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

The number of viewers in the live stream has stabilized at 15,000, and the comments on the right side of the screen are scrolling very quickly.

Zhao Shuyao sat at his desk, his hands folded on the table, his eyes level with the camera. There was no embarrassment on his face at having his "dark history" exposed; instead, he exuded an extremely clear and relaxed demeanor.

"Let's continue with the question our friend just raised." Zhao Shuyao's tone was calm, with a hint of self-deprecating laughter. "That paper praising the Qing Dynasty's territorial expansion was indeed something I wrote voluntarily during my senior year of undergraduate studies to apply for a guaranteed admission to graduate school, and later during my first year of graduate school to secure a place at the university."

Upon hearing this, a flurry of question marks appeared on the public screen. Ordinary netizens were surprised that he recognized her so readily, without even trying to hide it.

"We're all adults, so many things are actually easy to understand." Zhao Shuyao picked up the ceramic cup beside him and gently blew on the floating tea leaves.

"Learning and cognition are never built overnight, and my ex-girlfriend has already demonstrated to everyone how narrow the career paths are for history graduates."

The comments section was filled with "hahahahaha" and "too real".

Zhao Shuyao put down his cup and sighed, "Back then, I thought that as long as I could get a stable job at the university with a government-appointed position, writing a few formulaic essays according to the established rules of academia wouldn't be a big deal. After all, who hasn't had to compromise their principles for a living?"

"The older generation set the rules at the table. If you wanted to sit down to eat, you had to praise their whitewashing soup for being delicious. At the time, I also thought that bowing my head, saying a few words in agreement, and changing my future was a worthwhile deal."

Zhao Shuyao's words were devoid of any sophisticated vocabulary; they were extremely down-to-earth and straightforward. This candid utilitarianism resonated deeply with countless workers who were slacking off at their desks or had once toasted their superiors for performance targets.

"Teacher Zhao is too honest. Who isn't after a few coins?"

"You're the first person on the entire internet to talk about wanting a government job so confidently."

But Zhao Shuyao's expression quickly returned, and the sharpness of a scholar reappeared in his eyes.

"However, as I later immersed myself in the archives to prepare for my graduation thesis, and came into contact with more and more things, my cognition began to have serious gaps." Zhao Shuyao interlaced his fingers.

"You may not know that the History of Ming we see today was compiled nearly a hundred years after the Manchus entered the pass. During the compilation of this history, there were also inhumane literary inquisitions."

"Those who aren't professionals might not understand the absurdity of it," Zhao Shuyao shook his head. "When you look at their revised official history in general textbooks, the logic is often contradictory."

"One minute it says the Ming emperors were incompetent and the people were suffering; the next it records that the Ming army's military expenditures were enormous and its firearms reserves were astonishing. How could a country that couldn't even afford to eat have the money to build so many muskets and cannons?"

"I really couldn't figure out these logical deadlocks. I had no choice but to go through the most original local county records, check the local gazetteers, and compare them with the tax records of that time. Then I found that the accounts didn't match up at all."

Just as Zhao Shuyao was meticulously unraveling the historical truth, the rhythm of the live broadcast suddenly changed.

The previously quiet comment section was once again disrupted by online trolls, with rows of highly aggressive text flooding the screen.

"You talk a good game, but what are you pretending to be all high and mighty for?"

"Weren't you just throwing a tantrum and attacking people because you found out your chance to stay at the university was gone and you couldn't get into the circle?!"

"He's a complete opportunist; he changes his persona to make money whenever things turn sour!"

"Those who study history have dirty minds. You people will make up any lie for clicks, why should we believe you!"

This kind of attack on your conscience is extremely malicious. It doesn't refute your points of knowledge, but directly attacks your motivation for speaking out.

As expected, some ordinary netizens who had just become fans began to waver after seeing these uniform comments. In this era of information overload on the internet, we've seen far too many seemingly righteous "experts" fall from grace.

"Now that you mention it, it does seem like there's a problem, Ms. Zhao. Were you really angry because you weren't kept on as a guest teacher?"

"If someone only speaks out because of unequal distribution of benefits, then their words should indeed be taken with a grain of salt."

"Without substantial evidence, it's really hard to convince people with just words. After all, there are too many news stories online that have taken a turn for the worse."

The screen was filled with demands for "evidence" and "proof of innocence" from the condemners.

As Zhao Shuyao watched the scrolling questions on the screen, he showed no anger or anxiety what an ordinary person would feel when wronged. Instead, a clear-headedness, as expected, flashed in his eyes.

"It's great that people have doubts. Not blindly following others is a basic quality we should have when studying history." Zhao Shuyao nodded slightly and picked up the mouse.

"The logic of my online trolls is very simple: you think that I 'rebutted Professor Yan in the lecture' because I 'lost my spot at the university,' and that I am a venter after my self-interest failed."

Zhao Shuyao opened a folder on his computer desktop.

"But as long as we understand the chronological order of these two events, this extremely flawed logical trap will fall apart on its own."

Double-clicking the mouse reveals a cropped screenshot of a WeChat chat, with personal details removed, displayed in the center of the live stream.

"Please take a look at this screenshot. This is a WeChat notification I received from my advisor the morning after the lecture. The content is very clear: Due to my inappropriate remarks about Professor Yan during the lecture, the department office has decided to officially cancel my eligibility for probationary status."

Zhao Shuyao drew a circle on the timestamp above the image with the cursor.

「时间显示是：2016年3月2日上午10点15分。」

He then pressed a shortcut key to bring up another webpage screenshot, which was a screenshot of a campus forum post titled "Debate Erupts at a Lecture in the Department of History at the University of Tokyo".

「而这是当时在讲座现场的同学，第一时间发在学校论坛里的记录，时间是：2016年3月1日下午4点30分。」

Zhao Shuyao leaned back in his chair, looking directly at the camera.

"Did everyone understand?"

"I stood up on the afternoon of March 1st to refute Professor Yan's statements that contradicted historical facts, when I was full of hope and about to receive my official position."

"Then, because of my rebuttal, I angered them, so on the morning of March 2nd, I received the punishment that my spot to stay on campus had been revoked."

Zhao Shuyao's voice was calm and unhurried, yet firm and resolute.

"I lost my job because I upheld the truth of history; not because I lost my job that I pretended to tell the truth. The difference in cause and effect is subtle, yet leads to vastly different outcomes!"

The chat in the live stream paused for five seconds.

Faced with the facts, all sophistry appears pale and powerless; the overlap and misalignment of timelines form an extremely perfect logical loop.

"That afternoon, I sat below, listening to him on stage whitewashing the cruel cultural enslavement as 'a prosperous and benevolent era.' I did struggle internally." Zhao Shuyao crossed his arms. "I knew that as long as I stood up, all my efforts of pandering for the past three years and the stable job I was about to get would vanish."

"But I am a history student, an upright person. There are some things I can bow down for the sake of life, but at this critical juncture, in the face of the historical truth written with the blood and bones of my ancestors, I believe I cannot back down."

These words, without any desperate shouting, only conveyed a sense of coolness and unwavering resolve.

The live stream chat went wild.

This time, the copy-pasting tactics of online trolls were instantly crushed by the emotional torrent of real netizens.

"Holy crap, this is amazing! I've found a real scholar online!"

"This is the backbone of a scholar; they'd rather forgo a government job than not speak the truth!"

"Where are the trolls who were just stirring up trouble? Come out and show yourselves! You're using job loss as an excuse to speculate, try and get one!"

"Teacher Zhao, just based on your timeline, I'm going to be your only fan from now on. Anyone who dares to criticize you, I'll fight them to the death!"

"That's so inspiring! This is what history students should be like—worthy of our deceased ancestors!"

Gift effects began to appear on the screen in large numbers, and the number of likes exploded exponentially. Reporter Wang in the live chat window breathed a sigh of relief and wrote the five words "The Weight of Truth" heavily in his notebook.

At the same time, in a high-end hotel in downtown Fengtian.

Yan Jianhui, dressed in an elegant custom-made suit, stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, holding a brand-new smartphone in his hand, the screen displaying the live feed from Zhao Shuyao's live stream.

"...I lost my job because I insisted on the truth of history..."

Zhao Shuyao's calm voice came from the speaker and echoed in the quiet office.

Yan Jianhui's face turned ashen as he watched the barrage of comments on the screen, which were wildly insulting "academic tyrants" and praising Zhao Shuyao for his integrity. His breathing gradually became heavy.

He always thought that dealing with a poor student who hadn't even graduated yet only required some conventional public relations tactics, splashing some dirty water on his private morality, which would put the other party in an endless cycle of self-justification, ultimately leading to his disgrace and ruin.

But he never expected that this young man named Zhao Shuyao not only possessed extremely strong psychological qualities, but was also proficient in the rules of the game of public opinion.

Every move the opponent made was precisely designed to deconstruct the attacks he had paid a high price for, and even to use these attacks in reverse to reshape his own influence.

Now, this poor student has not only cleansed his private life but also established a perfect image for himself as someone who "resists power and defends the truth."

"These brainless netizens!" Yan Jianhui gritted his teeth and squeezed out a whisper.

He turned around and tossed his phone onto the large mahogany desk.

The young assistant standing to the side didn't dare to breathe, his head slightly lowered, waiting for his boss's decision.

"Are the PR firm just sitting around doing nothing?" Yan Jianhui asked his assistant, his tone extremely gloomy. "What kind of flawed material are they using? Tens of thousands of accounts, and they can't even manage to sway a mere kid?"

"President Yan..." The assistant swallowed hard and answered cautiously, "Zhao Shuyao has preserved too much evidence, and... Southern Media Group's official account has been in contact with him all along. Our online troll team doesn't dare to go too far, for fear of being directly named and blacklisted by official media."

Upon hearing the words "Southern Media Group," Yan Jianhui's eyes twitched twice; this was the most troublesome part for him. If it were a regular private live stream, he would have already used his platform connections to shut it down on the grounds of "inciting malicious disputes." But with the endorsement of official media, the nature of the situation completely changed.

"We can't let him continue broadcasting like this." Yan Jianhui walked behind his desk, placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward.

He knew that once Zhao Shuyao thoroughly exposed the historical accounts of the Ming and Qing dynasties on this protected platform, the academic reputation that the Yan family had accumulated over the years and the huge cultural industry chain behind it would be severely damaged.

"Go." Yan Jianhui raised his head, his eyes revealing an undisguised calculation. "Contact the deputy director of the Academic Affairs Office at the University of Tokyo and tell him that if they can't shut their students up immediately, the Cultural Foundation will completely withdraw its sponsorship of the University of Tokyo's history project next month."

The assistant paused for a moment, then nodded: "Understood, I'll take care of it right away."

Yan Jianhui straightened up, adjusted the cuffs of his suit, and glanced coldly at the phone on the table that was still broadcasting live.

Since public opinion and logic can't suppress you, then let's use the most direct, practical power to simply unplug your internet cable.