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

The upload progress bar on the screen reached its maximum, and a green "Published Successfully" message popped up.

Zhao Shuyao's gaze was fixed on that page. Two seconds, three seconds, the mouse cursor hovered over the edge of the "Close" button, but his index finger did not press it.

An extremely calm yet exceptionally clear emotion rose in my mind. However, this video only refuted the argument from an academic perspective; at most, it was just a war of words.

The other party has been mingling in Beijing's elite circles for many years, possesses extensive media resources, and has an extremely thick skin; mere verbal exchanges cannot damage their core base.

Zhao Shuyao removed his right hand from the mouse, leaned forward, and hovered his hands above the keyboard again.

The only way to truly shut such a person up is to uncover their "motives" for advocating historical nihilism. There are usually only two reasons why someone goes to great lengths to glorify a feudal dynasty: either they have a problem with their brain, or their ancestors served under that dynasty.

With his fingers tapping rapidly, the software created a new blank page. Zhao Shuyao entered specific keywords into the search box and pressed Enter.

The page redirects, displaying hundreds of original scanned documents. The reader quickly scans the yellowed document images, grasping the core information, and the brain cross-references them with the family tree of the adj.

Five minutes later, Zhao Shuyao's fingers tapped on the keyboard again.

"Mr. A, the video just now only discussed common sense, and I don't think it was rigorous enough. As historical researchers, we believe in finding the root cause of everything."

"After seeing you sing the praises of the Qing Dynasty on the show, I specifically went to look up the origins of your maternal relatives."

Zhao Shuyao pressed the space bar to start a new line.

"Your great-great-grandfather held important local positions during the Qing Dynasty, in charge of managing local finances; your great-great-grandfather also wore the official hat and plume of the Qing Dynasty and received a so-called imperial salary. Your family's history is clearly written in the local chronicles of those prefectures and counties."

Drag the two resumes with official seals in both Manchu and Chinese that you just captured directly into the document.

"I'm just wondering, does your family genealogy only go this far back? Does it only recognize this part of history?"

Zhao Shuyao leaned back in his chair, staring at the text on the screen with a cold look in his eyes.

"These materials are all in the provincial archives, and anyone with internet access can find them. You have been advocating the Qing Dynasty and belittling the orthodoxy of Chinese civilization in various occasions for many years. Your true colors are actually very obvious."

"Do you think that if history could really go back to the past as you describe it, then descendants like you with so-called 'pure bloodlines' wouldn't have to abide by the laws and regulations of modern society?"

"Are you thinking that no matter what violations or crimes you've committed, you won't have to undergo this kind of fair investigation? You can still look down on the lower classes and treat them like slaves?"

Continue typing.

"Stop dreaming. I suggest you go back and look through those files you haven't seen before, and take a close look at how your great-great-grandfather survived by being humbled in front of foreigners and rebels."

The keyboard was being typed faster and faster, and characters kept appearing.

"Full of absurdities, buying favors and currying favor with those in power—this is nothing more than your family's consistent survival tradition. It's just that your ancestors from over a hundred years ago acted too mildly and too reasonably."

"Because you remnants were not thoroughly dealt with, you were left to continue spouting nonsense on the internet today."

After typing the last period, Zhao Shuyao retrieved several clear group photos of officials from the late Qing Dynasty from deep within the hard drive. Among them were images of the family's ancestors, which he then inserted at the end of the article.

Write down the final closing remarks.

"Teacher A is welcome to come and confront me anytime with your historical materials. Also, I will watch your talk show episodes frame by frame and correct the common sense in them."

Click "Publish Article".

The green notification box lit up again. As Zhao Shuyao watched the two articles, each with its own set of pictures and text and exponentially more damaging content, enter the information stream, he finally released the breath that had been taut in his chest.

That's good. Dealing with these cultural compradors doesn't require any courtesy.

Close the webpage, exit the background, and shut down the computer.

The dormitory returned to silence. Zhao Shuyao stood up, stretched his arms, his bones making a slight grinding sound, walked to the window, and looked outside.

In late March in Fengtian, the trees on campus were just beginning to sprout green buds.

My gaze returned to the phone on the desk.

The crisis for his future was over, and his spot to stay at the university was returned. According to the customs of his hometown, such a change in life's milestones must be reported to his family.

Zhao Shuyao picked up his phone and unlocked it. He scrolled to the number in his contacts marked "Mom".

The thumb is hovering above the screen.

This phone call was difficult to make. My parents were tying steel bars on a construction site in the south, working under the sun and wind every day, doing physically demanding jobs.

In their minds, their son being able to stay and become a teacher at a century-old university in the provincial capital was an absolute honor for the family.

Now he's given up this secure job himself.

Press the dial button. Hold the phone to your ear.

"Beep—beep—"

The call rang six times, and halfway through the seventh ring, it was answered.

The first sound coming through the receiver was the roar of machinery, mixed with the metallic clanging of steel pipes. A few seconds later, the background noise subsided, as if we had moved to a relatively quiet corner.

"Shuyao?"

My mother's voice came through, her breathing noticeably labored and her accent thick with the Huaihai region dialect: "Why are you calling at this hour? It's not even the weekend yet."

She paused for a second, then her voice immediately rose an octave, revealing undisguised anticipation.

"Has your decision to stay at the university been finalized?"

Holding his phone, Zhao Shuyao knew he absolutely couldn't mention any of the online controversies, Yan Chongnian, or that he was currently the focus of attention for hundreds of thousands of people.

These extremely complex online opinions and class struggles will only plunge parents thousands of miles away, who are not even very good at using smartphones, into a huge panic.

Zhao Shuyao did not speak immediately.

This brief silence was immediately noticed by the mother on the other end of the phone.

"What's wrong?" The mother's tone changed instantly, from expectant to cautiously worried. "Did the offer to stay at school fall through?"

"Don't worry, Shuyao, don't get upset." His mother quickened her pace, trying to create a comforting barrier on the other end of the phone. "If it doesn't work out, it doesn't matter. We'll look for other jobs, or... didn't you say there's always a PhD you can pursue? Let's try again!"

"Your dad and I are working on the construction site and our income is not bad. The construction period is long and the boss pays wages on time. It's not like we can't earn money or afford to send you to school. You must not put pressure on yourself."

These simple, unadorned words traveled through the radio waves into Zhao Shuyao's ears, bringing a touch of warmth to his eyes and a gentle smile that he would never show during his usual live streams.

"Mom, what are you thinking?"

Zhao Shuyao cleared his throat and said in an extremely casual tone, "As expected, the school gave me that spot to stay on campus."

The breathing on the other end of the phone paused noticeably for a moment, then burst forth with barely suppressed joy: "They gave it to me? Oh my, I knew my son was so outstanding, how could he not be selected? Your dad was so worried he couldn't sleep the other night."

"However..." Zhao Shuyao changed the subject, "I declined; I don't plan to stay at the school."

The sound faded.

Absolute silence fell over the receiver, with only the distant rumbling of the blender breaking out.

A full five seconds passed.

"You pushed it away?" The mother's voice rose to its highest point, filled with utter bewilderment and shock. "Why would you just suddenly decide you didn't want it anymore?!"

"When you were at home for the Chinese New Year, didn't you tell us that being a university teacher was a relatively comfortable job, and that you were respected when you went out?"

The mother's breathing became rapid. Her life experience was very straightforward: if a good thing suddenly falls apart, there must be external interference.

"Shuyao, tell me the truth, did something happen at school? Or did someone pull strings to take your job?" His mother's voice was filled with anxiety. "If that's the case, we can't let this go unpunished. We have to go to the principal and reason with him!"

Upon hearing this, Zhao Shuyao immediately interrupted the other person's association.

"Mom, what kind of person do you take me for?" Zhao Shuyao slowed down his speech, trying to make his reasons sound impeccable. "At Dongda University, who can use connections to get my grades? No one did anything wrong; it was my own decision."

"Why? This is a secure job!" The mother still couldn't let it go.

"Because I don't like it." Zhao Shuyao offered a reason, quickly constructing details in his mind to support it. "Before graduation, I thought doing research at school was great, but in the past six months, running around with my supervisor, I've found myself increasingly tired of this kind of life."

"Every day I have to deal with all sorts of meaningless administrative meetings, write those empty reports that I don't even believe myself, and in order to get a promotion, I have to curry favor with the leaders and watch other people's expressions."

Zhao Shuyao sighed and continued in a tone of helplessness, as if he had seen through the ways of the world.

"The more realistic problem is that the starting salary of a university teacher is really not high, only five or six thousand yuan a month. In a provincial capital like Fengtian, after deducting rent and food, there is hardly any money left to save. With that little salary, let alone buying a house and bringing you all to enjoy life in the future, it is difficult for me to even start a family and build a career here."

He very accurately pinpointed the two biggest concerns of the older generation: being subservient to others and making a living.

"But..." the mother still couldn't quite grasp it, "He's a university professor."

"Mom," Zhao Shuyao's voice was steady, "Times have changed. In today's society, you don't necessarily have to stay in school to be successful. With the skills I've learned, I can do well anywhere, so don't worry."