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

He paused for a moment, glanced down at the green box on his phone screen that was still lit up and waiting to be scanned, and suddenly realized—this student had just repeatedly said at the ticket window that he didn't have a smartphone.

He smiled and locked his phone, switching to a more direct and convenient method. His tone was relaxed and natural, as if he were helping his cousin save her number: "It's okay, just save my number. You can call your uncle later."

The little girl quickly took her cell phone out of her school uniform pocket.

It was a button phone whose brand was no longer discernible. The edges of its plastic casing were worn shiny, and the screen was a small black-and-white LCD screen with a peeling plastic protective film that had been purchased at some unknown time.

She held the small phone in both hands and handed it over.

Zhuge Ming took the lightweight keypad phone, slowly and deliberately pressed a series of numbers on the plastic keys, and then clicked save.

He returned the phone to the girl and checked the call log on his own phone to confirm—an unfamiliar number had appeared in the "Dialed Calls" list, with a call duration of zero seconds, indicating that the number was correct.

He put the two documents together and handed them back to the girl, his tone gentle and casual, as if asking her if she had eaten today: "Here you go, classmate. Where are you from? Why did you come here?"

The little girl carefully put her phone and ID back into her school uniform pocket, and even pressed them against the outside to make sure they hadn't fallen out.

Then she looked up at Zhuge Ming, her eyes, which had been washed by tears, now appeared exceptionally clear and bright.

When she spoke, her voice was no longer filled with the collapse and sobbing of before. Instead, it was filled with a frank and clean tone, a sense of trust that was tinged with embarrassment but also with a feeling that there was no need to hide anything from this person: "Uncle, my home is in Shangqing Town. — I'm not afraid of you laughing at me, but I've never been to the Celestial Master's Mansion on Longhu Mountain before."

My family is in dire straits. My father has passed away, and my mother is seriously ill.

Yesterday, while I was working part-time at a restaurant, I overheard some customers chatting. They said they came to the Tianshi Mansion in Longhu Mountain to pray for good fortune, the kind of thing where you just worship and say the Tianshi Mansion is very efficacious.

I've heard people say this more than once since I was a child, but I've never believed it.

My mother's illness is getting worse and worse, and I really have no other choice, so I made up my mind to buy a student ticket online yesterday and come here today on my day off..."

Her voice grew softer and softer until it was almost a soliloquy.

She stopped crying, but the forced strength in her voice was even more heartbreaking than her previous wailing.

Zhuge Ming stood still, listening quietly to every word the little girl said.

His expression remained gentle and composed, but his heart was churning with conflicting emotions—a high school girl, about to take the college entrance exam next year, from a poor family, with a seriously ill mother and a deceased father, who had to work at a restaurant during holidays, living in Shangqing Town, who had never been to the Celestial Master's Mansion before, who had saved up enough money for a student ticket, only to be blocked at the door and harassed.

He silently piled up these conditions in his mind, one by one, until he got so angry that he was furious—it was too awful.

He crouched down so that his line of sight was level with the little girl's.

Then he spoke, his smile still gentle and clean, but his tone carried a warmth and appreciation.

He pointed to the school badge on the little girl's school uniform chest, and then to the small button cell phone she was clutching tightly in her hand: "Classmate, you've grown up—you're a responsible child."

You did not back down in front of someone much stronger than you; you still reasoned when you were wronged; after suffering such a great injustice, you did not lose your temper with others, but just squatted down and cried for a short while.

Uncle wants to learn from you.

Then he stood up, stretched out his hand to the little girl, palm up, fingers slightly spread.

It was an invitation, devoid of any condescending or condescending attitude, nor any deliberate attempt at intimacy. It was simply a clean, equal, and heartfelt invitation: "Come, today your uncle will accompany you into the Celestial Master's Mansion on Longhu Mountain."

We bought tickets—how can they not let us in if we bought tickets?

He turned to look at Director Li standing beside him—Director Li had just dragged the middle-aged man away and handed him over to two security guards who had appeared out of nowhere. He was jogging back, his face still covered in sweat, and the back of his polo shirt had been soaked and dried several times, looking wrinkled. But the expression on his face was one of composure and determination after doing the right thing.

Zhuge Ming smiled slightly at him, his tone relaxed and casual, as if confirming a trivial matter with an old friend: "Right, Comrade Li?"

Director Li nodded vigorously.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and said in an unwavering tone, "Of course you can enter if you have a ticket! There's no doubt about it! Our scenic area strictly adheres to the national ticket management system. As long as tourists purchase tickets through legitimate channels and have complete identification, no one—no one—has the right to prevent them from entering the park! Please rest assured, Secretary Zhuge!"

Zhuge Ming waved the little girl's ID card at Director Li, as if making a work-related inquiry, but his tone remained relaxed and casual: "After buying tickets online, you enter the park by swiping your ID card, right? No extra procedures are required?"

Director Li's gaze swept over the now empty ticket booth, and without a word, he took the little girl's ID card from Zhuge Ming's hands.

There were no staff members left in the ticket booth at this moment—the middle-aged man had been dragged away by him, leaving only the computer that was still running and the overturned chair.

Director Li personally opened the ticket booth door, bent down and crawled inside, sat down in front of the computer, picked up the scanner, clicked a few times on the park entry system on the screen, and then placed his ID card on the scanner—beep, a crisp notification sound came from the ticket booth, and a green checkmark and a line of small text popped up on the screen: "Ticket verified, welcome to the park."

Zhuge Ming nodded, then, as if suddenly remembering something, turned around to face the group of people behind him who were dressed like ordinary tourists, but whose expressions were completely different from those of ordinary tourists.

He smiled and said in a relaxed yet somewhat authoritative tone, "The tickets for everyone here today are on me. Two hundred and sixty yuan per person—that's not cheap at all."

He took his phone out of his pocket, turned around and handed it to the soldier standing behind him, speaking as casually as if asking a colleague to buy a bottle of water at a convenience store: "Take my phone, I'll pay for everyone. Just scan that QR code."

The soldier took the phone with both hands, stood at attention with a crisp salute, and replied in a short, firm voice, "Yes, sir!"

Then he walked to the ticket window, bent down, and said to Director Li, who was busy operating the computer inside, his tone still that of a soldier—official and unquestionable—but his wording had switched to the politeness one would show to a local comrade: "Comrade, how many tickets are there in total? Let's calculate the total amount, and I'll scan it for you."