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

The moon shines on the silent dragon and tiger peaks of Dan Mountain, while the lamps flicker on the gentle night tide of the Lu River.

Tian Jinzhong's room was in a secluded spot on the back mountain. Outside the window was a dark bamboo forest. The mountain wind rustled through the gaps in the bamboo leaves, making a soft and distant sound, as if something was breathing gently in the darkness.

Only an old-fashioned table lamp was lit in the room, its dim yellow light drawing a small circle on the table.

In the center of the halo was a transparent evidence bag—the kind of sealed plastic bag used by criminal investigation teams, with a numbered label on the opening, and inside was a thin piece of identification.

Taoist certificate.

The cover is dark brown, with the logo of the Celestial Master's Mansion of Longhu Mountain printed in the center. The opened pages contain the name, Taoist name, lineage, and date of entry into the Taoist path. The most eye-catching thing is the bright red steel stamp in the lower right corner—it is clearly raised and recessed under the light, and every word is so clear that it looks as if it was just stamped on.

The wheelchair was parked in front of the table.

A withered, rotten body lay curled up in the wheelchair—empty sleeves drooped from the shoulders and rested on the knees, and the flat trousers swayed slightly in the wind blowing from the wheelchair pedals. The marks of the limbs being neatly severed silently told a story of a severed past beneath the wide Taoist robe.

Only the occasional glint of light in his deep-set eyes, like the last will-o'-the-wisp locking away secrets in hell, flickered in the dim light.

This is the tombstone of a living person, Tian Jinzhong, an elder among the 65th generation disciples of the Celestial Master's Mansion, whose seniority is second only to the Celestial Master.

Zhang Zhiwei sat on the wooden chair opposite the wheelchair, his white eyebrows lowered, his hands resting on his knees, his knuckles tapping lightly unconsciously.

The two brothers had been silent for a while before Tian Jinzhong finally spoke first.

His voice was hoarse and dry, as if decades of silence had worn away all its edges, but every word carried an undeniable certainty and a deep sense of bewilderment: "Senior brother, how is this possible? The seal on this Taoist certificate—it's actually real."

That's impossible.

I've kept the seal of the Celestial Master's Mansion locked in a cabinet, and the key has been hanging around my neck for half my life, never leaving my side.

There haven't been any initiation ceremonies for new disciples in the past six months, and I've never opened that cabinet.

This stamp—should not appear on any new certificate.

But it is true, after all.

Zhang Zhiwei did not look up; his gaze remained fixed on the Taoist certificate sealed in the evidence bag.

After a long silence, he slowly spoke, his aged voice echoing softly in the dimly lit room, like the lingering sound of an ancient bell being gently struck: "Junior brother, don't panic."

The deed has already happened; it's right before our eyes, and we have no choice but to accept it.

This Taoist certificate looks too real—it actually looks a bit fake.

The seal is genuine, the background pattern is genuine, the paper is genuine, and every anti-counterfeiting detail matches.

But the person holding the certificate is, unfortunately, a wicked and evil person.

He used the title of a Taoist priest from our Celestial Master's Mansion to sit at the ticket booth at the foot of the mountain for half a month, ripping off countless tourists and cheating countless ordinary people, and we were completely unaware.

He looked up, and the dim light cast deep shadows on his wrinkled face.

There was a hint of self-blame and exhaustion in his voice, as if he were speaking to Tian Jinzhong, or perhaps to himself: "This is also my fault."

These past few days, I've been too distracted by the Luo Tian Grand Ceremony, and the management inside and outside the mountain gate has become lax, allowing unscrupulous people to take advantage of the situation.

"I, as the exorcist master, have failed in my duty."

Tian Jinzhong was silent for a moment, then raised his head. A glint of light flashed in his deep-set eyes, and his tone changed from confusion to anger and vigilance after being offended to the core: "Quanxing—how dare they? This is challenging the bottom line of our Celestial Master's Mansion, it's throwing dirty water on our heads."

"Senior, where is this person now? How was he dealt with? What was the meaning of that leader who came—that Secretary Zhuge from the provincial department?"

Zhang Zhiwei raised his hands from his knees, interlaced his fingers and placed them on the table, leaning slightly forward.

When he spoke, his tone had returned to its usual composure and calmness, but if you listened carefully, you could still discern a trace of deep-seated fatigue and helplessness: "Let's do business as usual."

The company has already notified people, and Dou Le from the East China region is on his way.

They originally wanted Rongshan and his men to interrogate him first, but they went too far and knocked him unconscious. He hasn't woken up yet.

"Fine, let the company handle it—as long as he says something like 'whatever he says,' we'll be cleared of any wrongdoing."

He paused for a moment, a bitter smile appearing on his lips.

The smile, under the dim light, didn't look like a smile at all, but rather like someone savoring some unspeakable feeling: "However, as far as I know, the relevant leaders of the tourism bureau in charge of our Longhushan area have been replaced."

Director Wang of the Guixi City Culture and Tourism Bureau was just transferred from his original post today. The newly appointed director called me this afternoon and specifically instructed me to be discerning and to guide my disciples to cultivate a righteous heart towards the Way.

It was also said that Longhu Mountain is the ancestral home of Taoism, and the Taoist priests of the Celestial Master's Mansion should set an example, keep their eyes open, and never allow unscrupulous people to use the name of Longhu Mountain Taoists to swindle and deceive.

He even specifically reminded his elder brother—"The red flag must always fly high in the wind; it must be raised every day without fail."

After hearing these words, Tian Jinzhong remained silent for a long time.

Then, in that hoarse voice, he slowly spoke, his tone devoid of the anger and questioning from before, replaced by a clarity and comfort that comes from having experienced the vicissitudes of life.

He leaned his head against the back of his wheelchair, gazing at the dim light cast by the lamp on the ceiling, as if speaking to the void, or perhaps to his own memories: "Senior brother, our Celestial Master's Mansion is having a run of bad luck."

This was too coincidental, so coincidental that it was as if someone had written a script in advance and was waiting for us to act it out.

But the facts are undeniable, leaving us no choice but to believe and acknowledge them.

That Quanxing person did indeed sit at the foot of the mountain for half a month, and was indeed spotted by the provincial leaders on the spot. We indeed did not find anything.

This is the truth; we weren't framed, we simply failed to keep a close watch on things.

He turned his head, the sharp light in his deep-set eyes softened, and his tone became more gentle and earnest: "Actually, our Celestial Master's Mansion is not bad."

I heard that Wudang Mountain had a flag-raising ceremony a few years ago, and every morning some disciples would line up in front of Zixiao Palace to raise the national flag. This is not a new thing.

Of course, that's true—after all, we are all Chinese, born under the red flag and raised in the spring breeze, so what's a little flag?

It's just that some things happen too fast, making people feel somewhat constrained.

After all, we are all seekers of the Tao, accustomed to tranquility and freedom. It's normal that we can't quite adjust to so many rules and regulations all at once.

But even if we can't change course, we have to; it's the inevitable trend.

Just then, Zhang Zhiwei's phone, which was on the table, suddenly vibrated.

The screen lit up, and the caller ID showed "Rongshan".

He glanced at the caller ID, frowned slightly, picked up his phone, and swiped to answer. His voice was calm and brief: "Hello, Rongshan, what happened?"

Rong Shan's voice came from the other end of the phone, his tone filled with barely suppressed panic and deep self-reproach.

He spoke quickly, as if trying to control his emotions but not very successfully: "Master, Dou Le, the head of the East China region, has arrived."

Zhang Zhiwei hummed in agreement, his tone still unhurried and composed: "I understand."

"Let them take the people away. Interrogate them however you see fit. The Celestial Master's Mansion will fully cooperate. There should be no obstruction."