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

He leaned back in his chair, looking calmly at Zhuge Qing, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on his lips: "Brother, what do you think?"

Zhuge Qing opened his eyes.

Those usually squinting blue eyes were now fully open, their clear pupils reflecting the light from the main room and the shadows of people on the table.

He looked at Zhuge Ming, his expression still calm and composed, but his open eyes betrayed a certain emotion within him.

Then he nodded, and when he spoke, there was a hint of arrogance in his tone—the kind of stubbornness that Zhuge Qing had when he said, "It's not like I can't do it, but I won't show it."

"I'm fine with either."

He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and spoke in a calm tone, as if he had just agreed to go to the village entrance to buy some soy sauce. "If I can pass the exam once, I can pass it a second time—I'm confident I can."

Zhuge Gong smiled.

The village party secretary and clan chief, who had been reprimanded twice and whose skin was almost worn thin, finally showed a genuine smile of relief.

He picked up his chopsticks and tapped them lightly on the table, his voice carrying a rare warmth of a loving father and the solemnity of the head of the family.

"Very well—our Zhuge family is meant to carry on the legacy of our ancestors. Take the civil service exam if you need to, take the civil service exam if you need to, and contribute to the country and serve the people. As your father, I don't expect you to be as devoted and selfless as our ancestor, the Han Dynasty Chancellor Zhuge Liang. Just be worthy of the country, the Party, and the people."

The first half of his speech was so insightful that it earned him an award from the Organization Department. Zhuge Ming silently gave him the score of "Outstanding Grassroots Cadre" in his mind.

Then the conversation shifted.

"Zhuge Ming, you've made something of yourself now—now that you've been promoted, within your capabilities, you should take care of the villagers in our village. Help them as long as they're not too destitute, so that our village, and even our entire Zhuge Town, can contribute to the country. Our family has worked diligently at the grassroots level for years, and we've built up a solid foundation. We have talent and potential, but we're missing one thing—you know—an opportunity, a platform—"

He wanted to continue.

His mouth was already open, and he had clearly already prepared the next line in his mind, probably something like "how the young men in the village are" or "the son of Old Wang next door is not bad either."

But he didn't get a chance to finish speaking.

"You bastard!"

Zhuge Zheng's shout was so loud that it made everyone at the table pause with their chopsticks.

Another splash of oil from the chicken soup bowl spilled out, this time directly onto Zhuge Gong's sleeve. But Zhuge Gong had no mind to wipe it off, because he was completely terrified.

Zhuge Zheng stood up abruptly, placed his hands on the table, leaned forward, and stared at Zhuge Gong with eyes like sharp swords.

Every wrinkle on his face trembled, his gray eyebrows almost stood on end, and his lips moved as if he were gathering some kind of uncontrollable rage.

Then he spoke, his voice so loud that even the neighbor's dog started barking.

"You're getting more and more off-topic! You're getting more and more absurd! Yesterday's Party lesson was a complete waste! I thought you'd understand some principles—but you haven't improved at all! You're just a lowly village Party secretary, you haven't even figured out village affairs, yet you're concerned about national matters? First, get your village's toilet revolution sorted out properly! First, implement garbage sorting in your village! First, get your village's day care center for the elderly working properly! Have you done these things? Huh? Have you done them?!"

With each sentence Zhuge Zheng spoke, he slapped his hand on the table, causing the bowls and plates to bounce and Zhuge Gong's shoulders to tremble.

Zhuge Bai, who was standing next to him, had given up on suppressing his laughter. He lowered his head and pretended to eat his rice, burying his entire face in the bowl—in fact, there was no rice left in the bowl, and his chopsticks were just futilely scrambling around in the empty bowl.

Zhuge Qing sat upright, his eyes narrowed, his lips motionless—but his chopsticks movements were noticeably ten times slower than usual, clearly indicating that he was using them to perform some kind of precise acting.

Zhuge Zheng had not yet finished speaking.

He took a deep breath, pointed at Zhuge Gong's nose, and spoke quickly and harshly, as if he wanted to vent all the pent-up frustration of the past decades: "What are you going to do? What do you want to do? 'When one person attains enlightenment, even his chickens and dogs ascend to heaven'—this saying has certainly come true for you! If you were to become the leader, would you also plan to arrange for the stray dogs in your village to become police dogs in the Public Security Bureau, so they could also enjoy a government salary? Do you want to? Do you dare to even think about it!"

This combo resulted in Zhuge Gong being instantly eliminated upon landing, physically reducing him to dust.

Zhuge Gong was completely dumbfounded.

His mouth was open, unable to close, and his face showed a complete, pure, unadorned blankness of mind.

His eyes trembled slightly, and his lips moved seven or eight times, like a formatted hard drive trying to read some data.

After a long while, he was heard muttering under his breath, "Third Uncle, isn't my village your village? We're both from Zhuge Bagua Village..."

Zhuge Zheng heard this.

He stared at Zhuge Gong expressionlessly for a full three seconds.

Then he slammed his hand on the table—with a loud crash, the empty bowl in front of Zhuge Bai flipped over and rolled to the edge of the table.

"You bastard!"

Zhuge Zheng grabbed the edge of the table, swayed slightly, and clutched his chest with his other hand, panting heavily.

The expression on his face was no longer anger, but heartbreak, a lament for his misfortune and anger at his lack of ambition, a deep despair that said, "I spent a whole day teaching you and this is the mess you've made..."

The scene changes.

The lead vehicle of the inspection team—a black sedan with a Zhejiang A license plate—was driving smoothly on the rural road leading from Zhuge Town to the next inspection point.

There were two people sitting in the back seat.

Zhuge Zheng was sitting on the right side of the back row, watching the scenery slowly pass by outside the window, but he was clearly not in the mood to appreciate it.

He leaned back in his seat, his head tilted slightly back, his chest heaving, his breathing heavy and disordered, clutching a portable blood pressure monitor in his hand, the numbers on the screen flashing intermittently.

He was so angry with Zhuge Gong in the main room that his blood pressure spiked and he almost collapsed on the spot.

The driver was a driver from the town government. Zhuge Ming specially asked a young cadre who could drive to sit in the passenger seat so that there would be space in the back seat for the two people to talk.

Zhuge Ming sat on the left side of the back row, his body slightly turned towards Zhuge Zheng.

He took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the front seat, wearing only a white shirt with the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled up twice, revealing a faint, almost invisible old scar on his wrist.

He held a bottle of mineral water in his hand, and every now and then he would unscrew the cap and hand it to Zhuge Zheng for a couple of sips.