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

The sunlight in the office shifted another notch.

Zhuge Ming leaned back in his chair, his slender fingers tapping lightly twice on the mahogany desk, his gaze falling on the red dedicated telephone line.

Old Deng is really going to take me seriously—he pictured Zhuge Gong holding a back scratcher, reeking of alcohol, and declaring, "I'm going to beat him up," and his lips twitched slightly.

He, Zhuge Ming, is the youngest provincial-level official in China, a powerful regional governor under dual leadership, a recipient of the National Science and Technology Progress Award (Special Prize), a model soldier in the military's science and technology development, and a man who has dedicated himself to the country—but after returning to his village, he is subjected to family discipline.

How can this be allowed?

He reached out and picked up the receiver from the red dedicated telephone line.

The "Red Hotline" connects directly to the provincial government and should not be used except for major matters.

At that moment, his movement as he picked up the microphone was steady and composed, as if he were picking up an ordinary office supply.

His slender fingers pressed a few keys on the dial pad, and two short waiting tones came from the microphone.

The call connected in less than two seconds.

"Is this the Lanxi City Agriculture and Rural Affairs Bureau? This is Zhuge Ming from the Provincial Government."

The response on the other end of the phone was crisp and efficient, carrying a well-trained solemnity: "Director Zhuge! Please speak!"

Zhuge Ming slightly adjusted his posture, his left hand casually resting on the armrest, his right hand holding the microphone. His voice was steady and clear, every word sounding like standard phrasing taken from an official document: "In accordance with the provincial Party committee and government's implementation opinions on comprehensively promoting rural revitalization and accelerating agricultural and rural modernization, the Provincial Department of Agriculture and Rural Affairs will soon organize a special research project on agricultural and rural work throughout the province. This research project will focus on the theme of 'Adhering to the priority development of agriculture and rural areas and solidly promoting the comprehensive revitalization of rural areas,' with a focus on the implementation of the food security responsibility system, the construction of high-standard farmland, the cultivation of leading agricultural industrialization enterprises, the improvement of rural living environment, and the construction of a long-term mechanism for increasing farmers' income and achieving prosperity."

He paused, then changed the subject, his tone now carrying a hint of "the leader setting the tone": "After research, it has been decided that Zhuge Bagua Village in Zhuge Town, Lanxi City, will be one of the grassroots investigation sites for this research trip. As a typical representative of traditional village protection, Zhuge Bagua Village has exemplary significance in the integrated development of agriculture, culture, and tourism, the inheritance of historical culture, and the coordinated promotion of rural governance. The Provincial Department requires your bureau to work with the Zhuge Town government to do a good job in the preliminary preparations and ensure the smooth progress of the investigation and research."

He paused again, then spoke his last sentence with exceptional clarity, as if issuing an unquestionable decision: "This Sunday, I will lead a team to Zhuge Bagua Village for on-site investigation. I hope that staff at all levels will prepare diligently and approach this research trip with a high sense of responsibility and mission, so as to jointly promote the agricultural and rural work of Lanxi City to a new level."

The reply from the other end of the phone was crisp and clear: "Okay, boss! We'll take care of it right away!"

Zhuge Ming hung up the phone and placed the receiver back on the landline of the red hotline with light and steady movements.

His gaze swept over the six telephones of different colors, and a barely perceptible smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

He remarked with emotion, "Serving the people at all times—if I don't join the ministry, who will!"

The tone was as if he were reciting a motto etched into his very bones.

……

Zhuge Bagua Village.

Inside the main room, the effects of the alcohol had worn off.

How did Zhuge Gong sober up? It's not complicated—his wife, the tigress, came to his house.

Zhuge Gong's wife, the mother of Zhuge Qing and Zhuge Ming, was a woman of short stature but with an aura that seemed to reach three meters. After pushing open the door and seeing her husband holding a back scratcher, her eldest son kneeling on the ground, and her youngest son trembling outside the door, she took about three minutes to get Zhuge Gong from a slightly drunk state to a sober state.

The insults included, but were not limited to: How old are you to be drinking like this? Your son finally comes home and you're making him kneel? Who are you trying to hit with that feather duster—no, back scratcher? Should I beat you up first to sober you up?

After Zhuge Gong regained consciousness, his wife stormed off, leaving behind the words, "You three will have to clean up this mess yourselves." Only the father and his two sons remained in the main room.

Zhuge Gong sat at the Eight Immortals table, the half-empty bottle of Erguotou still on the table, but he didn't want to look at it again.

Zhuge Qing had already gotten up from the ground and was sitting on a chair on the other side. There were still marks on his knees from kneeling, and his long robe was covered with a thin layer of dust.

Zhuge Bai huddled on a small stool in the corner, covering his mouth, his shoulders trembling, clearly still recovering from the sly smile he had just given.

Zhuge Gong cleared his throat, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace: "Qing'er, it was Father's fault."

He pointed to the bottle of Erguotou on the table, his tone tinged with sincere regret, "This liquor—how strong is it? It has such a powerful aftereffect."

Zhuge Qing squinted, a signature calm smile playing on his lips. His tone was as gentle as a spring breeze, but every word pierced Zhuge Gong's lungs: "Father, you should drink less alcohol in the future. It's bad for your health."

He paused, his smile unchanged, "I'm talking about my body."

Zhuge Bai, who was standing to the side, finally couldn't hold back and covered his mouth with a "pfft," his shoulders shaking even more violently.

Zhuge Gong opened his mouth, just about to say something to salvage his dignity as a father, when his phone rang.

He took it out and looked at it—it was the village committee's landline number.

He answered the phone, his tone still carrying the awkwardness from before: "Hello, this is Zhuge Gong."

The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to the village committee's duty officer. He spoke quickly, with an urgent sense that something important had happened: "Village Secretary! The town is calling! Please come answer it quickly! The leaders are waiting!"

Zhuge Gong frowned slightly, his mind racing.

The town government hasn't issued any meeting notices or work assignment documents recently, so why the sudden phone call? Is it a leader waiting on the other end? He asked, "A call from the town? The town government hasn't had any meetings or given any instructions lately. Why the sudden call? Which leader is it?"

The duty officer lowered his voice by half an octave, as if afraid of being overheard: "Village Party Secretary, it sounds like the town Party Secretary, please come quickly!"

Zhuge Gong's expression changed slightly.

The town party secretary personally called the village and specifically asked him to answer the phone; this level of authority is extraordinary.

He didn't dare to delay: "I understand. Tell the manager I'll be there right away!"

After hanging up the phone, Zhuge Gong took a deep breath, and his internal energy was mobilized in an instant.

The patriarch of the Wuhou Sect was no ordinary person; with a sway of his body, the bluestone slabs beneath his feet seemed to be merely brushed by the wind, and he had already darted out of the main hall.

It usually takes him ten minutes to walk from his home to the village committee, but he used his Qi to propel himself forward and ran all the way in just fifty-nine seconds—less than a minute.

In the village committee office, the red office telephone sat quietly on the table, receiver facing down, as if waiting for him.