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

Yang Wei gently closed the dormitory door from the outside, and with a creak of the old door hinges, the 30-square-meter room fell completely silent.

Sunlight streamed through the balcony glass, casting a slanted glow on the yellowish computer desktop. Zhao Shuyao didn't rush to type; instead, he leaned back slightly against the wooden chair, rhythmically twirling a black pen between his right index and middle fingers.

On the computer screen, the netizens who had been stirred up were bombarding the internet with labels such as "scumbag" and "phoenix man" using their extremely limited vocabulary.

Zhao Shuyao tossed the pen onto the table, his eyes fixed on the screen, his brain rapidly dismantling the opponent's public opinion offensive and defensive system.

"They used despicable private morality to spread rumors, trying to elevate me to a moral high ground and thus deprive me of the legitimacy to tell history." Zhao Shuyao picked up a ceramic cup with the emblem of Dongda University. "The logic is very rigorous, the work of a public relations company. Unfortunately, you chose the wrong audience and the wrong battlefield."

At this point in 2016, netizens' emotions were like a gasoline can, ready to ignite at any moment, but equally, these emotions shifted extremely quickly.

As long as a stronger, more stimulating nuclear energy message is injected into the nation's nerves, the so-called "disputes between men and women" will instantly become trivial matters.

My phone, which was on the corner of the table, suddenly vibrated.

The screen lit up with a WeChat message from Gu Nanxi: "I heard a lot of people talking about you in the cafeteria. It seems like the student union is also putting pressure on you. Are you really not going to post those transfer records? As long as you post real transaction records, the rumors will fall apart on their own."

Zhao Shuyao looked at the message, a calm smile playing on his lips. He picked up his phone and typed a reply with one hand: "Gu, to give you an example, if a dog barked at you on the street, accusing you of stealing its bone, would you choose to squat down and bark back at it to prove your innocence, or would you just turn around and smash the dog owner's pot?"

Less than ten seconds later, the other end replied with a "speechless" emoji, followed by another message: "So whose pot are you planning to smash?"

"Smash their master's gilded reputation." Zhao Shuyao pressed the send button, then turned his phone upside down on the table, ignoring the noise outside.

He pulled his hands across the keyboard, his fingertips hovering over the keys, and the playfulness in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by the solemnity and sternness of a scholar.

Click the mouse to create a new document.

The crisp sound of keyboards echoed in the dormitory as the title was finalized: "From Tianjin to Manchukuo: The Self-Cultivation of a Puppet and the Book of Whitewashing."

"Since everyone is so interested in the truth of history, let's continue from the last episode and talk about the second half of the life of the last emperor, Puyi."

"After having an affair with the Japanese in the Tianjin concession, he went to the Northeast as he wished, and amidst the gunfire of the September 18 Incident, he put on that dragon robe again."

Zhao Shuyao typed slowly, carefully considering the impact of each word.

"Many remnants of the Manchu Qing dynasty, like hyenas smelling carrion, excitedly rushed to Changchun to seek refuge with their master, dreaming of being ennobled and appointed as prime ministers. But when they arrived there, they discovered that this 'emperor's' life was rather comical."

"You might as well take a look at the internal daily records of the puppet Manchukuo period. In that puppet palace in Changchun, his activities were limited to the garden. What's even more ridiculous is that even when he went to the outhouse, there were military police from the Kwantung Army standing outside the door."

"Excrement needs to be strictly recorded, euphemistically called 'concern for the health of the Holy Body.' What kind of restoration is it when someone who doesn't even have the freedom to defecate leads a group of old-fashioned people who can only walk on their knees?"

At this point, Zhao Shuyao paused for a moment. This is the style of a cultured person. Without using any vulgar curses, he completely deconstructed the "royal dignity" that the Manchu remnants were so proud of into a clown farce with just the four words "freedom of excretion".

But after comedy, there must be an extremely painful tragedy. Zhao Shuyao picked up his cup and took a big gulp of strong tea. The slightly bitter tea slid down his throat as if he had swallowed a period of time with a bloody taste.

His fingers landed on the keyboard again, this time with noticeably more force.

"While it is laughable, we must face the evil he committed. Do you know that during the Manchukuo period, there was an extremely special place in Pingfang District of Harbin? It was a place that even today, no one with a conscience could walk in and leave with a smile."

"Black Sun." Zhao Shuyao silently recited the number in his mind, his fingertips slowly unfolding this history on the keyboard.

"What did those old-timers who wanted to curry favor with the Kwantung Army and secure official positions in Manchukuo do? There are clear records in declassified Japanese internal archives that these people took advantage of the trust of their compatriots to lure and arrest ordinary people on a large scale, sending them as 'specially transferred' materials into that hellhole."

"Why was Japan's biomedicine industry able to rise so rapidly after the war? Those precise data on frostbite down to the milligram and the limits of decompression chambers were all painstakingly obtained through the blood and sweat of our ancestors."

"In this process, the emperor sitting in the puppet palace not only issued various edicts to cooperate with the Kwantung Army, but also enjoyed the 'stability' that was bought with the blood and flesh of his compatriots without any qualms."

"In his later years, Puyi wrote a very popular autobiography, 'My First Half of Life,' in which he used a lot of words to artistically embellish and beautify himself in all aspects. He attributed all his sins to being 'forced into a corner' and to being 'swept up by the times.'"

Zhao Shuyao narrowed his eyes, a chilling glint flashing within them, and typed a line of text heavily on the screen:

"I personally find this statement extremely disgusting. I don't believe in the so-called being forced into it. If someone really doesn't want to do something, there are countless ways to resist. Even if they learn from the last emperor of the Ming Dynasty and hang themselves on a tree, it would be considered leaving the nation with the last bit of dignity."

"Unfortunately, he lacked that courage, or rather, this indifference and cold-bloodedness towards the lives of other ethnic groups was simply a gene inherited from the Manchu ancestors."

This deduction is logically rigorous and progressive, first dismantling the pretense of helplessness, then revealing the true evil, and finally pointing the finger precisely at the ruling genes of the entire Qing Dynasty.

But is that enough?

To completely expose the hypocrisy of the "benevolent governance" touted by these academic cliques, simply going close to historical records is not enough; the very foundation of the Qing Dynasty must be dug up and its corpse whipped. He wants to reveal a truth that is absolutely obscure in the minds of ordinary people in 2016, yet extremely explosive.

"Since we've come up with the idea of ​​inherited cold-bloodedness, let's rewind the clock two hundred years and look at a mystery that's tacitly understood by historians but rarely explained to the general public—the mystery of the sharp decline in Sichuan's population during the late Ming and early Qing dynasties."

The keyboard clicked again, and the words lined up on the document like sharp blades.

"From childhood, we've all heard about 'Zhang Xianzhong's massacre of Sichuan.' This peasant army leader did indeed commit atrocities, that much is undeniable. But let's do a simple calculation."

According to the History of Ming and local chronicles, during the Wanli era of the Ming Dynasty, Sichuan's total population was around six million. However, by the eighteenth year of the Shunzhi reign of the Qing Dynasty, the registered population of Sichuan had dwindled to a mere ninety thousand. Ninety thousand! That's less than the population of a large residential community today!

"Some people blame Zhang Xianzhong for the deaths of six million people. Ladies and gentlemen, how many years did Zhang Xianzhong's Great Western regime rule in Sichuan? Less than two years. His military control did not even extend beyond the Chengdu Plain and a few surrounding prefectures."

"With the rudimentary killing efficiency of that era of cold weapons, how could he have wiped out six million people in a large, rugged province in just two years?"

Zhao Shuyao typed out the historical evidence from the Yazhou Prefecture Gazetteer, word by word.

"The lowest point of Sichuan's population decline occurred in the 1660s. Note that by then, Zhang Xianzhong had been dead for a full twenty years! So, during those twenty years, who was carrying out such an extremely cruel and large-scale extermination campaign on the land of Sichuan?"

"The General History of Sichuan clearly records that during the Qing army's pacification of Sichuan, there were repeated massacres of cities. The Yazhou Prefecture Annals state in black and white: 'After five days of massacre, not a single person survived in the city.' The county annals of Fushun, Wenjiang and other places recorded the tragic scene at the time without any embarrassment: 'Wherever the Manchu army went, they killed everyone, regardless of their character.'"

"Mr. Gu Cheng, a leading figure in modern Chinese history, made a heartbreaking summary in his rigorous and meticulous 'History of the Southern Ming': When the Manchu Qing suppressed resistance forces in Sichuan and other places, the number of people they massacred far exceeded the total number of casualties caused by all armed forces at the end of the Ming Dynasty (including Li Zicheng and Zhang Xianzhong)."

As he wrote this, Zhao Shuyao's fingers left the keyboard. He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he could almost hear the wailing from that land more than two hundred years ago and smell the lingering stench of blood.

A moment later, he reopened his eyes, his gaze incredibly clear. He wanted to give this long article a decisive ending.

"When I learned about the horrific past that had occurred on this land, and then looked at the 'innocent years' in the autobiography of the last emperor; and then listened to some academic tyrants praising the 'prosperous Qing Dynasty' on the podium, I felt nothing but horrification."

"Gentlemen, let us not forget history, and let us not allow those who drink the blood of our ancestors and become bloated with greed to guide our integrity."

"The End"

Zhao Shuyao checked for typos, did not make any unnecessary formatting changes, opened his browser, and downloaded two high-resolution old photos from an overseas historical materials website that was extremely difficult to access.

One photo shows an old man in a ridiculous official robe kneeling on the ground in front of the puppet Manchukuo palace; the other is a tattered photocopy of a Sichuan county gazetteer.

Insert photos into articles by logging into the Toutiao backend.

He ignored the ever-increasing barrage of abusive private messages and moved his mouse to the blue "Post" button. Without hesitation, he pressed the left mouse button heavily with his index finger.

A green checkmark appeared on the screen: Article published successfully.

Zhao Shuyao leaned back in his chair, stretched out a big yawn, his bones making a crisp sound. He didn't stare at the screen waiting for data feedback because he knew that this article, which simultaneously touched on the national scars of Unit 731 and the truth about the massacre of Sichuan that overturned public perception, didn't need any artificial promotion.

In today's massive online traffic pool, it can, within half an hour, act like a real Tsar Bomba, blasting the "moral quagmire" that the other party has painstakingly built into the sky.