Under One Person: The Taoist Priest Descends the Mountain

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone from Xu Xiang.

The decision to develop divine weapons was indeed made by the board of directors, but he took on the task himself.

The purpose, of course, was related to Feng Baobao, since her situation was too special and Xu Xiang wanted to try to obtain information from another angle.

Now that the project has run into problems, doesn't it seem useless and like he's just trying to shirk responsibility by going back to the board of directors?

Although Xu Xiang has remained at the forefront of the industry all these years because of Feng Baobao, indirectly making way for certain people and making it difficult for the board of directors to say anything, it still feels unsettling.

Xu Si took the cigarette out of his mouth and sat up straight. He knew Xu Xiang's concerns. At times like this, his father cared about his reputation, so it was up to him, the son, to step in.

Xu Si carefully chose his words: "Dad, I'll report this to your superiors directly. Just pretend you don't know anything. Anyway, you already reported it as a work injury and are recuperating at home last time, so just focus on recovering and don't worry about anything."

Xu San leaned over and gave Xu Si two thumbs up.

Xu Xiang relented: "I'll do it your way."

"Okay!" Xu Si replied.

After hanging up the phone, Xu San asked, "Did Dad agree?"

Xu Si nodded, flipped through his phone to his contacts, and found Bi Youlong's number.

He didn't rush to dial; he first thought about how to phrase it.

The concept of divine armed forces was originally proposed by Huang Boren, but Huang Boren is a soft-hearted person who is good at shifting blame. If he reports the matter to Lao Huang, they will end up having to take the blame.

Bi Youlong was different—he wanted to get involved in every R&D matter after the board resolution.

This situation is just right.

Xu Si pressed the dial button.

Beep beep beep—Connection complete.

"Hey, Xiao Si," Bi Youlong's voice came through the receiver, authoritative yet kind, "What brings you to call me? Is there some hot potato you're going to dump on me again?"

Xu Si lowered his voice slightly, and said with a hint of grievance, "Chairman Bi, how could I say that? I really had no other choice but to ask you for help."

"Oh?" came the sound of papers turning over on Bi Youlong's end. "What is it?"

Xu Si briefly explained the situation, his tone sincere: "Chairman Bi, our North China branch really can't handle this anymore. You know my father's personality; he always takes everything on himself."

He paused, then emphasized his sincerity a third time: "After much thought, I realize I can only ask you for help. You have influence with the board, so please give us a heads-up. I'll fax you the documents; please see how you can best handle this."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, then Bi Youlong chuckled: "Alright, kid, send me a copy of the thing, I want to take a look."

Xu Si's voice immediately perked up: "Oh, Chairman Bi, then I'll have to trouble you! I'll send it to you right away. Please let me know if there's anything I need to do."

"Alright, stop joking around." A laugh came from Bi Youlong's end. "He's hanging up."

After hanging up the phone, Xu Si tossed his phone onto the table: "It's done."

Xu San lay down on the sofa, took off his shoes, and showed Xu Si his feet, giving him two thumbs up and two big toes: "This is something you have to do."

Xu Si snorted smugly, put the paper into the fax machine, and dialed Bi Youlong's office number.

The fax machine creaked and groaned as it slowly swallowed the paper.

……

The headquarters of Nadutong in Beijing.

Bi Youlong sat at his desk, holding the paper that had just come out of the fax machine, and looked at it over and over for a while.

The handwriting on the paper looks like it was written with a brush, with rounded strokes and restrained strength. Each stroke is very neat, but when put together, it has an indescribable quality.

He looked at it for a while, then picked up the landline on the table, turned on the dialer, and dialed Zhuge Gong's number.

The phone rang a few times before being answered.

"Hey, Lao Bi." Zhuge Gong's voice came through the receiver, sounding somewhat tired. "I'm sorry about what happened last time; I couldn't be of any help."

Bi Youlong leaned back in his chair: "Agong, what are you saying? I'll have to trouble you again this time."

Zhuge Gong paused for a moment, then asked, "Still, should we use divination?"

"No." Bi Youlong picked up the paper and twirled it in his hand. "The company recently acquired an ancient book that may be related to your Zhuge family. We would like to trouble you to take a look."

On the other end of the phone, Zhuge Gong sat up straight, his voice trembling: "What kind of ancient book?"

Bi Youlong carefully considered his words: "I can't reveal the specifics, and the content is very limited. I can only fax you a rubbing of one page. Do you have a fax machine?"

Zhuge Gong thought for a moment: "The village bought one the year before last. But... wouldn't the internet be discreet enough? Or should I just go to your company?"

Bi Youlong laughed: "What kind of outdated thinking is that? The internet can be even safer than face-to-face communication."

Zhuge Gong was silent for two seconds: "I don't understand this. Just say it is."

Bi Youlong said, "Give me the fax number, and I'll send it to you right now."

Zhuge Gong recited a string of numbers.

Bi Youlong wrote it down, hung up the phone, put the paper into the fax machine, and pressed the number.

The fax machine started creaking and groaning.

……

Zhuge Village, at the clan chief's house.

The fax machine started creaking and groaning.

……

Zhuge Village, at the clan chief's house.

The fax machine hummed, and a sheet of paper slowly emerged.

Zhuge Gong stood to the side, waited until the paper was completely expelled, then picked it up and glanced at it.

His hands started trembling at just one glance.

The handwriting on the paper was neat and powerful, and every stroke had a familiar feel to it.

"This...this..."

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He paced back and forth in the room twice, then picked up the landline to summon the most accomplished cultivators of the clan to the council hall.

He stopped just as his finger touched the first number.

No, we can't rush it.

He put down the phone, picked up the paper, and looked at it again. Then he picked up the landline on the table and dialed several numbers—the Cultural Bureau, the Archaeological Institute, the Museum—he contacted every channel he could think of.

The answers are all the same: there has been no recent archaeological news about ancient tombs from the late Han and Western Jin periods, and there are no related excavation reports.

Zhuge Gong put down the phone, sat in a chair, closed his eyes, and slowly calmed his breathing.

Sink your consciousness and enter the inner world.

A moment later, he opened his eyes, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

Zhuge Gong casually wiped the paper, stood up, put the page into the photocopier, pressed a few buttons, and printed more than twenty copies.

Then he picked up the landline and dialed the duty phone in the council chamber: "Notify everyone to come to the council chamber in fifteen minutes."

……

Council chamber.

The main room was full of people.

The elderly with gray hair sat in the front row, the middle-aged people sat in the middle, and the younger generation sat at the back.

A portrait of Zhuge Liang hangs on the wall, and sandalwood incense burns in the incense burner, its smoke curling upwards.

Zhuge Gong sat in the main seat and handed the copies to the people next to him, passing them down one by one.

The main room was so quiet that the only sound was the rustling of papers.

An elder with gray hair suddenly stood up, his hands trembling and his voice shaking: "This is the handwriting of our ancestor!"

He held the paper up to his eyes, examining it closely: "Look at this character '之' (zhi). The horizontal stroke ends with a flick upwards—this is a unique habit of our ancestors! I've studied their manuscripts my whole life; I absolutely cannot be mistaken!"

Another elder leaned over, his glasses nearly falling off, and pointed at the paper: "And this character '臣' (chen, meaning subject/minister), the middle vertical stroke is off to the left by half an inch! That's how our ancestor wrote it in his early drafts!"

"The writing style is also correct," the third person chimed in, pointing to the paper. "This character '曰' is slightly flat, with a foundation in Han Dynasty clerical script, but it already shows signs of Zhangcao (cursive script) – our ancestor learned Han Dynasty clerical script in his early years, and then incorporated Zhangcao in his middle age; this timeline matches perfectly!"

The elders spoke one after another, becoming more and more excited, their voices growing louder and louder, spittle flying everywhere.

An elder stood up, his voice booming over everyone else: "Clan leader, where did this manuscript come from?"