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

Zhang Lingyu stepped forward, bowed slightly, and made a standard Taoist gesture for leading the way, with his arm outstretched and palm facing up. He forced a polite and respectful smile out of his usually cold expression, and deliberately softened his tone: "Secretary Zhuge, please follow me."

I am Zhang Lingyu, a direct disciple of the Celestial Master. Today, I will be the guide for Secretary Zhuge and this young benefactor.

The Celestial Master's Mansion was first built in the Eastern Han Dynasty, and has a history of nearly two thousand years. Most of the existing buildings were rebuilt in the Ming and Qing Dynasties. The main buildings on the front mountain are the Sanqing Hall, the Celestial Master Hall, and the Wanfa Zongtan (Altar of Ten Thousand Laws). I, the humble Taoist, will introduce them to Secretary Zhuge one by one along the way.

Zhuge Ming and Zhang Lingyu led the little girl inside, and the accompanying inspection team automatically formed a loose line behind them, leaving only Director Li and Zhang Zhiwei in the square.

Before leaving, Zhuge Ming glanced back at Director Li. His look was brief but conveyed a lot of information—meaning, "The matter of the Red Flag is yours and Zhang Zhiwei's. Arrest the people who need to be arrested, and raise the flag where necessary. When I come back, everything that needs to be done will be there."

……

Director Li watched Zhuge Ming's figure disappear behind the side door of the Sanqing Hall, let out a long breath, and then turned to look at Zhang Zhiwei.

The expression on his face had lost the righteous indignation and aggressive tone he had displayed earlier; instead, it was a complex look that mixed helplessness, seriousness, and a hint of urgency.

He ran his fingers through his hair, which had been soaked with sweat and dried several times, and said to Zhang Zhiwei in a businesslike but considerate tone, "Master Zhang, our Longhu Mountain Celestial Master's Mansion is a national-level cultural relic protection unit, and it is a well-known name in the national Taoist community and cultural tourism system."

How can such a large square and such an important window unit be without a red flag? This is not only a matter of face for our Celestial Master's Mansion, but also a matter of principle regarding political stance.

Never mind, Master Zhang—this isn't entirely your fault; it's also because our Culture and Tourism Bureau didn't do a thorough enough job before.

I'll go and follow up on the Red Flag matter first. You just told Secretary Zhuge that you could help arrest the person, so let's do that as soon as possible and bring that fraudster to justice.

Let's divide the work and cooperate to get this done well, so we can give the leadership an explanation.

After saying this, Director Li turned around and walked quickly to an ancient camphor tree at the edge of the square, took out his cell phone from his pocket, and started making a call.

As he dialed, he whispered something quickly to the person on the other end of the phone, his tone full of urgency and determination.

Zhang Zhiwei stood alone in the center of the square, watching Director Li's back as he paced back and forth with his phone in hand, and remained silent for a long while.

Then he exhaled a long breath of stale air, which dispersed into a thin mist in the sunlight.

He reached into his Taoist robe, pulled out his phone, gave a wry smile, and muttered to himself in a voice so low that only he could hear it. His voice carried a hint of self-mockery and helplessness, as if he had been cornered: "These are turbulent times. I thought today would just be a perfunctory inspection and research trip, a cup of tea, a few words, a photo, and then it would be over."

The result was quite the opposite—the imposters impersonated Taoist priests, swindled tourists, assaulted security guards, confiscated identification documents, and didn't even receive a red flag.

"I've lived for over a hundred years, and this is the first time someone has asked me to my face, 'Where's your flag?' and I couldn't answer a single word."

He pressed a speed dial button on his phone forcefully and held the phone to his ear.

The moment the call connected, his tone instantly shifted from self-deprecation to the authoritative and unquestionable air befitting a centuries-old master. Every word was like tempered iron, hard and scorching, and his low voice concealed a nameless fire that had to be vented today: "Hey. Send out everyone you can."

Cooperate with the police to find that scoundrel who impersonated a Taoist priest from Longhu Mountain.

The mountain roads were blocked off, abandoned houses were searched, and all villages and households were notified that the Celestial Master's Mansion would offer a generous reward for anyone who provided valid clues.

"If you can't kill him, beat him to death."

……

The time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

Zhang Lingyu walked at the front of the group, slightly turned to the side, and used standard Taoist tour guide gestures to indicate the direction as he walked.

His voice was clear and steady, his tone neither hurried nor slow. He spoke about the history and architecture of the Celestial Master's Mansion in a clear and organized manner, citing classical texts. Occasionally, he would also intersperse a few philosophical insights about Taoist culture, which neither seemed like a deliberate attempt to show off, but allowed the audience to feel the profound cultural heritage of the ancestral home of Taoism.

The aloof expression on his face never wavered, but he showed no sign of negligence, performing his duties as diligently as a true top-notch tour guide.

Occasionally, when his entourage asked a question, he would nod slightly and answer attentively. After answering, he would continue walking forward with a composed demeanor and light, steady steps. His long, silver-gray hair would drift gracefully through the corridors of the ancient building, making him a sight to behold that rivaled any other scenic view.

Zhuge Ming walked in the middle of the group, listening to Zhang Lingyu's introduction while leading the female students through the Sanqing Hall, then the Tianshi Hall, and finally arriving at the main hall of the Wanfa Zongtan—the ancestral hall dedicated to the Ancestral Celestial Master Zhang Daoling.

The incense smoke inside the main hall was several degrees stronger than outside. In the dim light, the golden statue of Zhang Daoling sat solemnly on the altar, his face serene and his eyes lowered, as if looking down at everyone who stepped into this threshold.

Inside the hall, several worshippers were kneeling devoutly on prayer cushions, their incense smoke rising and swirling around the statue for a moment before drifting out of the hall.

The moment the female student entered the main hall, she was a completely different person.

Her steps slowed, and the hand that had been holding Zhuge Ming's clothes unconsciously loosened its grip. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest, her gaze fixed on the golden statue on the altar, her eyes reddening again—but this time not from grievance, but from the weight of faith that brought tears to her eyes after finally arriving at the place she had longed for.

She took out three incense sticks from her school uniform pocket, her hands trembling slightly, and tried several times to light them.

Then she walked to the prayer mat, knelt down on both knees, straightened her back, raised the incense sticks to her eyebrows with both hands, closed her eyes, and gently moved her lips.

No one heard what she was saying, but judging from the tears streaming down her face and her almost frozen, devout posture, it must have been a wish for her mother.

Zhuge Ming stood inside the main hall door, quietly watching this scene.

He didn't approach, didn't speak, but simply stood there quietly, giving the little girl a few minutes of undisturbed time that was entirely her own.

After she stood up from the prayer mat and wiped her tears with her sleeve, he took the lead and went forward to take three sticks of incense from the table.

In the dim light of the incense-filled hall, his expression was calm and solemn. He bowed slightly, raised the incense to his eyebrows, and together with all his entourage, bowed three times to the golden statue of the Celestial Master.

This is not feudal superstition; it is respect for the excellent traditional Chinese culture during a formal work assessment, and it is the reverence and courtesy that every Party member and cadre should have when facing a thousand-year-old cultural heritage.