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

"I heard you're going to try your hand at being an idol?"

Zhuge Gong got more and more excited as he spoke, and the frequency of his back scratcher swinging in the air noticeably increased. "Do you think you're handsome? Do you think you can make a living off your looks? Why don't you just fly to the moon? You think you're so great—you're as good as a bean!"

He bent down, bringing his face close to Zhuge Qing's, his breath reeking of alcohol and spittle flying towards him: "I provide you with food and clothing, I don't lack your money! This family business is so large, it all depends on you, the eldest son, to hold it up! The Wuhou Sect has a thousand-year heritage, the foundation of our ancestors, your father's temples are all white, and I'm still holding it up! And what about you?"

He straightened up, looked up at the sky, and sighed, "I am utterly useless!"

"Look at your brother!"

Zhuge Gong then entered his classic comparison mode, the climax of his every speech: "Entered Tsinghua University at twelve, a postdoctoral fellow at seventeen, won the National Science and Technology Progress Award (Special Prize), and was named a model soldier for strengthening the military through science and technology—I won't even mention those! Just one thing: he was already a department-level official at twenty-five! And you? Huh? And you?!"

Zhuge Qing kept his eyes narrowed, his smile unwavering.

He was very familiar with this routine; he had heard it at least eight hundred times, if not a thousand, since he was a child.

He could even recite it silently in his mind.

"I'm giving you a chance—"

Zhuge Gong poked Zhuge Qing's shoulder with a back scratcher, each word ringing with conviction, "—You're useless too!"

After delivering a smooth combo, Zhuge Gong took a breath, clearly satisfied with his performance.

There was a two-second silence in the main room.

Zhuge Qing spoke.

His tone was as calm as still water, and his face wore his signature composed smile, as if he weren't the one who had just been harshly scolded as a "rebellious son": "Father, are you finished?"

He even tilted his head slightly, his tone genuinely concerned: "Are you thirsty? I'll get you a cup of tea, then help you to bed for a nap. Everything will be fine after you wake up. Just pretend you didn't say anything, and I'll pretend I didn't hear anything. Let's avoid creating any family conflict, what do you think?"

"You bastard!"

Zhuge Gong's blood pressure spiked again. He pointed at Zhuge Qing's nose, his finger almost touching his forehead, "You're my son! I'm your father! Can't I even say a few words to you?"

Zhuge Qing remained kneeling, his back ramrod straight, his tone calm but each word like a damp log being thrown into a fire: "Father, I am already twenty-five years old."

"No matter how old you are, I'm still your father!"

Zhuge Gong put one foot on the chair next to him, slammed his back scratcher on the table with a crisp sound, and said, "Even if you're eighty-five years old, I'm still your father! That fact won't change just because you're getting older!"

Zhuge Qing paused for a second, then uttered a shocking statement: "Yes, I was born from you."

Zhuge Gong paused for a moment, feeling that something about the statement was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Zhuge Gong added insult to injury: "You were born of your mother."

"Isn't this any of your business?"

Zhuge Gong opened his mouth.

Then it closed.

Then it opened again.

His lips moved seven or eight times, as if he was trying hard to pronounce the three words correctly.

The alcohol severely slowed his reaction time, but it had not completely robbed him of his reason.

He stood there, his face displaying a strange expression that said, "I know you're trying to trick me, but I can't fight back."

Finally, he uttered, "You were a waste of my life!"

Zhuge Qing didn't know what got into him today—maybe he knelt down too readily and hurt his pride, maybe the words "not as good as your brother" touched a sore spot that had been hidden for many years, or maybe he simply wanted to see his father choke on his words.

In short, he didn't stop, but instead went into full-on attack mode.

"Father."

Zhuge Qing knelt on the ground, his back still straight, but his tone was no longer the one he used to coax a child.

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear and distinct, carrying a seriousness that had been suppressed for a long time.

"From childhood to adulthood, I have always listened to you. You said that a man must establish his career before starting a family, and I have listened to you. At twenty-five years old, I have been carrying on the teachings of my ancestors and learning from their traditions, and I can say that I have lived up to their expectations."

He paused, a barely perceptible glint flashing in his blue eyes.

"But what about now? Everything has changed since Zhuge Ming returned two years ago."

He spoke slowly, but every word carried weight: "You insisted on putting me into some government agency, and you even personally begged the leader—was he a leader? He was your own son, my own brother, Zhuge Ming. I listened to you and got in. And then what? Every day I sat in the office, flipping through a newspaper over and over, drinking tea from morning till afternoon. I sat there from the start of the workday until I left, and when I finally stood up from that chair, I felt like I was turning into a living fossil."

He looked into Zhuge Gong's eyes, his expression still calm, but a hint of sharpness in his tone: "Father, I can't sit still. You know me, you've known me since I was little. I don't like that environment, I don't like that pace, I don't like that kind of life where you can see yourself until you're sixty. But you asked me to go, so I went."

He took a deep breath.

"I'll do whatever you say. You can't be so hypocritical."

The main room was silent for a full three seconds.

At this moment, Zhuge Gong's drunkenness seemed to be cleaved open by these words.

He stared at Zhuge Qing, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly, his face turning even redder than when he was drinking Erguotou.

Then he exploded.

"You damned wretch! Whose fault is it if you can't sit still? It's you!"

He slammed the back scratcher down on the table, making the peanut dish jump. "You dare accuse me of double standards? I know how to use the internet, I know what double standards mean!"

He pointed a finger at Zhuge Qing's nose, the finger trembling with anger: "And—is that a leader? That's your brother! Your own brother! Zhuge Ming! You call your own brother a leader? You really think you're an outsider, don't you?! Huh?!"

The scene became very awkward.

Then, a small head appeared at the doorway.

It was a cute little boy with blue hair and blue eyes wearing a hat. He wasn't very tall, and he still had a childlike air about him.

He cautiously peeked halfway in from outside the door, his hat pulled low, his blue eyes conveying the message, "I'm innocent, I know nothing."

He was Zhuge Bai, the youngest son of the Zhuge family and the younger brother of Zhuge Qing and Zhuge Ming.

"Father, did you call me?"

Zhuge Bai's voice was crisp and clear, with the panting from running all the way over, "I just got here, I ran all the way! I just went to put my brother's—and my luggage—in the side room! It's tiring."

He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, looked around, completely oblivious to how strange the atmosphere in the main room was: "Is there any water? I'm dying of thirst—"

His nose twitched, and he frowned. "Why do you smell of alcohol?"

Then he stopped talking.

Because he saw it.

His elder brother, Zhuge Qing, was kneeling on the ground, his back straight, the hem of his long robe neatly draped below his knees.

His father, Zhuge Gong, was standing in front of his elder brother, holding a wine bottle in one hand and a back scratcher in the other. His face was flushed red and his expression was ferocious. The whole scene was a classic freeze-frame of the famous "filial piety between father and son".