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

"Comrade Lu Jin, are you referring to the 'Application Report on Holding Religious Activities (Luotian Grand Ritual) at the Tianshi Mansion on Longhu Mountain in Shangqing Town, Guixi City, Yingtan City, Jiangxi Province'?"

Don't misunderstand—every job has a certain procedure, requiring approval step by step, and verification and signatures from colleagues at different levels and departments. This is a normal work process and is not targeted at anyone. Religious and cultural activities are somewhat special in nature. Although our country upholds the policy of freedom of religious belief, we must also be vigilant and guard against certain illegal cult organizations that use religion as a guise to harm society and create panic.

Therefore, the procedures will naturally be stricter. This is not targeted at any small group or organization, nor is it directed at any individual. We must trust the organization and our comrades.

Lu Jin couldn't find a single fault with what he was saying.

Every sentence was correct, every sentence made sense, every sentence answered his question—yet it seemed like he answered nothing at all.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but in the end he just nodded and said in a tone that was both convinced and not entirely reassured, "Director Zhuge, you are right. I, Lu Jin, understand."

Looking at Lu Jin's expression, Zhuge Ming knew that the old senior still had some reservations in his heart—he had only been persuaded by reason, but not yet completely convinced.

So Zhuge Ming continued speaking, his voice still gentle and steady, but his words carried a new layer of sincerity and frankness.

"Regarding the report on the cooperation between the company and the Celestial Master's Mansion that you mentioned—the procedure is the same. However, some things do need to be changed. This is a decision made by the Party organization."

He paused for a moment, leaned forward slightly, and placed his fingers interlaced on the table.

The beam of light fell precisely on his crossed fingers, illuminating his slender knuckles clearly.

"This involves some confidential information. Comrade Lu Jin, your current rank is not high enough to access this level. I apologize that I cannot tell you in detail—otherwise, it would be a leak. As a Party member and cadre, I must live up to the trust and cultivation of the Party and the country, and I cannot do anything that violates organizational discipline."

Lu Jin frowned slightly upon hearing this.

It wasn't an angry frown, but a strange, unprecedented experience—he was nearly a hundred years old, and for the first time, someone had told him to his face that he was "not up to the task." (Isn't that just being unqualified?)

But he didn't get angry.

Because what they said was the truth.

They didn't make up lies to deceive him, they didn't use bureaucratic language to fool him, and they certainly didn't put on airs or act arrogantly in front of him—they were just doing their job properly, laying out the rules in front of him in detail, and telling him that he couldn't cross this threshold.

Zhuge Ming observed the changes in Lu Jin's expression and knew that the senior was processing the information from those words.

He slowed his speech slightly, adopting a more intimate yet still tactful tone, as if sharing a consensus that wasn't exactly a secret but needed to be kept confidential with a respected senior: "However, I can personally reveal to you a general direction—"

He extended a finger and tapped it lightly on the table.

Intangible cultural heritage.

Zhuge Ming pronounced each word very clearly.

"It has never belonged to any one person, any small group, or any small community. It belongs to the nation and to all the people."

Lu Jin's expression became very interesting at that moment.

He frowned, silently repeating the words "intangible cultural heritage" over and over again.

He didn't quite understand, yet it seemed like he understood perfectly.

What he didn't quite understand was—how exactly did the state intend to define these skills and techniques that had been passed down for thousands of years? What he did understand was—Zhuge Ming had clearly told him that these things were not anyone's private property, but belonged to the state.

No, it's not that I don't understand—it's precisely because I understand it all the more that I'm even more confused.

This feeling of "understanding but not being sure if I understood correctly" caused Lu Jin's expression to subtly shift between confusion, realization, bewilderment, and realization again within a few short seconds, finally settling on a complex expression of "somewhat understanding but knowing that this matter is bigger than I imagined."

Zhuge Ming didn't say anything more, but simply picked up his teacup, took another sip, and leaned back in his chair.

Everything that needed to be said was said; not a single word that shouldn't have been said was uttered.

The sense of proportion was just right.

Lu Jin was not someone who didn't understand the rules.

He's lived so long, he knows when to ask questions and when to leave.

He stood up, clasped his hands together, and bowed slightly in a brief greeting.

Zhuge Ming stood up to return the greeting, then watched Lu Jin turn and walk out of the office.

The door closed gently again.

……

A long-established hot pot restaurant in Beijing.

The charcoal fire in the copper pot was burning brightly, the clear soup was bubbling and boiling, several plates of mutton rolls were placed on the table, two open bottles of Erguotou were placed next to them, and a plate of smashed cucumber and a dish of peanuts were almost empty.

Xu Si and Dou Le sat facing each other, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, their expressions shifting between tipsiness and bitterness.

One bottle on the table was empty, and another was about a third empty.

Xu Si picked up the wine bottle and filled Dou Le's glass with his own efforts and practiced skill. When he poured the wine, the bottle mouth was close to the rim of the glass, and not a drop was spilled.

He raised his glass and offered it to me, his tone carrying a sincere "I'm not a brother if I don't drink this" kind of tone: "Brother, let's have a drink. We won't leave until we're drunk—let's drown our sorrows!"

Dou Le raised his glass and clinked it against his; the sound of the glasses colliding was crisp and brief.

He tilted his head back and gulped down a mouthful of strong liquor, which burned his teeth as it went down his throat.

He slammed his glass on the table, sighed, and said with a resigned clarity, "Brother, you should drink too. But there's a saying that's true—drinking to drown your sorrows only makes them worse. But you have to drink today. The days ahead might be tough; you won't even have time to drink. One wrong move and you'll be down to your last pot."

Xu Si nodded, picked up the wine glass and glanced at the transparent liquid at the bottom, as if he wanted to dissolve all the unspoken words into the wine.

He took a deep breath, and with a reckless attitude said, "Brother, I won't say anymore, it's all in the liquor—bottoms up!" Then he tilted his head back and downed the entire glass of Erguotou in one gulp.

The liquor burned his way down his throat to his stomach, choking him so much that he coughed violently, his eyes reddening, but he didn't even flinch.

Just then, Xu Si's phone rang.

The ringtone was an old song, not jarring in the noisy hot pot restaurant, but it felt particularly jarring.

He took out his phone and saw that the caller ID showed "San'er".

He wiped the wine stains from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, swiped to answer the phone, his voice still rough from drinking: "Hey, San'er, what's up?"

Xu San's voice came from the other end of the phone, speaking faster than usual, each word conveying a sense of urgency that "something big has happened": "Xu Si, something's up."