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

Zhuge Zheng's voice carried a hint of helplessness and disappointment: "I've already said that this is a normal work procedure in the province, and I have no right to know the specifics. After all, your third uncle is just a town party secretary—and you are just a village party secretary."

He slowed his speech, as if he were tutoring Zhuge Gong word by word: "But how come you don't even know these basic facts? What about your awareness? How can you get by without a high level of awareness? How can you strive for progress? Learn more, and you'll know—our Lanxi City is just a county-level city. Do you understand? You must follow the arrangements of the provincial leaders!"

Zhuge Zheng's voice grew increasingly serious, as if issuing an ultimatum: "Remember this—regardless of rank, everyone serves the people. I've noticed, Zhuge Gong, your ideological awareness needs improvement. Here's what we'll do: the day after tomorrow is the weekend, so come to the town government tomorrow. Your third uncle will give you a good talk and help you brush up on your political awareness. That's settled then, I want to see you in my office at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

The phone hangs up.

Zhuge Gong held his phone, maintaining the posture of answering a call. His expression seamlessly switched between five stages in an instant: surprise, confusion, grievance, anger, and resignation, finally settling on a smile that was "uglier than crying."

He opened his mouth, but it felt like his throat was stuffed with cotton. After a long while, he finally managed to squeeze out a long sigh.

"What kind of mess is this?"

He muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously swiping across his phone screen, his gaze falling on the profile picture in the family group chat—a portrait of Zhuge Liang, with a feather fan and a silk turban, strategizing and planning.

He silently added to himself: How did these elders in the family become like this... He couldn't continue, because no matter how he thought about it, the adjective just didn't feel right.

"I am the patriarch of the Zhuge family in modern times."

He stood in the village committee office, facing the Party flag hanging on the wall, his expression as if he were making a formal declaration to someone—or some entity.

However, his tone lacked confidence, as if he were trying to encourage himself.

Then he obediently turned on his phone alarm and set a new reminder: Tomorrow morning at 7:00. Note: Go to the town government for Uncle San's Party class. Don't be late.

He stared at the alarm clock screen, remained silent for three seconds, and then let out a long sigh.

……

Before you know it, the weekend is here.

At the entrance of Zhuge Bagua Village, Zhuge Town, Lanxi City, Jinhua City, Zhejiang Province, the daylight was just right.

The morning light in Jiangnan is warm and gentle. Sunlight shines through the gaps in the clouds and falls on the octagonal square at the entrance of the village, casting a warm patch of light.

The distant mountains are faintly visible in the thin mist, and the houses with green tiles and white walls are arranged in the shape of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). The water in the pond is so clear that you can see the bottom, reflecting the branches and leaves of the ancient camphor trees on the bank and the upturned eaves.

The air was filled with the scent of rice paddies and soil, mixed with the aroma of firewood wafting from someone's stove.

The square at the village entrance is exceptionally clean today.

The bluestone slabs on the ground were obviously freshly swept, the weeds in the cracks of the stones had been pulled clean, and several pots of newly replaced green plants were placed around the square. Even the tree pit of the old camphor tree at the entrance of the village had been rebuilt with blue bricks.

The village committee staff got up before dawn to get busy, and even the ducks that usually roamed freely by the pond were temporarily confined to a pen—for fear that they would defecate and urinate in front of the big leaders, affecting the image of Zhuge Bagua Village.

The village entrance was already crowded with people.

All members of the village committee lined up in a row, with Zhuge Gong standing at the very front.

Today, the village party secretary of Zhuge Bagua Village, who is also the clan head of the Wuhou faction, was dressed in a formal suit, which was rare for him. He wore a white shirt, dark trousers, polished leather shoes, and his hair was neatly combed.

He stood ramrod straight, his hands clasped in front of him, a standard smile for greeting leaders on his face.

If you look closely, you'll notice that the corner of his mouth is twitching slightly.

Behind him were a group of village committee officials, and further back were villagers who had come to watch spontaneously.

People were whispering: "I heard a high-ranking provincial leader is coming?"

"That's right, I heard it's someone from our village—the second son of the clan chief!"

"Is that the one who got into Tsinghua University at the age of twelve?"

"Yes, yes, that's it!"

The roar of engines could be heard in the distance.

A convoy slowly drove into the village entrance.

Leading the way was a black sedan with a Zhejiang A license plate, and a small national flag on the hood fluttered slightly in the morning breeze.

Following closely behind were two minibuses, their bodies spotless and their windows so clean they reflected light.

Following behind were two vans with the words "Lanxi City Government Vehicles" printed on them, and the last one was a media vehicle with the local TV station's logo painted on its body.

The convoy wasn't moving fast, but its unhurried pace carried an undeniable aura.

The wheels rolled over the bluestone pavement, making a steady, low thud.

The crowd at the village entrance fell silent without warning.

The door of the first minibus opened.

He was the first to get off.

Zhuge Ming leaned out of the car door, one foot firmly on the pedal, then the other, the landing motion smooth and composed, as if this scene had happened to him countless times before.

He wore a black suit jacket, a crisp and clean white shirt collar, and a tie tied in a standard Windsor knot, meticulously.

In the breast pocket, a bright red national emblem reflected a gleaming light in the sunlight—it was no ordinary brooch, but a symbol of his identity as a servant of the people.

He stood by the car door, slightly raised his chin, and his gaze swept calmly and steadily across the village square at the entrance of Zhuge Bagua Village.

The thin-rimmed glasses reflected a faint blue luster in the sunlight, and the eyes behind the lenses were calm and composed, with a steady and reserved aura. He didn't need any extra gestures to make everything around him automatically rearrange itself around him.

Behind him, the leadership team of Lanxi City filed out.

The mayor, the deputy secretary of the municipal party committee, and the director of the municipal agriculture and rural affairs bureau lined up and automatically stood half a step behind Zhuge Ming.

Then came the leadership team of Zhuge Town—Zhuge Zheng, the town's Party Secretary, walked at the front, followed by the town mayor and deputy town mayor.

Their steps and positions were clearly rehearsed, but they still appeared somewhat awkward in front of Zhuge Ming.

The next car to get off were staff members from the Provincial Department of Agriculture and Rural Affairs. Each of them carried a briefcase, wore a name tag around their neck, and had a professional and focused expression.

As soon as the door of the last media van opened, reporters carrying video cameras and DSLRs filed out.

The photographer found an angle, half-squatted down, and aimed the lens at Zhuge Ming's profile—the ancient camphor tree at the village entrance served as the background, the green tiles and white walls formed the frame of the composition, and in the middle was Zhuge Ming's upright figure and the national emblem on his chest.

The shutter clicked away.

Zhuge Ming raised his hand and pointed to the farmland next to the village entrance.

It is the rice grain filling season. The lush green rice fields stretch as far as the eye can see. A gentle breeze blows, and the rice waves ripple. The air is filled with the sweet fragrance of rice blossoms.

His movements were natural and graceful, and the way he pointed to the farmland made him look just like a head of the household who knew every inch of his territory like the back of his hand.