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

Feng Xingtong opened her mouth, but ultimately stepped aside to make way for the doorway.

He quickly followed, his expression shifting from his previous explanation to a deep sense of helplessness and worry.

The office door was pushed open, and the door slammed against the wall with a heavy thud.

The interior of the chairman's office was laid out before everyone—the office was as large as a small conference room, with floor-to-ceiling windows covering two walls, allowing unobstructed sunlight to stream in and clearly illuminate the scattered documents, broken glass, and overturned potted plants on the floor.

The leather sofa was pushed askew, the coffee table broke off a leg and fell to the ground, and the valuable contemporary oil painting on the wall was torn with a long gash, the canvas drooping from the frame.

The room was in such a mess that it looked like a local war had just ended, and the two sides in the war were now standing nonchalantly in the middle of the ruins.

A young woman with long, straight, smooth black hair, wearing a light purple floral sundress, was standing barefoot in the center of the office, with a financial magazine with footprints next to her feet.

She stared with her large, clear, innocent eyes, her expression straightforward and earnest, at a middle-aged man in a suit across from her, like a girl next door trying to coax an elder.

If it weren't for the unconscious people lying on the ground and the dilapidated state of the room, one would think she was haggling with a vendor at a market just by looking at her expression.

The middle-aged man opposite her was wearing a well-tailored black suit, his short silver-gray hair was neatly combed, and he wore round-framed sunglasses. His expression should have been calm and composed—but at this moment, that calmness and composure were completely disrupted by the woman in front of him.

His expression shifted between helplessness and shock, and his lips moved several times without uttering a complete sentence.

Feng Baobao and Feng Zhenghao.

An older man and a little girl are talking calmly in the ruins. The scene is absurd to the extreme, but it also gives people a strange sense of harmony.

The sound of the door being pushed open broke the absurd conversation.

Feng Baobao turned her head, blinked her big, bright eyes, and immediately saw Zhao Fangxu.

Her pupils dilated slightly, and then she blurted out in a Sichuan accent mixed with instinctive panic, "Oh no, it's the big boss! Xu Si?"

Her head began to turn left and right, searching for Xu Si's figure in the ruins; her movements were clearly somewhat panicked.

At the same moment, Feng Zhenghao, who was standing not far away, also saw the people standing at the door. His gaze collided with Zhao Fangxu's gaze in mid-air.

Zhuge Ming stood beside Zhao Fangxu, a smile on his face, observing everything before him without making a sound.

His gaze first fell on Feng Baobao—this was Feng Baobao.

She had long, straight, smooth black hair, wore a light purple floral sundress, and was barefoot. She looked at Feng Zhenghao with her clear, almost unreal eyes and called him "Uncle," her expression straightforward and earnest.

She does have a somewhat naive and innocent vibe, but Zhuge Ming knows what kind of soul lies hidden beneath that naive and innocent exterior.

He then turned his gaze to Feng Zhenghao—short silver-gray hair, round-framed sunglasses, a black suit paired with a blue-purple shirt. This ruthless figure, who had established himself in both the business and supernatural worlds, now had an expression that had changed from composure to obvious shock.

Zhuge Ming finally glanced to the side and saw a man kneeling on the ground with two high heels stuck in his hair.

Jia Zhengyu, the prodigy from Jiajia Village in Shaanxi, now kneels on the ground like a plucked rooster, a pair of high heels balanced on his head—the scene is indeed quite comical.

Just then, a dull thud came from above.

The crack in the ceiling, caused by the tremor, stretched from the corner of the wall all the way to the center of the room before collapsing with a roar. Several pieces of rubble and half a plasterboard, covered in dust, fell from the sky and crashed straight down on the spot where Zhuge Ming and Zhao Fangxu were standing.

"Protect the leader!"

The soldiers in front reacted almost at the same instant the ceiling cracked.

He reached for his waist with his right hand, and a golden light shield unfolded from his palm, instantly enveloping Zhuge Ming and Zhao Fangxu.

The surface of the golden light shield shimmered and shimmered, like an inverted transparent golden bell. Pebbles that hit it made a series of muffled thuds before bouncing off to the ground.

Without turning his head, the other soldier raised his hand, channeling his Qi into his palm. An invisible force cleaved through the air, precisely slapping several large chunks of rock that were falling towards the wall. The rocks struck the wall with a dull thud, then shattered into smaller pieces that fell down with a soft rustling sound.

The entire process, from the ceiling cracking to the debris being thrown into the air, took no more than three seconds.

Then everyone heard a scream coming from the direction of the wall.

A burst of golden light suddenly erupted from the pile of rubble that had just been slammed against the wall, and a figure sprang out from the wall, only to bounce back to the ground like a cockroach that had been slammed against it, landing sprawled out on the floor.

The man's neat, short, dark gray hair was covered in dust, his white T-shirt with black square prints was torn in several places by gravel, and his black pants were smeared with a large patch of white dust.

He rolled over and got up from the ground, his expression tense and alert, his eyes wide open. Although he looked disheveled, he exuded an indomitable spirit.

He dusted himself off while yelling, "Who's trying to murder me for money! Why am I so unlucky? I just got punched and then slapped hard—are you serious?"

It was Zhang Chulan.

Before he could finish shouting, he saw a cold-faced man standing in front of him, holding a black pistol with the dark muzzle pointed directly at his forehead.

Zhang Chulan was very familiar with the model of that gun, so much so that he shouted its full name in his mind in a fraction of a second—the QSW06 5.8mm silenced pistol, standard issue for military special forces. The silencer was already screwed on, and the muzzle gleamed with a dark metallic luster under the light.

He recognized the gun not because he had seen the real thing, but because he had memorized its parameters by heart from military magazines, gun forums, and countless late nights spent scrolling through his phone under the covers since he was a child.

He raised his hands, but his mouth automatically switched to his signature banter mode, his words flying out at lightning speed, as if using verbal persuasion to bolster his courage: "Brother! You're holding a QSW06 5.8mm silenced pistol, aren't you? This gun is exclusively issued to the military and is impossible to circulate on the open market. It's extremely difficult to obtain even on the international black market for arms, and there isn't a single one in China—of course, we can't rule out the possibility of some foreign forces smuggling it through special channels, but that's an extremely low probability event."

As he spoke, he involuntarily took a step forward, his hand still raised, but his mouth couldn't stop talking, as if he wanted to turn all his fear into spittle: "Back then, I, Zhang Chulan, was determined to go to a military academy—unfortunately, my college entrance exam score was a little short, so I had no choice but to go to a non-existent university."

I'm a huge fan of Ironhide Guns! I'm telling you all this just to tell you one thing—can you stop pretending? Your gun is a pretty convincing replica, but I've seen too many fake guns. This one is well-made, but it's just too fake.

If you pulled out some fancy, convincing knock-off, I might actually be a little hesitant. But yours—it's so fake!