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

As he spoke, he took out his phone and started scrolling through his contacts. His fingers flew across the screen until he found the words "Director Wang of Guixi City" and pressed the dial button.

He held the phone to his ear, turned around, and lowered his voice, but couldn't suppress the barely contained anger in his tone: "Hello! Is this Director Wang from the Guixi City Culture and Tourism Bureau? This is Li Jianmin from the Yingtan City Culture and Tourism Bureau! I'm currently at the ticket booth at the foot of Longhu Mountain! I need you to confirm one thing right now—"

Zhuge Ming listened to Director Li next to him yelling at the person on the other end of the phone in a low but gritting tone, completely ignoring the little girl who was still standing in front of the ticket window in a daze.

The little girl had stopped crying. She raised her head and stared blankly at everything that was happening in front of her with her red and swollen eyes.

She saw the arrogant, burly man who had been making things difficult for her earlier visibly changing his expression from arrogance to panic; she saw the middle-aged man who had rushed up and yelled at the window earlier now bowing respectfully to the young man who called him "comrade"; she saw several other people who had been in line behind her now staring at the person next to her with a strange mixture of respect and nervousness.

She's not stupid—a high school senior who got into high school can't be stupid.

Although she didn't know who this person was, she knew that he must be a very, very important person.

Before Director Li had even hung up the phone, less than thirty seconds later, the landline inside the ticket booth rang.

The white landline phone sat amidst a pile of tourist brochures and folders, its LCD screen lit up, displaying a local landline number as the caller ID.

The middle-aged man paused for a moment, looked down at the incessantly ringing phone, and then looked up at Director Li, who was holding up his phone outside the window.

He swallowed hard, hesitated, then reached out, picked up the microphone, and held it to his ear: "Feed—"

The voice coming from the other end of the phone was so loud that it could be faintly heard outside the window; it was a roar that had been suppressed to the extreme and finally erupted.

The voice was like molten lava erupting from a blocked volcano, scalding and powerful, every word burning: "Who are you? Who gave you the right to do this? Is this how you serve the people? Is this how you treat tourists? Return the students' ID cards and student IDs immediately! Immediately! Right now! I am Wang Jianguo, Director of the Guixi City Culture and Tourism Bureau! You must carry this out right now!"

The middle-aged man froze.

His hand holding the microphone began to tremble slightly, and the color drained from his face the moment he heard the name "Wang Jianguo," leaving only a deathly pale complexion.

He dared not not recognize that voice—he had never met Director Wang in person, but he had heard the name nearly a hundred times.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with difficulty. He slowly raised his head and looked out the window at the group of people who were dressed plainly but whose demeanor was completely different from that of ordinary tourists. He finally realized what kind of mess he had made today.

Zhuge Ming's voice rang out, neither loud nor soft, as calm as a deep pool without ripples, but every word carried an irresistible force of execution.

He reached his hand through the window, palm up, and said only one word: "Give it to me."

The middle-aged man shakily handed over his ID card and student ID through the window.

His hands were trembling; the thin ID card swayed between his fingers twice and almost fell to the ground.

Zhuge Ming steadily took the two documents and glanced at them—the photo on the ID card was indeed exactly the same as the girl in front of him, and the embossed seal on the student ID was indeed so faint as to be almost invisible, but the school and student number were clearly printed on them without any trace of forgery.

He held the documents in his hand, turned to Director Li who was still holding his phone, and said in a calm tone, as if he were ordering someone to pour him a glass of water: "You handle this. Don't disrupt the normal work order."

Director Li immediately straightened his back and replied in a resolute tone, "Yes, sir!"

He shoved his phone into his pocket, jogged around to the side door of the ticket booth, pulled it open, and ducked inside.

A muffled thud came from inside the ticket booth—it was unclear whether a chair had been kicked over or someone had been pulled and stumbled—and then Director Li emerged from the ticket booth, grabbing the middle-aged man by the back of his collar.

The big man was half a head taller and a size bigger than him, but at this moment he looked like a fat cat being grabbed by the scruff of its neck, with its neck tucked in, its back bent, and its legs staggering on the ground as it was being dragged out.

Director Li had no idea where he got such strength; it was probably an extraordinary power that erupted after he was extremely angry. As he walked, he was growling something in his ear. His voice was so low that it was hard to hear, but judging from the shape of his mouth, he was probably cursing his ancestors for eighteen generations.

Zhuge Ming looked down at the two documents in his hand that still held the warmth of the little girl's body, and compared them side by side.

The ID card shows my birth date, and after calculating, I realized I'm indeed a senior in high school, eighteen years old. However, I'm not very tall, only about 1.6 meters.

The school name and grade information on the student ID match, but the stamp is too shallow, almost invisible.

He turned his head, flipped the student ID to the side with the embossed seal, gently touched the almost non-existent dent with his finger, and then spoke.

His tone remained gentle and patient, like an older brother talking to his little sister: "Comrade—no, classmate."

Your student ID does have a flaw; the stamp is too shallow.

It could be a problem with your school, or it could be that the local education bureau didn't ensure quality control when issuing the certificates.

It's alright. You can call the local education bureau to report the situation and ask them to reissue your certificate. This is your legitimate right.

The little girl has stopped crying.

She wiped away the remaining tears on her face with the back of her hand, looked up at the young man who called her "classmate," and the panic and grievance in her eyes were replaced by a deep, heartfelt trust and reliance.

She hesitated for a moment, as if gathering her courage to confirm something, then asked in a cautious yet sincere tone, "Will it work—Uncle?"

Zhuge Ming looked at the expectation shining in her eyes, which still held traces of tears, and his smile deepened.

He nodded and said in a resolute tone that brooked no doubt, "It works one hundred percent."

Then, as if he had suddenly thought of something, he stretched his hand to the side.

The soldier standing behind him almost reflexively pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and placed it in his outstretched palm.

Zhuge Ming took out his phone, opened the WeChat scan function, turned the phone screen towards the girl, and was about to say "Come on, add me on WeChat" when he saw the girl's expression become uneasy again.