Chapter 48: The Ultimate Enrollment Declaration Ignites the Entire Internet!

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This open letter was not posted through Longhai University’s official account, but quietly released at midnight via He Yu’s personal social media platform. There was no buildup, no promotion. It landed like a stone cast into a deep pond, initially stirring only a faint ripple. Yet the content of this letter was no mere stone. It was a fuse. A battle manifesto forged with every word, a dark poem ablaze with idealism and rebellious spirit. The letter contained no excuses, no grievances; it simply wielded the sharpest pen to dissect the suppressed, disciplined, and dulled flames burning deep within the hearts of today’s youth.

It posed a challenge. Questioning the “one true path” meticulously charted by parents, society, and those who have been through it before. Questioning the future stifled under the guise of “stability,” a future that kills all possibilities. Questioning the very purpose of university—whether it is merely a conveyor belt to a “secure” job or a launchpad for defining oneself and exploring the unknown.

Each word struck with deafening power, more piercing than any multimillion-dollar promotional video, striking the souls of countless restless young people in the dead of night.

At one o’clock in the morning, in a modest male dormitory, a young man named Li Xiang had just ended a call with his father. On the phone, his father had decisively chosen a teacher’s college within the province for him. “Stable, with a guaranteed position, a lifetime without worry,” his father said with an unyielding tone. Those words wrapped around Li Xiang’s heart like a cold chain, almost suffocating him. He collapsed onto his bed, expressionless, scrolling his phone—its screen’s glow reflecting in his hollow eyes.

In that moment, he saw the article his classmate had shared.

#AnOpenLetterFromLonghaiUniversityToTheFuture#

He tapped to open it.

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Line after line of text struck his mind like lightning, cleaving through the chaos within. His breathing quickened; his fingers unconsciously gripped the bedsheet until the joints turned white from the pressure.

When he read the line, “The greatest risk in life is to cling stubbornly to convention,” something long imprisoned in his heart shattered with a crash.

His eyes instantly reddened.

It was not sadness, but a torrent of anger and pent-up grievance finally finding release.

He abruptly sat up, his chest heaving violently as he gulped the stale air of the dormitory. He was no longer confused, no longer suppressed.

He opened the comment section, his trembling fingers typing out the first declaration that truly belonged to him.

“I broke down and cried. This is exactly the university I want! Screw all that nonsense about risk—I don’t accept it!”

He hit send.

It was as if he had poured out all his strength.

Unbeknownst to him, at that very moment, countless young people across the land of China were undergoing the same spiritual upheaval.

In a brightly lit art studio, a student preparing to retake the entrance exam dropped his sketch pencil in tears upon reading, “We do not cultivate perfect copies, only unique creators.”

A girl, who was about to enter finance under her parents’ arrangement but obsessed with paleontology, saw the line, “Your passion is humanity’s future,” and for the first time called the admissions office to inquire about niche majors related to her interest.

“Exactly right—stubbornly following the conventional path is the greatest risk! My parents want me to study teaching for stability, but that’s not the future I want!”

“My scores only qualify me for a borderline major at an average 211 university. Everyone tells me to play it safe, but I know my heart has already flown to Longhai! Even if it means screwing bolts, I want to do it somewhere where I can see the stars and the sea!”

“This is the one shot in my life, not for anything else but the phrase ‘define your own future.’ I choose Longhai. I choose the future!”

These comments were no longer mere support.

They were pledges of allegiance.

Young people casting their most precious bets of trust on their own futures.

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From midnight until dawn, the hashtag #AnOpenLetterFromLonghaiUniversityToTheFuture# spread like wildfire, sweeping through internal campus forums and engulfing the entire Chinese internet with unstoppable force.

Its surge was not a gentle climb but a near-vertical, sky-piercing red line.

It soared to the top.

Crushing all entertainment gossip, social news, and even the combined popularity of all previous prestigious university promotional videos.

In an instant, the online atmosphere shifted dramatically.

The “Joint Statement” issued by a coalition of top-tier universities, still lingering alone atop major media headlines, appeared rigid and out of touch. Carefully worded, citing classics, filled with an air of authoritative superiority, it was rendered futile overnight by the fiery idealism of this open letter.

Its comment section was utterly overwhelmed.

“Look at Longhai University’s grand vision, then look at you—a bunch of academic tyrants!”

“I used to think you were sacred grounds, but now I see you’re just old gods scared of losing their turf.”

“The times have changed, grown-ups.”

Longhai University did not falter under the meticulously orchestrated “strangling” campaign.

On the contrary.

It turned the crisis into the most efficient and precise filter. With one battle manifesto, it swept away the indecisive and risk-averse opportunists, while rallying a devoted group of pioneers and rebels.

They may not have the highest scores, but their convictions are unshakable.

They are Longhai University’s true first generation of “angel users.”