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

The scene in the main room just now was really hilarious—Zhuge Zheng was yelling, "Zhuge Gong, you opportunist, I'm so angry! I'm going back to the town government for a meeting to remove you as the village party secretary! Your third uncle can't handle you, he can't handle you!" while Zhuge Ming and Zhuge Qing were supporting him on either side and helping him out the door.

Zhuge Gong followed behind, his face showing a bewildered expression as if to say, "What did I say wrong again?" He was still clutching the two bottles of Moutai that he had taken out of the cabinet again. He probably wanted to give them away but didn't dare to get too close. Standing at the door, he looked like a primary school student being punished.

Zhuge Ming's lips curved slightly as he imagined the scene, but he quickly returned to the main topic.

He turned his head to look at Zhuge Zheng, who was still panting heavily, and said in a gentle and concerned tone, "Third Uncle, are you feeling better? Please don't take my father's words to heart. My father, well, he's going through menopause—and he's still a bit traditional in his thinking. You know, otherwise he wouldn't have stopped me from leaving the village and even locked me up in solitary confinement, which almost hindered my progress."

He screwed the cap off the mineral water bottle, placed it in the cup holder, and spoke calmly, as if giving an elder a psychological massage: "What's the point of reasoning with him? He can't accept it yet. But you see, he's already starting to change—he's started encouraging people in the village to take the civil service exam, encouraging my eldest brother to take it, encouraging Xiaobai to take it. It's just that his thinking isn't pure yet; it's mixed with too much of the consideration of personal relationships. The main problem is that his ideological awareness needs to be improved."

He paused, then suddenly laughed.

The smile held a hint of mischievous teasing, as if sharing an absurd yet somewhat amusing idea: "Or rather—he has ideals. Just imagine, if all the young talents in our entire Zhuge Town took the civil service exam and were all accepted, then the entire town government, the city government, and even the provincial government would be filled with people from the Zhuge family. A meeting would be filled with people surnamed Zhuge, and when someone speaks, a whole bunch of descendants of Zhuge Liang would appear—I can't even imagine the scene."

Zhuge Zheng was stunned for a moment, then finally couldn't hold back and burst out laughing. The angry expression of "disappointment" on his face was finally replaced by a helpless yet gratified smile.

"That bastard! He really dares to dream!"

Zhuge Zheng laughed and cursed, then took a couple of breaths, patted his thigh, and the anger in his tone gradually subsided, replaced by a deep sense of recognition and emotion from an elder.

He turned to look at Zhuge Ming, his seriousness and anger completely replaced by another emotion—a sense of pride and heavy expectation for his junior.

He reached out and patted Zhuge Ming's hand on the back, then spoke earnestly.

"Xiaoming, the scene you just described—a room full of people with the surname Zhuge—I, your great-uncle, will never see it in my lifetime, nor dare I! Our Zhuge family has been in decline for nearly a century. During the late Qing Dynasty and early Republic of China, warlords fought each other, and people suffered greatly. It was already a miracle that our Zhuge family could hold onto this land. When the reform and opening up came, we almost missed the good times—there were many people in the clan who clung to the old ways and few dared to venture out. We were conservative in our thinking, hesitant and indecisive, and almost fell further and further behind the times."

He sighed, lowering his voice even further, as if talking to himself, or perhaps reporting to his ancestors: "If it weren't for your high awareness back then, knowing you had to leave when you were twelve, we would have fallen further and further behind, missing out on this new era. Your great-uncle here isn't exactly a politician, and his political career is practically nonexistent—he's spent his whole life in town, working until retirement at most, receiving a holiday allowance. The family connections, plus the collateral branches, only give him some influence in the city—not much, enough but not enough to be considered significant."

His voice suddenly became solemn, each word like a vow uttered before the ancestral tablets in an ancestral hall: "We've taken the wrong path, and it's too late to catch up now. Only you, Zhuge Ming—you are someone our Zhuge family of the Wuhou School should learn from. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to dedicate a page to your family genealogy!"

The old man squeezed Zhuge Ming's hand tightly. His palm, rough yet warm, felt like old tree bark on Zhuge Ming's hand, heavy and substantial. "Don't worry," he said, "just focus on your work. Our family will never hold you back. As long as I, your great-uncle, am here, I will never allow anyone—anyone—from the town, the village, or our family—to hinder your progress. It's only because that bastard Zhuge Gong is your biological father—if it were anyone else, I'd slap him across the face!"

Zhuge Ming lowered his head and looked at the old man's hands, covered with blue veins and age spots, covering the back of his own hands. A warm feeling welled up in his heart that he couldn't quite explain.

He wasn't easily moved—having spent so long in officialdom, he had witnessed too much hypocrisy and pretense, and he had become accustomed to keeping all his emotions contained in a perfectly measured box.

But at this moment, in this black sedan driving on the country road, facing a nearly sixty-year-old man's almost heartfelt confession, he found that his box was a little loose.

Who wouldn't want the support of their family? Especially when it comes to the support of the entire clan.

Although his family can't offer him any substantial help now—given his current level and connections, the resources his family can provide are far less than what he has in his own hands.

But this is different.

This is home.

Here are the bluestone slabs he walked on as a child, the pig's trotters stewed by his mother, the father's harsh words but the concern hidden in his eyes, and the rough hands and unconditional support of his great-uncle.

He never lacked anything in terms of clothing, food, or money; he was even given a formal title—Zhuge Liang.

What he owes this family is not resources, but time and companionship.

He looked up at Zhuge Zheng's face, which was still flushed from high blood pressure, and said earnestly, "Don't worry, Third Uncle. You know that I, Zhuge Ming, have always had a high level of ideological awareness. As for you, sir, you're over fifty, the prime of your life. A few more years of dedication to the revolution is no problem at all!"

Zhuge Zheng smiled, but this time it wasn't the kind of laughter he had just had when he was amused; it was a genuine, uncontrollable smile of satisfaction that welled up from the bottom of his heart.

He leaned back in his chair, his wrinkles spreading from the corners of his eyes to his temples, but his eyes shone brightly, unlike those of a man in his fifties or sixties.

"it is good."

He said his voice wasn't loud, but it conveyed a sense of satisfaction that transcended language.

The black sedan continued driving on the country road, with endless rice paddies and scattered villages outside the window. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the clouds, casting moving patches of light across the fields.

In the distance, the outline of Zhuge Bagua Village is faintly visible in the thin mist, like a Bagua plate spread on the ground, quietly waiting for generations to interpret it.

……