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

The driver in the front seat had been listening intently ever since Xu Si answered the phone, glancing back every now and then in the rearview mirror.

When Xu Si crushed the cigarette and said, "Here's a big hug for you," the driver's neck jerked back, and he swiftly retreated behind the headrest of the driver's seat.

His back was to Xu Si, his posture upright and stiff, his face bearing a standard "None of my business, none of my business" expression—it's none of my business, I didn't see anything, I didn't hear anything, I'm just a driver, the business of you big shots has nothing to do with me.

……

Meanwhile, at the headquarters of Beijing Nadutong Company, in the chairman's office.

The lights were dimmed, with only the old-fashioned desk lamp on the desk shining, casting a warm yellow halo on the surface.

Zhao Fangxu sat in that circle of light, his obese body sunk into the large office chair, holding his phone in his hand. The screen was lit up, and the contact page in his address book was currently displaying the three words "Feng Zhenghao".

His thumb hovered over the name, but didn't press it down.

The office was very quiet, so quiet that you could hear the hum of the air conditioner vents and the occasional sound of a car passing by on the road in the distance outside the window.

He stared at that name for a long time.

Then he exited the contacts page.

The phone screen went dark.

He placed his phone face down on the desk, making a soft sound as if plastic had hit wood.

He placed his hands on the table, his chin resting on his fingers, and the light from the table lamp shone from the side, casting a half-light and half-shadow on his round face.

His eyes gleamed in the shadows, not with shrewdness, but with the light of deliberation.

He muttered under his breath, his voice so low it seemed he was afraid of being overheard, yet it was exceptionally clear in the empty office: "This Director Zhuge is so decisive—he held a meeting yesterday afternoon and finalized the itinerary that very evening, without uttering a single unnecessary word."

Zhao Fangxu, look at yourself! What have you been doing all these years? Constantly trying to maintain balance, trying to keep this stable and that stable, you almost made yourself the one who got eliminated. This company is backed by the Party and the country, not some individual's faction, nor a front for any sect. That old-fashioned, compromise-oriented work style can no longer continue.

He leaned back in his chair, looked up at the unlit chandelier on the ceiling, and let out a long sigh.

Then he turned his gaze back to the phone lying face down on the table, and spoke to Feng Zhenghao through the black phone case as if speaking to him from afar. His tone carried a hint of regret, but more so a sense of severing ties: "Feng Zhenghao—blame yourself for overstepping your bounds. You dare to mess with people in the company, and you're already trying to poach talent before you've even warmed your seat at the top. It's not that I don't want to help you, it's that I can't. The wheels of time have turned, so you'd better figure it out yourself."

……

The next morning at 8:00 AM.

At the main gate of the headquarters of NaDuTong Company in Beijing.

A black, armored special vehicle was parked steadily in front of the door.

This vehicle doesn't have any government license plates, but the materials used in its body and the thickness of its windows will make any knowledgeable person gasp – it has a composite armored body, bulletproof glass, a military-grade reinforced chassis, and solid run-flat tires.

This car looks unassuming, but its unassuming nature is built on money and special procurement channels; it's the kind of unassuming that "doesn't want you to know, but isn't afraid for you to know either."

Two middle-aged men in casual clothes were sitting in the passenger seat and the driver's seat.

They wore ordinary dark jackets and looked no different from ordinary office workers from the outside. But if you looked closely at their posture—backs straight as javelins, shoulders flat as balances, and eyes scanning every corner in front and to the sides at a steady pace—you could tell that this was not a posture that ordinary people could adopt.

Their waists had a slight, inconspicuous curve, and the hem of their coats perfectly concealed the outline of their holsters.

Zhao Fangxu walked out of the company gate.

He was wearing a dark blue suit today, his tie was perfectly tied, and he was carrying a black briefcase.

He walked to the car, opened the door, plopped down in the back seat, and then paused for a moment.

Zhuge Ming was sitting on the other side of the back row, flipping through a document.

He was wearing a white shirt and dark trousers, the collar buttoned up meticulously, thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and his expression was as calm as if he were reading a newspaper in his own study.

Zhao Fangxu was stunned, not because of Zhuge Ming, but because of the car and the two people in front of it.

He sat in the large leather seat, his gaze sweeping over the bulletproof lining overhead, over the glass in the car windows which were more than twice as thick as those in ordinary sedans, and finally landing on the bulges at the waists of the two young men in the passenger and driver's seats.

His pupils contracted slightly at that spot.

He quickly analyzed in his mind—this car is bulletproof, not a regular civilian modified car, but a military-grade bulletproof vehicle.

The two men in front of you are clearly from the military; their demeanor is not something that a security company could train. They are genuine active-duty soldiers.

He had something on his belt—a gun, a real gun.

It's not a stun gun, it's not a tranquilizer gun, it's the real thing.

Zhao Fangxu has worked at this company for so many years, and among the tens of thousands of people in the seven regional companies across the country, there isn't a single gun.

It's not that I don't want to be armed, it's that I don't have the right to bear arms.

The company deals with matters concerning the supernatural world; the state grants it special administrative authority, not armed law enforcement authority.

Only formally employed personnel of state-controlled violent institutions are permitted to carry guns.

Zhuge Ming looked up and saw Zhao Fangxu standing there in a daze. His lips twitched slightly, and his tone was as calm as if he were casually discussing the weather: "Chairman Zhao, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

Zhao Fangxu reacted extremely quickly.

He switched expressions almost the instant Zhuge Ming finished speaking, raised his hand to rub the back of his neck, and chuckled in a self-deprecating yet casual tone: "It's alright, it's alright—I caught a bit of a chill last night. Now, it's summer, and as you can see, I'm a bit chubby, and my blood pressure is a bit high, so I like to keep the air conditioning on. Hahaha—I can't compare to you young people like Director Zhuge, so energetic and full of vigor. This old bone of mine should really take care of itself."

Zhuge Ming closed the document and placed it on his lap, turning his head to look at Zhao Fangxu.

His gaze was calm and gentle, his tone carrying a businesslike yet humane warmth. Every word seemed to have been taken from a letter of condolence from the organization department, yet it came out of his mouth with inexplicable sincerity: "Chairman Zhao, you flatter me. Health is the foundation of everything, so you still need to take care of it. Chairman Zhao has worked for so many years and has always been a role model for us young comrades."

The higher-ups fully recognize Chairman Zhao's work. Although the country is developing rapidly and all work is accelerating and becoming more efficient, veteran Party members and cadres like Chairman Zhao have always been the vanguard of the revolution. Take care of your health—the Party and the country need good comrades like Chairman Zhao.