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

Zhao Shuyao pushed the water glass to the edge of the table.

The green data indicator light on the computer screen was flashing at an extremely high frequency. The number of online viewers in the live stream was stable at over 50,000. The refresh rate of the comments on the right side of the public screen had exceeded the limit of human vision, with densely packed characters scrolling upwards in layers.

The screen was filled with comments like "Comrade," "Support Teacher Zhao," and "Strictly investigate academic cliques."

Zhao Shuyao's gaze lingered on the rapidly flashing words, his eyes remaining absolutely clear. He had mentally rehearsed this tactic many times.

Dealing with a deeply entrenched academic circle is difficult to undermine by simply debating historical materials; the other side has funding, connections, and administrative resources.

To break out of this absolute disadvantage, the only solution is to replace personal grudges with public issues and elevate academic disputes to the level of class antagonism and historical stance.

Yan Jianhui's arrogant statement about "three generations of management" was like handing over the sharpest knife, which Zhao Shuyao caught and used to dismantle the political correctness upon which Yan Jianhui relied for survival.

The Manchu clique can control everything within their closed circle, but once exposed to the gaze of 50,000 ordinary netizens, and faced with the purest working class, those so-called resources are nothing but a bubble.

Zhao Shuyao didn't continue reading the comments. He sat upright in his chair, letting the fervent emotions ferment naturally on the internet.

At the same time, on the third floor of the administration building of Southeast University.

The air in the dean's office of the School of Humanities felt heavy. Dean Xu Dongming sat in a large office chair, holding a tablet computer in his hand, on which was playing Zhao Shuyao's live broadcast.

Assistant Li stood diagonally in front of the desk, her hands clasped over her stomach, head down, her gaze fixed on the pattern of the carpet.

The tablet broadcast Zhao Shuyao's resounding words: "The world belongs to you, and to us, but ultimately it belongs to you."

Xu Dongming's facial muscles twitched slightly. He reached out and pressed the volume button on the edge of the tablet to turn the volume down. He looked away from the screen, raised his head, and his gaze fell on Assistant Li.

"Old Li," Xu Dongming's voice was a little dry, and he spoke slowly, "did you really say he was a rotten apple on the phone back then?"

Assistant Li swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Dean, I... I was in a panic at the time. The Yan family was pressuring me, saying they were going to withdraw the foundation's funding. I didn't expect this student to have a recording."

Xu Dongming sighed and shook his head: "You're not in a hurry, you're just confused. How much money can the Yan family's foundation give the academy? A few million at most."

"Go look at the online sentiment right now. Tens of thousands of people are watching our college. A reporter from Southern Media Group is online the whole time. He's even bringing up quotes from the great leader and that badge. This isn't just his problem anymore; it's a problem of our college's political stance!"

Xu Dongming took out a pack of Zhonghua cigarettes from the drawer, pulled one out and put it in his mouth without lighting it.

"With this level of public attention, the city and even the provincial propaganda departments will probably receive a report on public opinion within an hour." Xu Dongming tapped his fingers on the table. "If we do as the Yan family says and withhold his graduation certificate, our entire leadership team will have to go to the Discipline Inspection Commission for questioning and write self-criticisms tomorrow."

Xu Dongming picked up the landline receiver on the table and dialed an internal number.

The phone rang three times before being answered.

"Principal." Xu Dongming immediately adjusted his posture, straightened his back, and became extremely respectful in his tone.

A slightly aged but strong voice came from the other end of the phone: "Old Xu, what's the rush?"

"President, there's been some unexpected development regarding Zhao Shuyao, the third-year graduate student in our history department." Xu Dongming carefully chose his words. "He's currently live-streaming online, and the number of viewers has exceeded 50,000. Southern Media Group is also following the story closely."

Xu Dongming did not hide anything and reported the key points of the leaked recording of Assistant Li's phone call and Zhao Shuyao's subsequent escalation of the incident to the level of class position and cultural confidence in the live broadcast room.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, lasting half a minute.

Xu Dongming could hear soft breathing sounds and the scratching of a pen tip across the paper coming from the microphone.

"Old Xu." The principal's voice rang out again, the previous ease gone, replaced by an undeniable seriousness. "This student has very clear logic and extremely high political sensitivity. He not only put us in a dangerous position, but also pushed Yan Chongnian's circle to the opposite side of the masses."

"Yes, public opinion is completely one-sided right now," Xu Dongming echoed. "Netizens are demanding a thorough investigation into our school's administrative procedures, and some are even going to leave messages on the Ministry of Education's official website. What do you think we should do to set the tone?"

"How else can we determine it?" The principal's speech quickened. "I've seen the briefing on the historical materials he mentioned; they're well-founded and logical. Our university motto is 'Seeking Truth from Facts.' The student spoke the truth and faced pressure from external capital. If our university doesn't protect its own at this time, what will become of the backbone of this century-old prestigious university?"

Xu Dongming understood immediately; this meant it was time to officially sever ties.

"Convene an administrative meeting at the college level or above immediately," the principal ordered. "The meeting will have only one agenda item: find out which administrative staff member put pressure on the students, suspend them if necessary, and have them write a self-criticism."

"In addition, you should personally contact Zhao Shuyao, be humble, and tell him that Dongda University will always protect academic freedom, and that as long as his graduation process and degree application comply with academic norms, no one will be allowed to interfere."

"Understood," Xu Dongming replied.

"And one more thing," the principal added, "try to calm him down and get him to say a few words of justice for the school before the live stream ends. We can't become scapegoats for the financial world, understand?"

After hanging up the phone, Xu Dongming put the receiver back on the landline, glanced at Assistant Li standing in front of him, who was covered in sweat, and waved for him to leave without saying a word.

At this point, the live stream had reached its peak popularity.

Various expensive gift effects occupied half the screen, and netizens, after experiencing cognitive restructuring and emotional outburst, urgently needed to find an outlet.

Many people suggested in the comments that they should form a group to bombard Yan Chongnian's social media accounts and boycott the official homepage of the School of Humanities on various platforms.

Sitting in front of his computer, Zhao Shuyao looked at the slightly fanatical text. He knew that if he let this emotion run rampant and lead to cyberbullying, his constructed persona of a "rational scholar" would immediately be downgraded to that of a "ringleader of cyberbullying."

This was definitely not the outcome he wanted.

Zhao Shuyao placed his hands on the edge of the table, moved his body back, stood up, straightened his hoodie, and let his hands hang naturally at his sides.

As the 50,000 viewers in front of the screen watched him suddenly stand up, the scrolling speed of the comments slowed down.

Zhao Shuyao stood directly in front of the camera, facing the screen, bent down, and bowed very solemnly.

The movements are slow and the range of motion is standard.

After holding the position for two seconds, he straightened up and sat back down in the chair.

"Everyone," Zhao Shuyao began, his voice gentle, devoid of the sharp edge he had shown earlier, "Today's live stream has been going on for almost two hours, and I've received countless messages of support from everyone, including students, working professionals, and elders."

"This bow is my way of expressing my gratitude as an ordinary history student for everyone's pure trust and support."

The comments section was filled with phrases like "Teacher Zhao deserves it" and "Support those who speak the truth."

"I saw many people in the comments saying they were going to leave messages on so-and-so's account or go to a certain organization's homepage to demand an explanation." Zhao Shuyao shook his head. "Take my advice, everyone, don't do such things."

A hint of confusion and hesitation appeared in the live stream chat.

"We are here today to release the recording and explain the reasons, in order to seek the truth and to prove that we ordinary people also have the ability to distinguish right from wrong." Zhao Shuyao's tone was calm, with the kind of persuasive guidance unique to intellectuals.

"If we turn around and hurl extremely vicious insults at them, launching indiscriminate personal attacks, then what difference is there between us and the online trolls they hire?"

I lightly tapped the desktop with my finger.

"The biggest taboo for a dragon-slaying youth is growing dragon scales." Zhao Shuyao smiled, with a touch of relaxed humor. "If everyone actually goes and wipes out the old man's account, and people say that I, Zhao Shuyao, led an army of 50,000 to launch a cyber war, then I'll be stuck with this 'rat dropping' label forever."

This humorous self-deprecating remark instantly dispelled the hostility that had just accumulated in the live stream.

"Hahaha, Teacher Zhao's awareness is amazing."

"Listen to Teacher Zhao, don't be a thug, let's reason things out."

"Reason doesn't lie in raising one's voice; that's the true demeanor of a scholar!"

Seeing the comments section where people were regaining their rationality, Zhao Shuyao knew he had achieved his goal.

"As for the final outcome," Zhao Shuyao continued, "how the school plans to deal with me, how the Yan family plans to sue me in court, I still maintain my original stance."

Look directly into the camera.

"As long as it is a reasonable procedure based on the law and school rules, even if I have to bear some responsibility, I will accept it calmly, never run away, and never compromise."

Zhao Shuyao moved the mouse, and the cursor hovered over the red close button of the live streaming software.

"Thank you everyone for taking up your weekend rest time. Please spend more time reading books and with your families. That's all for today's live stream."

Without giving netizens time to send comments to persuade him to stay, Zhao Shuyao pressed the left mouse button with his index finger.

The green indicator light went out instantly.

The live stream in the center of the screen disappeared, and the app returned to the backend management interface of Toutiao. The data summary in the upper right corner showed that the live stream had accumulated more than one million views, with a peak of 62,000 concurrent viewers.

Zhao Shuyao released the mouse.

With the live stream shut down, the invisible spotlight effect in the dormitory also dissipated, and the surrounding environment returned to the slightly old-fashioned, bookish 302 dormitory room.

Zhao Shuyao relaxed his back and sank into the chair. He raised his hands and rubbed his face vigorously from his forehead to his chin, making a slight rubbing sound.

This is not as simple as just talking for two hours.

Without a team or teleprompter, facing the ever-changing comments from 50,000 people, and having to precisely control emotional output, logical transitions, and guard against online trolls taking advantage of any opportunity, this is an extremely mentally taxing and high-pressure game.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let my brain, which was feeling a bit swollen from concentrating for so long, cool down slowly.

"Thump, thump, thump."

There was a sudden knock on the door.

The sound was not loud, but rhythmic, unlike the kind of angry banging on a door.

Zhao Shuyao opened his eyes, removed his hands from his face, and quickly filtered through the possible people in his mind: Was the counselor here to convey a notice from the department office? Had his roommate Yang Wei returned early?

He stood up and walked towards the door.

Zhao Shuyao stood by the door frame, looking out the door.

The corridor, which I thought would only have two or three people, was now densely packed with people, stretching from the entrance of dormitory 302 all the way to the water room at the end of the corridor.

The entire corridor was unusually quiet, without the usual noisy conversations, and no one complained about the crowding.

Countless eyes turned to Zhao Shuyao, who was standing at the door.

Those gazes no longer held the doubts and evasiveness he displayed a few days ago when he was caught in a media storm, nor the worry and sympathy he showed yesterday when he was being harassed in the cafeteria.

It was an extremely pure, even somewhat fervent, respect and recognition, as if looking at a spokesperson who spoke on behalf of all of them.