Great Power Reclamation

The target for the second port was a small country called Conakry on the west coast of Africa.

The port is not large, but its location is extremely strategic, facing the turning point of the Atlantic shipping routes. To the north is Europe, to the south is the Cape of Good Hope, to the west is the Americas, and to the east is Asia—like an open palm, grasping the intersection of several major shipping routes.

Ye Guigen had been eyeing it for a long time. From the day the contract for the first port was signed, he circled the point on his map three times with a red pen.

Before flying to Conakry, Ye Guigen did his homework thoroughly. The port's controlling stake was held by the local government, but the operating rights had always been contracted to a French company.

That company had been operating locally for many years and had a deep-rooted network of connections. However, Ye Guigen judged that they wouldn't easily transfer ownership, because that port was their cash cow.

He prepared two options: one was to participate in a joint venture, without taking control, only taking management rights;

Another option was to acquire some of the berths. He even printed and bound both plans before setting off and put them in his briefcase.

Upon arriving in Conakry, things proved far more complicated than anticipated. The local government's stance was ambiguous.

The official in charge of port affairs received Ye Guigen's information and politely said he would look into it and asked him to wait for news.

Ye Guigen waited for three days and received an unexpected reply—the port was no longer for sale.

It's not that we won't sell to him, it's that we won't sell to anyone. The official's wording was very official, saying that "due to national strategic considerations, all port privatization plans are suspended."

Ye Guigen asked him, "When will you recover?"

The official smiled and said, "It's hard to say."

Ye Guigen returned to the hotel, placed his briefcase on the table, and did not open it. He sat on the edge of the bed, took out his phone, and made a call to a local business partner.

The partner was a local businessman who ran a logistics business and had done business with Ye Guigen a few times before.

When the call connected, the other person's voice was very low, as if they were afraid of being overheard.
“Mr. Ye, someone is targeting you behind the scenes. That French company contacted a local politician and said that you have questionable backgrounds and that you are here to secure the port on behalf of the Chinese government. The politician then spoke to his superiors, and the matter was dropped.”

After listening, Ye Guigen was neither angry nor did he press for answers. He simply said, "Thank you for telling me."

Then he hung up the phone. He sat on the edge of the bed in silence for a while, then dialed Ye Feng's number and explained the situation.

After listening, Ye Feng asked, "What's the background of that French company?"

Ye Guigen said, "It's a long-established shipping group with considerable strength in Europe."

Ye Feng was silent for a few seconds on the other end of the phone: "Wait a moment. I'll have someone check it out."

Less than an hour later, Ye Feng sent over the results of his investigation—the French company was backed by a European consortium, which had a long-term cooperative relationship with Boeing.

Ye Guigen looked at the line of words and felt an indescribable sense of absurdity, as if a chess game that had already been finished had been secretly overturned, with the chess pieces scattered all over the ground, while the opponent who overturned the chessboard was standing in the distance, giving him a knowing smile.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, thinking for a long time before picking up his phone and dialing a number. Not to Ye Feng, but to Ye Rou.

The phone rang twice before being answered. Ye Rou's voice came through the receiver, carrying a hint of lazy laughter:

"It's been a long time since I called my aunt. So, what's up?"

Ye Guigen recounted the entire situation in Conakry in detail.

Ye Rou listened without interrupting. After he finished speaking, she remained silent for a while and then said something that made Ye Guigen's heart sink:
“Conakry is a neighboring country in East Africa, not too far away. Their foreign minister just came to Addis Ababa for a meeting last month. I'll make a call for you. Wait for my news.”

After hanging up the phone, Ye Guigen stood by the window, looking at the street scene outside the window. The street was bustling with traffic and noise, vendors were hawking their wares on the roadside, and children were kicking a deflated soccer ball in the dusty open space.

The city looks much like any other African city—vibrant, yet chaotic.

He didn't have to wait long. The next day at noon, Ye Rou called back:

"It's settled. The politician received a call from above, saying you're a friend of the Queen of the Central African Republic. No need for further explanation, just a brief mention. Go back and see how it goes."

Ye Guigen didn't wait any longer. He put on a suit, grabbed his briefcase, and went to the government building again.

This time, he was received not by the same official as before, but by the Minister of Port Affairs himself. The Minister's attitude was much more polite than last time.

The negotiations lasted two hours, and the minister stated on the spot that port cooperation could be restarted. Ye Guigen didn't say much, simply placing the prepared proposal on the table, and then casually added:
"By the way, Mr. Minister, if it's convenient, could you please give my regards to that friend from the French company? Just say that it's Ms. Ye Rou from East Africa, and wish them all the best."

The minister's smile froze for a moment, but quickly returned to normal. He reached for the proposal, opened the first page, and began to read it carefully.

Ye Guigen knew that this sentence was more effective than any clause. The name of Queen Ye Rou of East Africa was a key to this continent.

Even the strongest lock can be opened. Even the biggest door can be pushed open. Some things can be solved with money, but some things can't be solved with money alone.

The night the agreement was signed, Ye Guigen sat alone on the hotel balcony, gazing at the distant sea. Moonlight spilled onto the Indian Ocean, making it shimmer like a silvery-white road stretching into the distance.

He placed his phone on the table; the screen displayed an unsent message—the recipient was Yang Geyong, and it contained only one line: "Second seat, secured."

He stared at the words for a while, then pressed send. Afterward, he placed his phone screen-down on the table and looked up at the night sky.

The African night sky is free of light pollution, and the stars are numerous and bright. He gazed at them for a long time, the wind blowing from the sea carrying a salty, fishy smell.

When Yang Geyong received the message in the military reclamation city, he was feeding the foal at the horse farm. He picked up his phone, glanced at it, then put it back in his pocket and continued feeding the horse.

After finishing the bean cake, the foal licked his palm; it was wet and warm. Yang Chenglong squatted down and stroked its head.

"You will see the sea someday."

Yang Geyong is seventy-three years old this year, but some things cannot be taken away by time. His fingers are rough, his knuckles are large, and his fingernails are always stuck with black dirt that cannot be washed off.

But those hands had spent their entire lives holding the reins on horseback and enduring the wind and sand on the Gobi Desert; their fingertips were covered with calluses accumulated over decades.

You could recognize anything those hands had touched with your eyes closed. Touching a horse, you could tell if it was hungry or tired.
By touching the grass, you can tell when it was cut, how many days it has been drying, and whether it's still safe to feed.

He touched her face and knew she hadn't slept well last night; there was a faint mark under her eye. He could feel it, but he didn't say anything. If he did, she would put on a brave face again. She was good in every way, except for showing weakness.

When Emily arrived from the research institute, the sun had already set. Dusk on the Gobi Desert is fleeting; one moment it's bright, the next it's dark.

She was riding a bicycle with a thermal bag in the basket containing hand-pulled rice made by Master Ma's apprentice. She passed through the wooden gate of the horse farm, and before her bicycle had even come to a complete stop, Yang Geyong emerged from the horse enclosure.

He was wearing an old T-shirt, revealing his two tanned forearms, which were dark red from sun exposure. The muscles in his chest had loosened, but their contours were still visible. He took the insulated bag from her hand, but instead of going inside, he placed it on the stone table beside him and turned to look at her.

Emily was wearing a light blue dress today. It wasn't for work; she changed after get off work. The dress was short, revealing her two straight legs. Yang Geyong glanced at her: "You got off work late today."

Emily said, "The coating data for the sixth prototype was slightly off, so we retested it."

Yang Geyong walked over and stood in front of her, only a fist's distance between them. He smelled of horses, hay, and the sandstorm of the Gobi Desert.

She didn't dislike the smells; in fact, she was used to them. She reached out and unbuttoned the top button of his vest. He didn't stop her, nor did he move; he just stood there.

"Are you tired today?" she asked.

"Not tired. I've been feeding the horses all day, so I'm not tired at all."

She touched his chest, where the skin was rough, like a piece of dried leather, beneath which were hard bones and loose muscles.

She felt a scar below her left breast, long and resembling a centipede. It was from many years ago, though Yang Geyong couldn't remember the exact year. He said it was from a fight, but she didn't believe him. She didn't press him for details.

“Emily.” He took her hand.

"Ah."

"You're staying tonight."

She looked up at him. His eyes were bright in the twilight, not the kind of brightness a young person would have, but a different kind—a brightness that, after seeing so much, still flowed beneath the ice like the thawing river in early spring.

She tiptoed and gave him a light kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"The rice with your hands is getting cold," she said.

"Let it cool down."

He picked her up.

Inside the stable, the foal pricked up its ears in the darkness, listened for a while, and when it heard no threat, lowered its head and continued grazing. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the stable roof, scattering across the haystacks like shards of silver.

Ye Yuze arrived the next morning. When he pushed open the door to the courtyard, he saw a thermal bag on the stone table, containing more than half a portion of uneaten hand-grabbed rice.

He paused for a moment, then without thinking much of it, put the insulated bag inside. Yang Geyong came out from the inner room, shirtless, and was putting on an old shirt.

His shirt wasn't buttoned up properly, revealing a centipede-like scar on his chest. Ye Yuze glanced at him, asked nothing, and simply said:

"We have news from Ye Guigen. He has his eye on a location in Southeast Asia and wants to fly there in person to discuss it."

Yang Geyong's hands, still buttoning his shirt, continued: "Then let's go. Jackie Chan will go too."

Ye Yuze nodded: "We don't need to worry about that. What are you busy with? I'm worried you won't have anything to eat."

Yang Geyong smiled and said, "I have Emily. She's more reliable than you."

Ye Yuze didn't refute him. He was telling the truth; Emily was indeed more reliable than him. She worked in the research institute and could remember the composition and properties of every batch of coatings perfectly.

Working at the horse farm, one can remember the taste and temperament of each horse perfectly.

He looked down and saw two sets of chopsticks and bowls on the stone table, one for Yang Geyong and one for Emily, the chopsticks still glistening with oil. He didn't look at them a second time, turned and walked out.

"I'm leaving now. Call me if you need anything."

Yang Geyong said from behind, "Just don't cause me any trouble, and don't come here unless it's important."

Ye Yuze cursed, "You old lecher, you can barely walk anymore, and you're still so unreliable."

Yang Geyong replied, "If you're so capable, you go ahead and look for one. But I'm afraid even if you do, you'll only be able to look around!"

Emily came out of the inner room, her hair still wet, having just taken a shower. She was wearing an old shirt by Yang Geyong, the sleeves rolled up several times, revealing her slender wrists.

She walked to the stone table, picked up the pair of chopsticks still glistening with oil, and examined them. "Did he see it?"

Yang Geyong said, "I saw it."

Emily put down her chopsticks without asking any further questions. Yang Geyong walked over to her, took the chopsticks from her, rinsed them under the tap, and put them back in the cupboard.

“Next time,” he said, “you wear your own clothes.” Emily laughed: “Your shirt is quite comfortable.”

Yang Geyong didn't speak. He reached out and firmly gripped her shoulder. "Wait a moment, I'll take you back to the research institute."

She replied, "Yes."

The port negotiations in Southeast Asia went more smoothly than expected. Ye Guigen met with representatives of the local government the day after his arrival, and the terms offered were more lenient than anticipated.

Ye Guigen considered it for a moment and felt something was wrong—it was going too smoothly. He had seen it too many times; the smoother things seemed, the more hidden the traps were. He didn't agree on the spot, saying he needed time to think it over.

That evening, the assistant discovered the news—a local competitor was secretly spreading rumors that Ye Guigen was there to pave the way for the Chinese military and was trying to get the local government to depose him.

Ye Guigen sat in his hotel room, read the information his assistant handed him, and showed no anger or rush to explain.

He simply made a phone call to a trade minister in the Central African Republic. The call lasted less than five minutes. The next morning, the local government's attitude had changed.

While waiting for Ye Guigen to return at the hotel, Yang Chenglong received a call from Yang Geyong. Yang Geyong's first question was, "Did he handle it?"

Yang Chenglong said, "It's done."

Yang Geyong said, "That's good. Come back when you've got it all sorted out. Emily's going to make pilaf, you can come back and eat."

Yang Chenglong said, "Tell Emily that her hand-grabbed rice has improved since last time."

Yang Geyong said, "How do you know there's been progress if you haven't even tasted it?"

Yang Chenglong said, "Because you didn't scold her." There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Before hanging up, Yang Geyong added abruptly, "I did scold her. She's improved."

Then the call was disconnected. (End of Chapter)