and flowers have bloomed. He stopped in front of a poplar tree, reached out and touched the trunk; it was rough yet warm.

He took out his phone and sent Lin Wanwan a message: "Wanwan, Junken City has changed a lot. When will you come to visit?"

Lin Wanwan replied quickly: "I'll go once Tianma's next batch of orders is finalized. You wait for me there."

Yang Chenglong looked at the words, smiled, put his phone away, and continued walking along the road.

Ye Yuze stood in the courtyard of the Ye family's old house, facing the apricot tree. The flowers of this year had all fallen, and tender green leaves were sprouting from the branches.

He stood under the tree for a while, then turned and went inside. An old photo album lay open on the desk. He opened it to a page, his finger lingering on a black-and-white photograph.

The photo shows young Ye Wancheng and Mei Hua standing on a barren land, with nothing behind them but the endless Gobi Desert.

Ye Wancheng was wearing a faded military overcoat, and Meihua had her hair in two braids, holding a baby in her arms. Their faces were covered in dust, but their smiles were radiant.

Ye Yuze looked at the album for a long time, then closed it and put it back on the bookshelf.

A deep rumble came from afar, approaching and sweeping overhead before heading towards the horizon. Ye Yuze stepped out the door, stood on the steps, and looked up at the sky.

A white contrail is slowly dissipating, like a straight line stretching from one end to the other.

He watched for a long time, until the white line completely disappeared, before turning and going back into the house. The plane flew away, heading towards an even farther place.

But its sound still lingers, echoing across the Gobi Desert, weaving through the leaves of the poplar trees, leaping across the rooftops of those warm yellow buildings, and refracting into beams of light on the glass dome of that snow lotus.

The sky over Junken City is still so blue. The sunlight is still so bright.

The Warriors Group's industrial park is located west of the military reclamation city, right next to the airport. It wasn't moved there later; it was originally built there.

When Ye Yuze built his factory, he chose this location because it was close to the airport, the railway, and the highway.

Back then, this place was a wasteland, with sandstorms everywhere, and not a single decent tree.

Ye Yuze said something while standing here, which Yang Geyong still remembers to this day.

"Right here. This will be the headquarters of the Warrior Group from now on." And now it truly is.

The park covers a large area, more than 2,000 acres, and is like an independent small city. From the outside, the wall is not high, gray, and covered with a ring of ivy, which is lush and green and completely covers the wall.

Through the gaps in the ivy, you can see the building inside. It's not tall, no more than six stories. The exterior walls are made of dark gray stone, paired with large glass curtain walls, simple, clean, and understated.

There were no huge signs, no towering flagpoles, and no glittering sculptures at the entrance. There was only a gray stone tablet with the words "Warrior Group" engraved on it.

The calligraphy was written by Ye Yuze with a brush on Xuan paper, and then enlarged and carved onto a stone tablet. Yang Geyong watched him write it and said:

"Why was your hand shaking when you wrote these words?" Ye Yuze said, "No, it wasn't shaking."

Yang Geyong said, "You're lying. I saw it; the tip of your pen was trembling."

Ye Yuze did not refute, put down the pen, and blew on the ink.

"Let it tremble. Words written with trembling are still words."

The most eye-catching feature in the park is a row of huge factory buildings with arched roofs, resembling a row of low, undulating mountains.

The roof is covered with solar photovoltaic panels, which gleam with a deep blue light in the sunlight, and from above, it looks like a deep blue sea.

The factory walls are made of silver-gray metal panels with neatly arranged windows that let in sunlight, illuminating the machines that are in operation.

There are few people in the workshop. Most of the processes are automated. Robotic arms move back and forth on tracks, moving parts from one process to another with precision and efficiency.

A worker in dark blue overalls stood in front of a control panel with a row of monitors displaying the real-time status of the production line. Occasionally, he would reach out and tap the touchscreen to adjust a parameter.

He wasn't doing the work; he was watching. The machine did the work, he watched. But he was more important than the machine because the machine couldn't think, but he could.

In the center of the park is an artificial lake, not large, but with very clear water. The lawns around the lake are neatly trimmed, like a green carpet.

A path, paved with deep red permeable bricks, winds its way along the lake to a three-story building.

This is the research and development center of the Warrior Group. It has a square and simple shape, with dark gray stone walls and light-colored glass, standing quietly by the lake.

After Ye Yuping returned from Boston, most of his research and development work was done here.

A row of photos hangs on the wall, one for each generation of the engine, from the first to the fifth generation, arranged chronologically like a row of silent sentinels.

Next to the photo is a group photo of the design team. Each photo features a different person; some have left, some have arrived, and some are still here.

Ye Yufan stood in front of the last photo, looking at her younger self. Back then, her hair was still black, there were no wrinkles around her eyes, she held a stack of blueprints in her hand, stood next to the engine, and smiled like a student who had just finished answering the last question on an exam.

The eastern part of the park is the staff residential area. These are not ordinary dormitories, but genuine residential areas.

The dozen or so buildings are arranged in a staggered manner, with the tallest not exceeding six stories. The distance between the buildings is wide enough for three cars to park side by side, and the sunlight shines into every window without any obstruction.

The exterior walls were painted a warm yellow, complemented by dark brown window frames and a roof, which was covered with solar photovoltaic panels. Downstairs, there were rows of neat electric vehicle charging stations, and next to them, roses were planted, their red and pink blooming in full glory.

There is a children's play area downstairs, with slides, swings, seesaws, and a sandpit—it has everything.

The sand in the sandpit was specially brought from the riverbank a hundred kilometers away. It was fine and white, and the children walked barefoot on it, feeling itchy and warm.

There is also a fitness area next door, with horizontal bars, parallel bars, elliptical trainers, and waist twisters, suitable for people of different ages.

Ye Yuze went to the park that day. He didn't notify anyone in advance; he called a car, had the driver take him to the park entrance, and then got out and slowly walked in.

The security guard at the gate recognized him, paused for a moment, and was about to salute, but Ye Yuze waved his hand. He walked slowly along the main road of the park and saw that the roadside trees had grown very tall, with lush branches and leaves that shone bright green in the sunlight.

He walked to the edge of the artificial lake, sat down on a bench, and watched the ripples on the lake surface caused by the wind.

Yang Geyong walked over from the R&D center, saw him from afar, didn't call out, walked to his side, and sat down on the bench.

"Why are you here?" Yang Geyong asked.

"Come and see. It's been a long time."

"What did you think after watching it?"

Ye Yuze was silent for a while. "It's better than I expected back then. I didn't expect it to be this good. I would have been happy if we could build a few factory buildings. I never thought it could be built like this, with a lake, trees, flowers, and roads."

He pointed to the row of residential buildings on the other side of the lake. "Those buildings are for the workers?"

"Yes. Singles can share a room, while married couples can share an entire apartment. It has a balcony, faces south, and has good natural light. There's no need for heating in winter, the exterior walls are well insulated, and there's a solar water heater on the roof."

Ye Yuze looked at the buildings without saying a word. He silently imagined the people living inside coming home from get off work, opening the door, changing into slippers, and sitting down to rest in the softly lit living room.

There are flowers on the balcony, sunlight on the windowsill, and children running downstairs. As he imagined these things, his eyes suddenly welled up with tears—not from crying, but from the gentle touch of a wish from his youth, decades later.

Yang Geyong didn't look at him; he knew his eyes were red. If he saw through him, he would be embarrassed.

“Old Ye,” Yang Geyong said, gazing at the lake, “you said back then that you would build a factory so that workers would have houses, children would have schools, and the elderly would have hospitals. Look at you now, the houses are there, the schools are over there, and the hospitals are over there. You did it.”

Ye Yuze didn't reply. A breeze blew by, and ripples spread across the lake's surface, circle after circle, like the ripples of time.

The roar of an airplane could be heard in the distance. A silver-white plane was flying low over the park from the direction of the Tianshan Mountains. Ye Yuze looked up at the plane until it flew away and disappeared into the clouds.

The next day, Yang Wei went to see Ye Hai and said he wanted to invite the people from the research institute to visit the park.

Ye Hai asked, "What are you going to do?"

Yang Wei said, "Go and offer your suggestions. You guys who work on engines know better than us how to make a place operate more efficiently. The industrial park should be upgraded, just like an engine, becoming more and more advanced."

Ye Hai thought about it and agreed. Over the weekend, the engineers from the research institute took a bus to the industrial park in a large group.

They visited the factory buildings, the artificial lake, the research and development center, and the employee residential area. They spent the entire morning there, leaving no corner unchecked.

I had lunch at the park's canteen. The canteen was large, with a wide variety of dishes, and the chefs were very skilled.

After lunch, Ye Hai stopped Yang Wei at the cafeteria entrance: "Your park is great in every way, but there's one thing that can be improved."

Yang Wei asked, "Where?"

Ye Hai pointed to the roof of the cafeteria building: "The angle of the solar panels on the roof can be adjusted. At the current angle, the power generation efficiency will decrease in winter. If you adjust the angle, it will generate more power in winter, and the difference won't be too much in summer. I can calculate it for you."

Yang Wei looked at him: "You help me calculate?"

"Yes. I can calculate quickly."

A week later, Ye Hai sent the calculation data to Yang Wei. The data consisted of densely packed tables and formulas, with each item clearly labeled.

Yang Wei handed the data to the construction team, who then readjusted the angle of the solar panels according to the data.

On the day the adjustment was completed, Yang Wei stood downstairs in the cafeteria, looking up at the dark blue boards, and took out his phone to send Ye Hai a message: "It's done. Thank you."

Ye Hai replied quickly: "You're welcome. It's nothing." Yang Wei looked at those three words but didn't reply.

In the horse farm, Yang Geyong squatted by the horse pen, brushing the coat of a foal. The foal had grown quite a bit; it was taller, its legs were stronger, and its mane was glossy.

Emily walked over from the research institute and squatted down next to him. "Grandpa Yang, what are you thinking about?"

Yang Geyong said, "I'm wondering if this horse, once it grows up, will be able to outrun the electric car from the Warriors Group."

Emily laughed: "A horse can't outrun an electric car."

Yang Geyong didn't laugh: "A horse can't outrun an electric car, but a horse can run for a lifetime. An electric car can't run for that long."

He patted the pony's head. "It can. It will run with me for a long time. The electric scooter can't. The electric scooter won't accompany me. It won't wait, it won't nuzzle your palm with its nose when you're sad, it won't peek out of the pen to see you when you get up in the middle of the night. The horse will, the electric scooter won't."

He stood up and brushed the fur off his hands. "Let's go back. It's getting dark." (End of Chapter)