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

Zhuge Gong sighed deeply in his heart.

The sigh remained in his heart, not showing on his face at all.

Just then, Zhuge Zheng stepped out from the crowd and quickly walked to Zhuge Gong's side.

The town party secretary still wore the smile he had on during his work report, but as he leaned closer, his voice lowered to a level only Zhuge Gong could hear, yet the seriousness in his tone remained undiminished: "Xiao Gong, be sure to pay attention during your work report later!"

He extended a finger and gently poked Zhuge Gong's chest, as if making final adjustments to a machine: "Yesterday, your third uncle gave you a full-day lecture on the Party. You should have realized something. This isn't just about the development of our Zhuge Bagua Village, but also the development of our entire Zhuge Town. Do you understand?"

Zhuge Gong's smile froze for a moment, then returned to normal.

He replied softly, a hint of protest in his voice: "Third Uncle, isn't our family's business enough? I think—"

"What do you think!"

Zhuge Zheng's voice was low, but every word was like a hammer blow to Zhuge Gong's forehead: "I don't care what you think! I care what I think! I care what the entire Zhuge Town thinks!"

Zhuge Zheng took a deep breath, his emotions clearly running high, but his years of experience as a grassroots leader allowed him to quickly lower his voice and continue his earnest persuasion: "Our town is so big, with so many people. How can we achieve common prosperity without the support of the province? You can't just eat your fill while your whole family is hungry! We need development, we need policies, we need resources! As the clan head, you must set an example and report your work properly! Tell us everything that Zhuge Town lacks and what it needs! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so seize it!"

He patted Zhuge Gong on the shoulder, his tone softening slightly, but still carrying an undeniable air of command: "And don't feel guilty—this is just normal work, normal procedure. Don't look so gloomy, smile!"

Zhuge Gong listened to the reprimand from his elder and superior, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something.

He wanted to say, "Third Uncle, you don't understand. That unfilial son is using work to pressure me." He wanted to say, "I'm his father, why should I report to him?" He wanted to say, "You're all on his side, what can I say?"

But he didn't say anything.

He looked at Zhuge Zheng's serious and sincere face, at the way this elder with graying temples was earnestly trying to secure resources for the town, and then shifted his gaze to the figure in the distance inspecting farmland irrigation facilities—his son's figure, the national emblem on his chest shining brightly in the sunlight.

He admitted it.

"Third Uncle," Zhuge Gong grinned, revealing a standard smile, "I'm smiling."

That smile was uglier than a cry.

But at least he was smiling.

Just then, Zhuge Ming turned around, his gaze passing over the crowd and looking in this direction.

Zhuge Zheng immediately straightened his back, strode to Zhuge Ming's side, and with a standard gesture of introduction, extended his hand to the side, his tone dignified and formal: "Director Zhuge, this is Comrade Zhuge Gong, the Party Branch Secretary of Zhuge Bagua Village. Comrade Zhuge Gong has long been rooted in the grassroots and has made important contributions to the construction and development of Zhuge Bagua Village."

At the same moment, Zhuge Gong also completed the role switch from "an old father complaining in his heart" to "a grassroots village party secretary".

He strode forward, his steps steady and powerful, a standard working smile on his face. He stopped in front of Zhuge Ming, then bowed slightly and extended both hands – this was the standard etiquette for a grassroots cadre to greet a superior, clasping one hand with both hands, respectful yet dignified.

"Director Zhuge, I am Zhuge Gong, the Party Branch Secretary of Zhuge Bagua Village. On behalf of all the staff of the Party Branch and Village Committee of Zhuge Bagua Village, I warmly welcome the provincial leaders to Zhuge Bagua Village for inspection and guidance!"

His voice was loud and clear, each word pronounced precisely: "All members of the village's two committees have arrived, and all work logs and reports are ready to be submitted to the leadership at any time!"

His tone and rhythm were perfectly controlled—neither as stiff as reciting a script nor as casual as chatting.

Yesterday, my third uncle's full-day Party lecture was definitely worthwhile.

The sound of camera shutters clicking behind me filled the air.

The photographer carried his equipment and moved left and right, searching for the best angle.

The camera lens was steadily focused on this scene—the historic handshake between provincial leaders and village party secretaries.

Sunlight filtered through the branches of the ancient camphor tree, casting dappled patterns on the two people's shoulders, creating a warm yet solemn scene.

Zhuge Ming looked at the man in front of him, who was clasped in his hands, bowing respectfully, and wearing a standard smile, and a very subtle feeling swept through his heart.

This is the same old Deng who threatened to "beat him up" on the phone just a few hours ago.

This is the same Zhuge clan chief who, with a back scratcher in hand, drank half a bottle of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor), and forced Zhuge Qing to kneel on the ground for half a day.

This is his father.

At that moment, his father was bending over, holding his hands with both of them, smiling, and reporting his work to him in polite language.

Zhuge Ming's lips twitched extremely slightly—the curve was so subtle that no camera could capture it; only Zhuge Gong could see it.

That was an expression that only a father and son could understand.

Then, Zhuge Ming extended his right hand and firmly grasped Zhuge Gong's hands.

His palms were warm and dry, and his pressure was just right—neither too light nor too heavy.

This is a standard leader's hand that has shaken countless leaders, signed countless documents, and been extended on countless occasions.

His voice rang out, steady and sincere, carrying a warmth that could penetrate the lens and reach the hearts of people: "You've worked hard. Grassroots construction and frontline work are not easy. On behalf of the provincial government, I salute you."

He raised his voice slightly to make sure everyone present could hear him.

Then he released Zhuge Gong's hand, took half a step back, and nodded solemnly to the row of village committee cadres standing straight behind Zhuge Gong, their expressions a mixture of excitement and restraint.

"Comrades, you've worked hard!"

Those six words, clear and powerful, echoed briefly in the village square.

Then, Zhuge Gong, Zhuge Zheng, and all the village committee staff standing neatly in the square, as if triggered by the same switch, straightened their backs in unison, and a unified, resounding response burst forth from their chests—

"Serve the people!"

The sound startled several birds in the old camphor tree, which fluttered up and circled several times in the sky above the village entrance before landing again.

The sound echoed through the octagonal village lanes, like a reverberation from a thousand years ago.