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

On a March morning, the sky over Fengtian City was a cold, leaden gray.

In the dormitory, Yang Wei was still snoring under the covers. Zhao Shuyao opened his eyes and stared at the yellowish ceiling for a full minute, his mind unusually clear.

This was a long-lost sense of ease. In his previous life, at this point in time, the first thing he did every morning was to figure out how to please Director Zhang, how to perform in front of his advisor, and how to smooth out the rough edges in his graduation thesis in order to secure the job at the university.

Then came staying at the university, getting married, taking out a loan to buy a two-bedroom apartment, and seeing that after deducting the mortgage and car loan payments from his monthly salary, there was hardly anything left. He even had to act subservient at the dinner table to get the associate professor title.

Completely bent by a set of shackles called "stability", who hasn't had the ambition to continue the lost learning of the sages and restore the truth when they were eighteen?

In the end, however, they were all molded by life into indistinct cogs.

Zhao Shuyao sat up quickly and decisively.

Things are different now. Since God has given us a chance to be dealt a new hand, why should we follow the path laid out by others and act like subservient grandchildren? To hell with the system, to hell with compromising and making concessions.

The historical materials he has now stored in his mind are the capital to overturn the dinner table of this group of vested interests.

After changing into his gray tracksuit, Zhao Shuyao pushed open the door and went out.

At six o'clock in the morning, on the Northeastern University track, cold air rushed into his nostrils, and his legs began to work mechanically. When he ran his third lap today, Zhao Shuyao keenly noticed the change in the atmosphere around him.

Yesterday, most of his students would give him a thumbs-up discreetly; today, that secretive support has become open and aboveboard.

Two tall boys wearing sports academy jackets ran towards them. As they passed each other, one of them stopped and waved, "Good morning, Senior Zhao!"

Immediately afterwards, several girls who were strolling on the inside of the track turned around, whispered a few words to each other, and then nodded to him.

Zhao Shuyao slowed his breathing and nodded in response to each question. In this long-established university, the students had a preliminary understanding of the difficulties of entering society, but their deep-seated sense of identity with truth and integrity had not been completely extinguished.

The Yan Chongnian Forum incident precisely broke through this dull silence.

As I reached the finish line of the fifth lap, I saw a familiar figure sitting on the steps.

Beige down jacket, light blue jeans, the girl from Jiangnan from yesterday.

She didn't offer me water today, but instead handed me an unopened pack of tissues.

"Thank you." Zhao Shuyao took the tissue, pulled out one to wipe the fine beads of sweat from his forehead, and sat down on the steps next to her.

"Did I see your campus forum?" The girl turned her head, her voice still gentle and soft. "I heard last night that the dean's office looked for you. Someone saw you coming out of the administration building looking unwell, and everyone is saying you might be getting a disciplinary action."

Zhao Shuyao leaned against the step railing, stretching out his legs and deliberately said, "You look pale, it's just because you're hungry. They chose mealtime to lecture you, it's very unethical."

The girl paused for a moment, then couldn't help but smile: "You always have such unique perspectives. Let's get to know each other properly. I'm Gu Nanxi, a senior in the Chemical Engineering Department. Nan is the 'Nan' in 'east, west, south, north,' and Xi is the 'Xi' in 'stream.'"

"Zhao Shuyao, 'Shu' as in 'scholar,' and 'Yao' as in 'Yao, Shun, and Yu.'" Zhao Shuyao turned his head, looking into her bright eyes. "You've found out so much, are you planning to become a campus reporter before graduation, Gu?"

Gu Nanxi shook her head, resting her chin on her hands as she looked at the track: "I came to see you on behalf of those who dare not speak out. Everyone in my dorm read the article about Puyi that you posted online yesterday."

"We science students usually only know history from TV dramas. After reading your article, my roommate tore down the poster of a Qing Dynasty palace drama that had been on the wall for two years last night."

This was a very small gesture, but in Zhao Shuyao's eyes, it was the first step in stripping away the enslaving mentality.

"Thank your roommate for me." Zhao Shuyao stood up. "Tell her it's good that you tore it down; it'll save the wall from getting dusty."

After leaving the playground, Zhao Shuyao went to the cafeteria and ordered two tea eggs and a bowl of millet porridge. Just as he sat down and peeled the eggshells, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number located in Guangzhou, Guangdong.

Zhao Shuyao stopped what he was doing. At this critical juncture, any call from an unknown number was not simple. He swiped his finger to answer.

"Hello, is this Zhao Shuyao from Northeastern University?" A clear male voice came from the other end of the phone, speaking quickly and with a professional news sense. "I'm Wang, an in-depth reporter from Southern Youth Daily."

Zhao Shuyao swallowed the egg white in his mouth: "Good morning, Reporter Wang. The Southern Media Group is moving so fast?"

The other party paused for a second at the familiar opening, then got to the point: "Student Zhao, just half an hour ago, Professor Yan Chongnian's family released a public statement on social media through their lawyer."

"They stated that their private communication with you has completely broken down, accusing you of being extremely arrogant, lacking the most basic academic respect and moral integrity, and that they are formally preparing to file a civil lawsuit against you for defamation."

Reporter Wang paused, then offered a bait: "This matter is currently extremely popular online. As the person involved, you must be facing immense pressure from public opinion and the legal system. We'd like to conduct an exclusive interview with you and ask you what you'd like to say about their 'arrogance'?"

This is a very typical media trap. As soon as you start explaining that you are not arrogant, you are unwittingly accepting the moral judgment set up by the other party.

Zhao Shuyao picked up the millet porridge and took a sip, his tone so calm it was completely unwavering: "Reporter Wang, how can this be called arrogance? This is clearly just a case of not being used to the local environment."

"Unaccustomed to the local environment?" Reporter Wang didn't understand the logical leap in this phrase.

"Yes." Zhao Shuyao tapped the edge of his plate lightly with his chopsticks. "Last night, Professor Yan Jianhui, Mr. Yan's son, came to our school's administration building in person. He gave me three conditions for 'private communication'."

Zhao Shuyao did not embellish the story, but repeated it with extremely precise wording: "First, I will post an apology at the top of the entire internet for a month; second, I will delete all videos and articles that dissect the historical truth about Puyi; third, no matter what special services or imported drugs his father uses in the hospital, I must settle the bill in full."

The crisp sound of typing came from the other end of the phone, and reporter Wang's breathing became noticeably rapid. This was an exclusive inside story that could ignite a front-page headline.

Zhao Shuyao continued slowly and deliberately, "Reporter Wang, you be the judge. I am a third-year graduate student who relies on my family for support. Faced with this kind of privilege treaty with a strong feudal patriarchal style, I was even scolded by their attendants for not having the right to sit down. I did not kneel down to thank them for their favor. In the rules of their academic aristocratic family, this is indeed considered extremely 'arrogant'."

These words were harsh and biting, firmly attaching the labels of "unequal treaties" and "privileged oppression" to the Yan family.

"Zhao, can we publish your statement verbatim?" Reporter Wang's voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement.

"Of course, if you feel that written words aren't enough, we can conduct a video interview tomorrow afternoon." Zhao Shuyao looked at the rising sun outside the window. "Since they prefer to go through legal procedures to protect their rights, I'll use your newspaper's platform to help them learn about the law in advance."

After hanging up the phone, Zhao Shuyao finished the remaining half bowl of millet porridge in one gulp.

After finishing his meal, Zhao Shuyao returned to room 302, pulled out a chair, and turned on his computer.

Open the Toutiao creator backend.

The moment the data interface refreshed, the bright red numbers were extremely impactful. The "Puyi Chapter" article and the less than three-minute self-introduction video released last night completely triggered a massive surge in traffic driven by algorithm recommendations.

The article's readership surpassed five million, the number of followers approached three hundred thousand overnight, and the earnings have already reached the level of half a month's salary for an average white-collar worker.

Open the comments section.

"After reading the article, I was so angry I smashed the table. Smuggling national treasures and then packaging it as helplessness—people like that should be nailed to the pillar of shame!"

"With pictures and text, including photos from the county annals and old newspapers, this isn't just a self-media article; it's clearly an indictment with irrefutable evidence. Zhao, you're amazing!"

Scrolling down, you quickly see screenshots of the lawyer's statement from the Yan family, which have been reposted by netizens. The comment section is already in an uproar, with some rational people starting to stir up trouble, saying that although Zhao Shuyao has solid historical research, he does not respect the elderly and care for the young, and it is only right that he is being sued by the family.

Zhao Shuyao moved the mouse and opened the content publishing page.

No explanations, no self-justifications, just lay out last night's negotiations on the table.

Ten fingers tapped the keyboard, and a line of bold text quickly appeared:

[A brief explanation regarding the lawsuit—an open letter to the Yan family's legal team.]

Main text content:

"After returning from my morning exercise, I learned that Professor Yan's family had already drafted their lawsuit. I was very pleased. After all, using modern law to protect one's rights is much more civilized than directly resorting to literary inquisitions during the Qing Dynasty."

Regarding the family's accusation that I did not cooperate with private communications, I would like to make a brief addition here.

Last night, Professor Yan's son, Mr. Yan Jianhui, bringing with him the academic background accumulated by three generations of his family, presented me, a "peasant," with three non-negotiable conditions...

Zhao Shuyao listed the three conditions one by one, without any exaggeration or embellishment, stating them plainly.

The letter concludes by stating: "These three conditions fully demonstrate their family's skillful use of privilege. Unfortunately, I am not well-educated and have not learned how to accept this favor. Since the reconciliation has broken down, see you in court."

"By the way, when submitting medical bills, please be sure to exclude those high-end convalescent expenses that are beyond the scope of normal medical insurance reimbursement. After all, the Qing Dynasty has been gone for more than a hundred years, and we have to calculate according to the economic laws of modern society."

Check for typos and click Publish.

Once this post was published, Zhao Shuyao knew that the "victim" image that the Yan family had created would be torn to shreds by these three arrogant privileges.

Instead of looking at the rapidly increasing number of comments, I moved my mouse to the "private messages" list in the background.

The red dot in the upper right corner shows "999+".

When you open it, the screen is filled with extremely dark and grotesque text garbage.

"You know nothing about united front work; you'll fail to graduate!"

"A poor Han Chinese dares to speak ill of the imperial family? Believe me, we'll make sure you can't stay in Fengtian!"

Some even directly send various incomplete Manchu texts to personally curse others.

Looking at these private messages, Zhao Shuyao's lips curled into a pure sneer. These people dared not show their faces in the face of irrefutable evidence in the public comment section, and could only vent their anger like rats in the sewers, hiding in the secret corner of private messages.

If you want to bite people from the shadows, then I might as well just completely lift the sewer cover.

Zhao Shuyao pressed the screenshot shortcut and saved these highly representative private messages one by one, putting them into a newly created folder. Since he was going to make a series of videos, he had ready-made material for the next episode—"The Cyber ​​Carnival of the Manchu Remnants: A Private Message Appreciation Conference".

Just as he was taking screenshots methodically, a special account with a gold "V" verification suddenly popped up at the top of his private message list.

Account ID: Director Zhang (a well-known producer/director of period dramas in China).

The message was just a short line: "Zhao, I understand your youthful arrogance. Let's be friends. Let's leave the Twelve Emperors series here. If you're willing, I can recommend you to my production team as a historical consultant after graduation. The salary will be a hundred times better than teaching at the university. We're all smart people. It's not smart to turn down money and a future."

Zhao Shuyao's finger hovered over the left mouse button.

His gaze was fixed on the line of text on the screen, which reeked of money and the condescension of those in power. The smile in his eyes gradually faded. The suppression by academic cliques was not over yet, and now the capitalists in the entertainment industry were also starting to get restless, trying to silence him with money.

interesting.

Instead of replying, he selected the private message and pressed the screenshot button.

"Click".

With the evidence preserved, this battle is becoming increasingly interesting.