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

"Chairman Zhao, you've worked hard all these years. You've cultivated a group of elite talents for the country. Each and every one of you here is a pillar of the company and an invaluable asset to the nation."

Zhuge Ming's tone was sincere and calm, as if he were speaking to a long-time partner: "I am full of confidence in this mission."

Zhao Fangxu responded immediately, his voice steady and humble, each word perfectly controlled in volume and rhythm: "It's all thanks to the hard work of everyone. Director Zhuge's arrival has given us new direction and motivation. We will definitely do our best to cooperate with Director Zhuge to do our job well."

Zhuge Ming nodded, then placed his hands on the table and slowly stood up.

The speed at which he stood up was not fast, but the action itself made everyone in the conference room subconsciously straighten their backs.

He didn't take any documents, nor did he look at anyone's expression. He simply stood up quietly, his gaze slowly sweeping across the faces of everyone at the conference table, as if making a final, fixed image.

Then he spoke.

This time it wasn't official jargon or platitudes; every word seemed to come straight from his very bones.

"Comrades, my work over the years has led me to this conclusion:

He paused for a moment, as if giving everyone time to prepare.

"Between the poor and the rich, I will always side with the poor—because there are many poor people, and I am one of them."

"Between the common people and the officials, I will always side with the common people—because there are many common people, and I am one of them."

He slightly raised his chin, and the light behind his thin-rimmed glasses was so intense that it was hard to look directly at him.

The light from the incandescent bulb refracted into concentric circles on the national emblem, and the small red badge, quietly pinned to his chest, was more penetrating than any amplification device.

"Furthermore, I believe that no Communist Party official can have a conflict of interest with the people. Those who do have a conflict of interest with the people are definitely not Communist Party officials."

The meeting room was silent for a full three seconds.

Then Zhao Fangxu clapped.

This time, his applause was not calculated, not timed, and not timed.

He was clapping, clapping hard, earnestly, and from the bottom of his heart.

The six directors clapped along, and the seven regional heads followed suit. The applause spread outward from the center of the conference table, growing louder and denser, as if a long-accumulated force had finally found an outlet.

Finally, thunderous applause erupted.

Zhuge Ming nodded to the entire room, picked up the documents on the table, and pushed open the conference room door.

The fluorescent lights in the corridor were whiter and brighter than those in the conference room, casting his shadow as a long, straight line that stretched from the door frame to the end of the corridor, like some unstoppable direction.

The meeting has concluded successfully.

……

After Zhuge Ming left, the conference room door closed gently behind him with a barely audible click.

The sound was very faint, so faint that a normal person could hardly hear it, but in this quiet conference room where you could hear your own heartbeat, the click was like a switch—releasing everyone from their tense state.

Zhao Fangxu did not speak immediately.

He stood up from his seat, walked slowly to the conference room door, reached out and grasped the doorknob, and gently pushed it open.

The door was indeed closed tightly.

He pulled the door inward a little more, making sure the latch was fully engaged in the groove of the door frame before letting go.

The movement was so subtle that most people present didn't notice it—but Bi Youlong, who was sitting closest to the door, saw it.

Bi Youlong noticed that Zhao Fangxu's fingers lingered on the doorknob for half a second longer, and during that half second, Zhao Fangxu's knuckles turned slightly white.

Zhao Fangxu turned and walked back to the conference table.

He did not go to the main seat.

The chair that Zhuge Ming had just sat in still retained the arc from being pushed open. The black suit jacket on the back of the chair was gone, but the chair itself seemed to still retain some kind of invisible aura.

Zhao Fangxu walked past the main seat without looking to the side, went to the first seat on the right where he had just been sitting, pulled out the chair, and sat down steadily.

The act of sitting down speaks volumes more than any words.

He placed his hands on the table, his gaze sweeping over every face in the room—six directors, seven regional heads, thirteen people, each displaying a different degree of tension and exhaustion.

Bi Youlong's brows furrowed into a deep frown, Su Dong's lips were tightly pursed, Huang Boren's smile was still on his face but it looked like he had a face mask on, and Fei Dong still had that deadpan expression but the veins on his neck hadn't completely disappeared...

Over at the seven regional heads' side, Xu Si was unconsciously patting his pockets, Dou Le's shirt collar was already stained with a light-colored ring of sweat, Gao Lian's large hands were rubbing together on his knees, and Ren Fei's fingernails were tapping lightly on the table at an abnormally fast frequency...

"Say what you want to say."

Zhao Fangxu spoke, his voice not loud, but carrying a sense of exhaustion and composure after all his efforts had been relieved: "Director Zhuge is busy with work and has already gone to work."

As soon as those words were spoken, the atmosphere in the conference room was like a bowstring being released; almost simultaneously, more than a dozen people breathed a sigh of relief.

Shoulders slumped, backs collapsed, and the sounds of people leaning back in their chairs rose and fell.

Xu Si slammed his entire back into the chair, stretched his long legs forward, and looked up at the ceiling, as if he had just surfaced from the bottom of the water.

Dou Le took off his glasses and wiped the fog off the lenses with his sleeve, his movements carrying a sense of relief at surviving a close call.

Even the usually expressionless Chairman Fei moved his neck, and his cervical spine made a series of soft cracking sounds.

Bi Youlong was the first to speak.

This director, who was known for his tough stance, surprised everyone present with the way he spoke at this moment—not because of what he said, but because of his tone.

That tone was too tactful, so tactful that it didn't sound like Bi Youlong at all.

Bi Youlong is known in the company for his fiery temper. He always speaks bluntly and is quick to criticize people in meetings. He even dares to talk back to Zhao Fangxu to his face.

But when he spoke at this moment, every word seemed to have been carefully considered. His cautious wording and gentle tone made Chairman Su, who was sitting opposite him, raise one eyebrow slightly.

"Chairman Zhao," Bi Youlong cleared his throat, unconsciously rubbing his hands together on the table, "Director Zhuge's words... must be the higher-ups' intention, right? We all know that the Director of the Party Committee's Inspection Office is at the ministerial level. But—"

He paused for a moment, as if searching for a safe angle to move on to the next question.

His finger unconsciously traced a circle on the table before he cautiously continued, "In our company's current organizational structure, you, Chairman, are the highest-ranking person in charge, a position clearly appointed by the organization. Given the current political climate in our country, the top leader holds almost absolute power in decision-making; this is a fundamental organizational principle of democratic centralism."

Every single decision that Director Zhuge conveyed today is a major one—shouldn't we have fully communicated with you before you chaired the meeting to make those decisions? Of course, I'm not questioning Director Zhuge—absolutely not—I just feel that perhaps the procedure is…”