One person said: The essence of Wuhou Qimen lies not in Qimen, but in Wuhou.

Zhang Zhiwei sat in the armchair, his gaze passing over the open door of the reception room and landing directly on the ancient camphor tree in the courtyard, which was shining brightly in the morning light.

Dou Le's footsteps had been silent for a while, but he remained in the same posture—his hands on his knees, his back slightly bent, his expression indistinct in the morning light, only his elongated profile cast quietly on the pink wall behind him.

He stared at the door for a long time, his eyes empty, like a deep well that had been drained of water.

After a long while, he slowly turned around and sat back down in the armchair next to the octagonal table.

When he sat down, he supported himself on the armrest with one hand, and his movements were several beats slower than usual, with the cuff of his Taoist robe lightly brushing against the edge of the table.

He placed the small sandalwood box in his other hand on the table, making a soft, dull thud as if wood was hitting wood.

Tian Jinzhong watched his senior brother's every move, and the sharp light in his deep-set eyes softened and stung.

He knew his senior brother too well—there had been very few things in the world that could make a Taoist master bow down.

But this morning, my senior colleague smiled and said a lot of nice things to two juniors who were decades younger than him, stamped two documents, and signed one document after another.

He was laughing at every word he said, but none of them were what he truly wanted to say.

He finally couldn't hold back any longer and spoke, his hoarse voice carrying a heartache and melancholy that only existed between brothers: "Senior brother—"

Zhang Zhiwei raised one hand, palm outstretched, fingers slightly spread.

The gesture was very light and calm, exactly the same as it was last night in Tian Jinzhong's room.

He turned his head to look at Tian Jinzhong, his expression neither sad nor happy, but rather one of exhaustion and blankness after all his strength had been drained.

When he spoke, his voice was low and flat, as if he were saying something very ordinary, but his words were heavier than any sigh in the quiet reception room: "Junior brother—I want some peace and quiet."

……

The mornings in Nanchang are awakened by the aroma of mixed rice noodles and the steam from clay pot soup.

Breakfast shops lined the street, one after another, with plastic tables and chairs stretching from the shop entrance to the sidewalk. Steamers were stacked high, and white steam billowed out from the gaps in the steamers, carrying the salty aroma of scallions and soy sauce across half the street in the morning breeze.

Office workers stood by the roadside slurping rice noodles from disposable paper bowls, while elderly men and women sat on small stools, leisurely peeling tea eggs. The whole street was as lively as a pot of freshly boiled porridge.

In this city with its profound spiritual and cultural heritage, life is always vibrant and full of life.

At the plastic table of "Old Nanchang Mixed Rice Noodles" on the street corner, sat two men who seemed both blended in and out of place with the surrounding atmosphere.

The food on their table was similar to that on the tables next to them—steamed buns, fried dough sticks, tea eggs, and two bowls of mixed rice noodles.

The reason it looked out of place was because there were three empty bottles of Red Star Erguotou on the table, and a fourth bottle that had been unscrewed and was half-empty.

Baijiu (Chinese liquor) with breakfast: it's invigorating, it gets you high, it gives you courage, it's a great way to vent.

Don't ask why they were drinking so early in the morning; neither of them intended to explain.

Dou Le held a half-smoked cigarette between his left and the neck of a bottle of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) in his right hand, taking a swig directly from the bottle.

The spicy liquor rolled down his throat, he grimaced, then took a deep drag of his cigarette, the smoke billowing from his nostrils and drawing two long gray lines in the morning light.

He squinted, a subtle smile playing on his lips, somewhere between excitement and dejection. He leaned back in the plastic chair, two buttons undone on his shirt collar, his tie askew to his collarbone, and his hair unglued.

That expression was complex—like waking up from a nightmare only to find yourself still in it, and deciding to give up entirely, or like experiencing extreme pleasure only to realize that pleasure is useless and you still have to face the consequences.

Liquor and cigarettes, pure bliss.

What happens after ascending to heaven? You still have to land.

Xu Si, sitting opposite him, watched him smoke one cigarette after another, and there were already four or five cigarette butts in the ashtray in front of him.

He slowed down his chewing of the fried dough stick and tilted his head to look at Dou Le for a while.

Xu Si wore a clean white shirt today, with the collar buttoned up neatly and his hair combed tidy. He exuded an air of "I've reached the shore, you guys keep swimming."

He picked up his glass, took a small sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and spoke with a tone of concern and doubt that only brothers would have, but after the alcohol took effect, his tongue was noticeably thicker than usual: "Brother, why are you smoking so many cigarettes today? One after another, like a chimney."

You weren't like this before.

You don't seem like yourself at all today, buddy—did you break up with your boyfriend?

Dou Le took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it between his fingers. He looked down at the cigarette butt, which had burned down to just a small part, then looked up at Xu Si. A subtle smile, a mixture of mockery and bitterness, appeared on his lips.

His voice was slightly hoarse from the smoke when he spoke, but the sarcastic tone remained unchanged: "You two are just joking around, aren't you? Sorry—"

He paused deliberately, put the cigarette back in his mouth, took a deep drag, then stubbed it out forcefully in the ashtray, exhaled a large puff of smoke, and said to Xu Si with a "see for yourself" expression, "That's your cigarette, bro."

Xu Si's eyes widened suddenly.

He blinked, then blinked again, his gaze shifting from Dou Le's face to the pack of cigarettes on the table, now reduced to just two or three sticks—a Zhonghua brand, soft pack.

His China.

He pouted, his expression shifting rapidly from confusion to shock to anger to "I fucking got robbed of my house!" before blurting out, his voice so loud that diners at the next table turned to look: "You motherfucker—I fucking fuck your motherfucker!"

He reached out and grabbed the pack of cigarettes on the table, his movements swift and fierce, his five fingers spread wide as he aimed straight for the cigarette box.

Dou Le reacted even faster—slapping Xu Si's hand away, then slowly pulling another cigarette from the pack and putting it in his mouth. He pointed at Xu Si's nose with one finger, his eyes filled with a mixture of grievance, accusation, and the deep disappointment one feels only after being betrayed by the person they trust most.

He pointed at Xu Si and said, word by word, "Xu Si—you've made me lose all love."

Xu Si's hand froze in mid-air, and he was completely stunned.

It wasn't because his hand was opened, but because the emotional intensity in Dou Le's words was so high that even a 40-year veteran felt a little overwhelmed.

His mouth was agape, the effects of the alcohol dissipating somewhat at that moment, thanks to Dou Le's eyes that seemed to say, "You've changed." Countless questions flashed through his mind—What happened to me? What did I do? How did I manage to make him lose his love?

Dou Le didn't give him time to react. He lit the cigarette in his mouth, took a deep drag, and, fueled by the alcohol and the smoke, began a torrent of emotions.

He gestured in the air with the hand holding the cigarette, first drawing a circle to frame the two of them together, then extending two fingers together in an intimate gesture: "Xu Si, half a month ago—we swore an oath of brotherhood and were united against a common enemy."

They fluttered about like two butterflies, playfully teasing each other as they flew! They were like brothers, even closer than blood brothers!