He fiercely criticized the Manchu scholar clique and the twelve emperors of the Qing Dynasty.

The evening wind in Fengtian in March carried a biting chill, blowing through the bare branches of the trees lining the avenue.

Zhao Shuyao hung up the phone, put it back in his pocket, zipped up his windbreaker all the way, and walked toward the administrative office in the second teaching building.

He walked slowly, not in a hurry, as the memory of "staying at the school in his previous life" was gradually surfacing in his mind.

In his previous life, he naturally obtained the position of staying at the university, but what happened?

Staying in the history department as a teaching assistant, earning a fixed salary of three thousand five hundred yuan, I had to serve tea and water to several senior professors in the department every day and organize their lecture notes. The worst part was that the Ming and Qing history research circle in the north had long been welded shut by that set of solidified relationships.

He wanted to write about the nascent capitalism at the end of the Ming Dynasty, but his superiors wanted him to write about the economic recovery at the beginning of the Qing Dynasty; he wanted to study the local history of the "Three Massacres of Jiading," but the editor-in-chief of the academic journal rejected his paper directly, on the grounds that it was "not conducive to the overall situation of national unity."

Not smearing the Ming Dynasty, nor whitewashing the Qing Dynasty—this most basic objective attitude in historical research was actually a sin in that seniority-based system. Frustrated, he eventually became a lecturer with a receding hairline who sighed all day long.

Now that he's had a second chance, he's determined to overturn this table.

As Zhao Shuyao climbed the terrazzo stairs, he arrived at the end of the second-floor corridor, where a bronze plaque hung on the door that read "Office of the Deputy Director of the History Department".

He stopped outside the door, took a deep breath, completely concealing the arrogant coldness on his face, pressed the corners of his mouth down, and put on an extremely sincere, even somewhat regretful, expression.

Raise your hand.

"Knock knock".

"Come in!" A loud, clear voice, tinged with anger, came from inside the door.

Zhao Shuyao pushed open the door.

The small office was filled with a strong smell of tea stains and tobacco. Zhang Jianguo, who was in his fifties, sat behind his desk with his hair neatly combed.

At that moment, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, and he had drawn a big X on the document on his desk that read "Recommendation Form for Outstanding Graduates of 2016 to Stay at the University" with a red and blue pencil.

Upon seeing Zhao Shuyao walk in, Zhang Jianguo stopped rubbing his temples and lingered on Zhao Shuyao's calm face for two seconds.

In those two seconds, Zhang Jianguo's expression changed three times. First, it was annoyance at the boy's disappointment, then relief at confirming that the boy was not missing any limbs, and finally, he quickly put on a stern face and put on his strict demeanor again.

"Zhao Shuyao, you're something else." Zhang Jianguo leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips on the table twice. His voice was deep and resonant. "I've been teaching for almost thirty years and have mentored over a hundred graduate students. You're the first person in history to dare to verbally abuse a professor in front of over five hundred people during a public lecture, sending him to the intensive care unit."

Zhao Shuyao stood obediently, his hands folded in front of him, his head bowed, looking like a docile person who would take any beating or scolding.

"Are you mute? Weren't you so eloquent in the lecture hall just now? Weren't you able to talk the dead back to life and strip the twelve emperors of the Qing Dynasty bare?" Zhang Jianguo stood up, his hands on the table, his chest heaving. "Why are you bowing your head now? Do you really think you've won?"

Zhao Shuyao remained silent, only looking at his mentor with an extremely innocent gaze. He knew that he absolutely could not talk back at this moment; the old man was venting his lingering fear.

"Do you think that just because you've read a few local chronicles and calculated a few deficit accounts, you're the most clear-headed person in the world?" Zhang Jianguo walked around the desk to Zhao Shuyao and pointed to the night outside the window.

"Zhao Shuyao, don't you even look where you are? This is Fengtian. Two hundred kilometers to the north is Hetu Ala, the stronghold where the Manchus rose to power!" Zhang Jianguo lowered his voice, but spoke faster and faster, revealing a straightforward realism.

"Do you think other professors can't see through Yan Chongnian's flawed arguments? Do you think there's no one in academia who understands?" Zhang Jianguo pointed at Zhao Shuyao's nose. "Why is everyone silent? Because of interpersonal relationships, because academic resources are limited!"

"Why has Yan Chongnian been traveling around these few northern provinces and cities for decades? Does he dare to go to Lin'an? Does he dare to go to Nanjing to preach his theory that 'the Yangzhou Massacre was a last resort'? He doesn't dare. He'd be pelted with rotten eggs in the south!"

These words contain a great deal of information.

Zhao Shuyao sighed inwardly. Zhang Jianguo was an old-fashioned scholar who was outwardly flexible but inwardly principled. He didn't accuse Zhao Shuyao of academic fraud, but he only emphasized one point: You don't understand the rules, you chose the wrong occasion, and you chose the wrong enemy.

"Mentor, please don't be angry." Seeing that the time was right, Zhao Shuyao finally spoke, his tone calm. "I know where this place is, and I know what kind of connections and resources he has behind him."

"Since you know all this, why do you do such a stupid thing that will ruin your future!" Zhang Jianguo turned around, picked up the thermos on the table, unscrewed the lid, and spilled a few drops of water on the table because his hands were shaking.

"Because I couldn't help it." Zhao Shuyao raised his head and looked at Zhang Jianguo with an open and honest gaze. "We are all scholars, and we must be worthy of history. He was spouting nonsense on the show, belittling those compatriots who died for the cause of the nation and putting those who exploit the people on a pedestal. If I don't stand up and speak out today, I feel that my three years of graduate studies have been in vain."

Zhang Jianguo's hand, holding the thermos, froze in mid-air. Looking at the student with clear eyes in front of him, his anger suddenly dissipated by more than half, replaced by a deep sense of helplessness.

He put down his cup and sighed, "History isn't always black and white. Shuyao, you need to learn to hide your shortcomings. You've completely offended someone today. Although that old man's academic achievements are debatable, he has too many titles. One sentence from him can make it impossible for you to move an inch in this circle."

Looking at Zhang Jianguo's gloomy face, Zhao Shuyao suddenly smiled.

She took a small step forward, lowered her voice, and said in an almost complaining tone, "Professor, you're really wronging me. I've been very careful about my behavior today."

Zhang Jianguo was taken aback, his brows furrowing again: "Mind your impact? You've given someone a heart attack from all that verbal abuse, and you call that minding your impact?"

"I did hold back," Zhao Shuyao said, spreading his hands with an expression as sincere as could be. "I just brought out some local economic accounts to debate. Imagine if I hadn't held back and had just read out those lousy articles he wrote back then, which were supposed to be distorting the achievements of the Ming Dynasty in order to protect the Qing Dynasty dramas, word by word, in front of hundreds of people."

"Or I could recite a few passages from the diary of his ancestors when they signed treaties with foreign powers... In that case, he wouldn't be in the emergency room of the city hospital now, he'd probably be taken straight to the morgue."

The air in the office suddenly froze.

Zhang Jianguo stared wide-eyed at the arrogant student in front of him.

one second.

two seconds.

Zhang Jianguo's eyes twitched a few times as he tried to maintain a stern expression, but upon hearing this absurd yet perfectly consistent explanation of Zhao Shuyao's personality, he felt a strange sense of powerlessness.

"You...you call this holding back?" Zhang Jianguo laughed angrily, pointing at Zhao Shuyao's nose and tapping his finger in the air several times before finally choking out, "If I hadn't stopped you, were you planning to hold a funeral service for him right here and now?"

"Not at all, I'm a civilized person," Zhao Shuyao replied immediately, his tone revealing an honest and composed demeanor.

Zhang Jianguo was completely speechless. He knew this student too well. He was always first in his major courses and spent more time in the archives than anyone else. Zhao Shuyao certainly had the confidence to overturn the table.

"Alright, stop trying to be clever with me." Zhang Jianguo waved his hand, turned around and sat back in his chair, his tone becoming businesslike, but his words were full of favoritism.

"Forget about the spot for staying on as a faculty member. Yan Chongnian will definitely put pressure on the school. Not only the spot for staying on as a faculty member, but also the provincial-level outstanding paper you originally planned to apply for has been crossed out."

At this point, Zhang Jianguo paused, raised his eyelids to look at Zhao Shuyao, as if wanting to see the young man's bottom line.

Upon hearing the punishment, Zhao Shuyao remained completely unmoved. In his previous life, he had exhausted his spirit in that stagnant industry, and in this life, those so-called titles and awards were nothing more than a pile of waste paper to him.

"Professor, if the spot for staying on as a faculty member is gone, it's gone." Zhao Shuyao asked with a smile, even a hint of relief in his tone, "So, will I still be able to graduate smoothly this semester? Will they hold back my diploma?"

Zhang Jianguo rolled his eyes and gave a cold snort.

"Now you're scared? Where did your bravado go when you were pointing your finger at him and calling him a 'wild old thief'?" Zhang Jianguo opened a drawer and slammed a document heavily onto the table.

"I'll take care of your graduation. As long as your thesis passes the plagiarism check and you keep quiet during the defense and follow the proper procedures, I guarantee you'll get your degree."

"Alright, I'm relieved to hear that." Zhao Shuyao immediately went along with it.

Zhang Jianguo, seeing his carefree attitude, felt even more exasperated: "You can still laugh? You studied history, and you've offended some industry authorities. Do you think you can easily find a job just by having a diploma? Besides teaching, joining an archaeological team, or working in an archive, what else can you do?"

"Your family isn't well-off, and it wasn't easy for your parents to support you through graduate school. How will you explain this to them?"

This is the mindset of traditional intellectuals. In Zhang Jianguo's view, a secure job within the system and prestige in academic circles are the only two paths for history students.

Looking at the old man in front of him, Zhao Shuyao felt a surge of warmth in his heart. Although Zhang Jianguo scolded him fiercely, every word he said was for Zhao Shuyao's livelihood.

"Mentor, you really don't need to worry about work. I have my own plans." Zhao Shuyao straightened up, his smile fading slightly, revealing a composure far beyond his years.

"Times are changing. We live in the mobile internet age now. You don't have to sit in a big studio like the 'Lecture Room' to get people to listen when you're doing academic research or talking about history."

He pointed to the students outside the window who were looking down at their phones: "As long as what I say is based on evidence and can be understood by ordinary people, there will always be places in this world that are willing to listen to the truth."

Zhang Jianguo frowned, not understanding what he meant by "Internet". He just assumed it was the stubbornness of a young man.

"Suit yourself. You're staying in your dorm these next few days. Don't go out and don't cause any more trouble." Zhang Jianguo waved his hand, dismissing him. "Once Yan Chongnian's condition stabilizes, the hospital might need you to write a written explanation. I'll tell you in advance how to write it. Go now."

"Okay, please get some rest and avoid strong tea." Zhao Shuyao bowed slightly, turned and left the office, closing the door behind him.

The moment the door closed, the corridor fell silent again.

Zhao Shuyao walked down the stairs with light steps.

He knew very well that Zhang Jianguo's "written explanation" would eventually turn into a letter of repentance that forced him to admit his mistakes, due to the power struggle among various parties.

But how could he possibly write it?

Upon reaching the lobby on the first floor, Zhao Shuyao pulled out his old Huawei phone from his pocket. As soon as the screen lit up, the densely packed message notification icons on the top status bar almost crashed the entire system.

He opened the Toutiao app and went to the creator backend.

During the half hour he was being scolded in the office, his recently verified account, "Northeastern University History Department Idler," had already surpassed 50,000 followers.

At the top is a private message from the "Chief Editor of the History Channel of Toutiao," who has an official yellow V verification.

"Hello Mr. Zhao, your lecture videos have seen a surge in viewership, causing a sensation in the entire history community. Our platform greatly needs professional content creators like you who possess clear logic and dare to speak the truth. If you are interested, we are willing to provide you with exclusive traffic support and a top-tier contract. Do you have time to discuss this further?"

As Zhao Shuyao read the private message, the corners of his mouth slowly curled upwards, revealing a cold and aggressive smile.

Staying on campus means bowing your head and having to watch the faces of academic tyrants?

Excuse me.

The era of self-media dominating the market is only just beginning.