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

Zhao Shuyao slowly shifted his gaze away from the three characters "Redology Society" on the screen.

Instead of rushing to type a reply, he picked up the water glass on the table and took a slow sip. Dream of the Red Chamber is indeed the pinnacle of classical Chinese novels, but what does it have to do with the cultural prosperity of the Qing Dynasty?

On the contrary, Cao Xueqin wrote Dream of the Red Chamber, and every word and sentence exudes a sense of "end times." The line "Suddenly, it's like a great building collapsing; dimly, it's like a lamp going out" is clearly the most desperate indictment of that era when literary inquisitions were rampant and thought was completely emasculated.

Zhao Shuyao put down his water glass, opened the memo app on his computer, and typed in the words "The End-of-the-World Metaphor of Dream of the Red Chamber and the Ideological Restriction of the Qing Dynasty".

There's no need to throw out this angle now. Wait until these online trolls have built up the momentum of Redology to its peak, then he can use a detailed historical comparison to tear off this fig leaf completely, skin and all. That would be the real fatal blow.

I glanced at the time in the bottom right corner of my computer screen; it was 11:10 AM. I was scheduled to face the media cameras at 2 PM, a battlefield where I had to keep my mind absolutely clear.

After shutting down his computer, Zhao Shuyao got up and left his dormitory, heading towards the second canteen.

He ordered a plate of shredded potatoes with green peppers, a plate of braised pork, and two ounces of rice. He ate with great focus, without any of the anxiety or apprehension one would expect at this point in time.

In his past life, he spent his life smiling and drinking at various dinner parties for tens of thousands of yuan in research funding and for a lecturer title, only to end up with a life of frustration and unfulfilled ambitions.

Now that he has overturned the table and his future is in his own hands, even the food tastes much sweeter than in his previous life.

After swallowing the last mouthful of rice and putting the plate back in the recycling bin, Zhao Shuyao strolled back to his dormitory. His roommate, Yang Wei, was still working hard on exam questions in the library, and the dormitory was quiet.

Zhao Shuyao set his alarm for 1:10, took off his shoes, lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

At 1:10, the phone vibrated precisely on time.

Zhao Shuyao opened his eyes, rolled out of bed, took the washbasin and walked to the bathroom. He turned on the tap, and the cold tap water washed over his hair and cheeks, completely washing away the last trace of sleepiness.

Back in his dorm room, he pulled out a slightly faded but perfectly ironed white shirt from his closet, put on a light gray jacket, and wore dark jeans.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror that came with the wardrobe, Zhao Shuyao reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead.

The young man in the mirror has a tall and capable look between his brows. He doesn't have the frivolous arrogance that comes with overnight fame, but rather an absolute composure that shows he holds the cards and looks down on the times.

"Youth is wonderful." He looked at himself in the mirror and thought to himself, "This handsome young man, who is smart, upright, and can even afford a house on his own, I wonder which girl will get lucky in the future. I can't think about it too much, or I'll feel like I'm losing out big time."

Grinning at himself in the mirror, Zhao Shuyao grabbed his phone from the table, pushed open the door of his dormitory, and walked towards the south gate of Southeast University.

Five minutes to one:30, Zhao Shuyao walked out of the school gate.

A black Buick GL8 minivan was parked on the side of the road.

As Zhao Shuyao approached, the sliding door of the van opened, revealing a woman in the back seat wearing a khaki trench coat, with shoulder-length short hair and an extremely capable demeanor. She was holding an A4-sized interview outline in her hand and looked up when she heard the noise.

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment in the air.

The woman's gaze held a professional scrutiny as she assessed the student who had stirred up such a storm online, trying to determine what his real-life situation was.

Zhao Shuyao's reaction was extremely calm; he didn't even slow down and walked directly to the car door.

"Zhao Shuyao, I'm Lin Jing." The woman put down the outline in her hand, revealed a very friendly smile, and took the initiative to greet him.

"Ms. Lin, it's an honor to meet you." Zhao Shuyao stepped into the car, closed the door behind him, and sat down in the airline-style seat opposite Lin Jing.

Lin Jing looked him up and down, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes. As a senior editor of **, she had seen too many so-called young talents and grassroots role models.

When those people faced her camera, they were either so nervous that their palms were sweating and they couldn't speak properly, or they deliberately put on airs and tried to appear mature beyond their years.

But the young man in front of me had an extremely rare sense of relaxation, as if he had just gone out to buy soy sauce and casually hopped on a bus.

"You look much more energetic here than in the live stream," Lin Jing tried to break the ice with a casual greeting.

"What you're saying is true, Editor-in-Chief Lin." Zhao Shuyao leaned back in his leather chair, his tone relaxed and unguarded. "That was in the dorm. Today, this is going to be on your ** news. I've gone to great lengths to maintain my image in front of the camera."

Lin Jing was slightly taken aback: "What kind of massive investment?"

Zhao Shuyao pointed to his hair and said seriously, "I specifically used Head & Shoulders shampoo before I left home at noon. Can you smell it? There's still a hint of mint in the car."

Lin Jing was stunned for a second, then burst out laughing.

The previously somewhat formulaic and solemn atmosphere in the carriage was instantly shattered by this unconventional answer.

"I didn't realize you were such a serious person online, but so funny in private." Lin Jing looked at him with a smile. "How are you? The recording is about to start, are you still a little nervous?"

Zhao Shuyao stroked his chin and nodded seriously.

"It would be a lie to say I wasn't nervous." He looked into Lin Jing's eyes. "According to what we say in my hometown, for an ordinary student like me to be able to show my face here is not just bringing honor to my ancestors, it's like my ancestors' graves are emitting auspicious smoke."

The driver in the front seat and the cameraman in the passenger seat couldn't help but smile.

Zhao Shuyao sighed and continued in a serious tone, "I reckon that once this interview airs, my parents will have to buy two strings of 'Wanzi' brand red paper and rush to the ancestral graves to kowtow three times overnight."

"Then I told my grandfather: 'Finally, someone from our Zhao family is alive and well enough to be on TV. If this happened in our village, the village chief would have to hold a meeting tomorrow to redefine auspicious land for my family.'"

Lin Jing couldn't hold back any longer and laughed so hard she almost dropped the interview outline on her seat.

She finally understood why this young man had such a terrifying influence online; he not only possessed an extremely vast knowledge base, but also had a humor that was like a game-changer.

This ability to transform grand narratives into everyday humor is something that traditional, old-school scholars absolutely lack.

"Stop joking around." Lin Jing finally stopped laughing, wiping the corner of her eye. "It's not as exaggerated as you say. We're just a media outlet. Just treat us as a platform for communication. Besides, we mainly value your independent thinking, which is so rare among young people these days."

Lin Jing waved her hand, indicating that he could relax completely: "Don't think of us as something unapproachable. After all, we are the people's media, so if you agree to our interview, just consider it as coming home. Let's just chat casually."

Zhao Shuyao raised an eyebrow upon hearing those four words.

Suddenly, he bent down and reached for his shoelaces with both hands, making a feint as if he was about to take off his shoes.

Lin Jing was completely bewildered by his sudden action: "What are you doing?"

"Editor-in-Chief Lin, your phrase 'I'm home' triggered a conditioned reflex in me," Zhao Shuyao said, looking up and suppressing a laugh. "The moment I heard that, my mind immediately flashed to Uncle Benshan's Spring Festival Gala skit."

"I was thinking, should I just take off my shoes, get on the kang (heated brick bed), sit cross-legged, and chat with you? If you could also hand me a handful of melon seeds, that would be even better."

"Hahahaha!" Lin Jing completely lost her composure, laughing so hard she slapped her thigh. "How did your brain even start working like that? Fine, when we get there, do whatever makes you comfortable. If you really want to take off your shoes and sit cross-legged on the sofa, I can go along with it. I definitely won't cut this part!"

"No, no, no." Zhao Shuyao waved his hands repeatedly, putting on a heartbroken look. "I was just joking. I'm a 'newly popular internet celebrity' with over a million followers now, and a role model for many young people. I still have some idol image to maintain."

Pointing to the cameraman in the front row, he said, "If you guys broadcast this, and netizens screenshot it and turn it into memes, how am I supposed to survive in the history field? People are throwing academic evidence at me, and netizens are bombarding me with memes in the comments section. How am I supposed to live?"

Another burst of hearty laughter erupted inside the carriage.

In the short ten-minute drive, Zhao Shuyao completely took control of the conversation with just a few words. He had been reborn, and the inferiority and timidity of his previous life had long since vanished.

He doesn't need to prove to anyone how profound he is, because he himself is profound.

The Buick minivan smoothly drove into the underground parking garage of the Jianguo Hotel in the city center.

The two took the elevator directly to the executive suite.

Pushing open the double wooden doors, you are greeted by a spacious living room. There are no oppressive camera cranes or glaring lighting arrays as you might have imagined. Two dark gray single sofas are placed opposite each other, with a low wooden coffee table in between.

Three cameras were set up in front and on both sides, and two assistants were adjusting the lavalier microphones.

"Isn't this a little different from what you expected?" Lin Jing handed the trench coat to her assistant and sat down on a sofa.

Zhao Shuyao stood still, looked around, and pointed to his face.

"It's not exactly shabby, but it's really quite unexpected." Zhao Shuyao smiled and walked to another sofa, sitting down calmly. "I thought that as soon as this door opened, several makeup artists would rush up and slap powder puffs all over my face, giving me an idol drama look."

He spread his hands: "But you guys have nothing here, you just went out without makeup. I was really worried, I didn't know if my natural looks could withstand your notoriously 'truth-revealing' cameras."

Lin Jing smiled as she accepted the warm water from her assistant and placed it on the coffee table.

"Don't worry, we focus on authenticity and don't use any fancy filters. Besides, you have the natural beauty to back it up; you don't need those things."

The cameraman made an "OK" gesture behind the camera.

Lin Jing's smile gradually faded, and she instantly entered a highly focused and professional new media interview mode. She looked at Zhao Shuyao, her eyes sharpening, but without any aggression.

"Zhao Shuyao, we're about to begin." Lin Jing's voice was calm and went straight to the point. "Before the interview, I'd like to discuss a word with you—responsibility."

Zhao Shuyao interlaced his fingers and placed them on his knees, leaning slightly forward, the cynical smile on his lips disappearing.

This is the real confrontation. Real journalists will never just ask about superficial verbal battles; they want to dig out the core spirit.