Chapter 50: A New Point of Attack: Can You Actually Teach Undergraduates Well?

The aftermath of the live broadcast featuring the gathering of academic luminaries was still reverberating.

The online buzz boiled like a pot of boiling water, continuously churning, scorching the name “Longhai University” until it was searing hot.

All accusations of it being a “shell university” or a “faculty fraud” were utterly shattered the moment national treasures like Qian Liqun and Li Weimin personally appeared.

The recorded livestream was cut into countless short videos, spreading wildly across major platforms. Every video's title brimmed with raw impact—“The Strongest Faculty Dream Team in History,” “What It’s Like to Have Academicians as Your Teachers,” “Opening Ceremony in a Lunar Base Simulation Capsule?”

Longhai University’s reputation soared to an unprecedented peak.

Yet, where the light shines brightest, shadows grow deepest.

At Yanjing University, beside the serene Weiming Lake, in a meeting room steeped in classical elegance,

the atmosphere was heavy, smoke swirling.

A dozen leaders from the country’s top institutions sat grim-faced around a long rosewood table. They represented the oldest and largest vested interest group in Chinese higher education—the Traditional Elite Universities Alliance.

On the LCD screen, clips from He Yu’s livestream played on a loop.

Academician Qian Liqun introduced the new energy projects with spirited enthusiasm.

Chief Engineer Li Weimin pointed to the blueprint of the “Valley of Hope,” sketching out a future ecological city.

Each image was like a sharp slap across the face of everyone present.

“Our hardware can no longer compete.”

A university president with a Mediterranean hairstyle stubbed out his cigarette, voice hoarse.

“That ‘Dragon Heart’ supercomputing center of theirs dwarfs the combined computing power of all our universities. This isn’t even a competition on the same level.”

“The faculty… don’t even mention it.”

Another smiled bitterly.

“We can’t even get national treasures like Qian or Chief Engineer Li to join us, yet they’ve become core members of his team. What kind of spell has that kid cast on them?”

Silence.

Dead silence.

For the first time, they felt a profound helplessness deep in their bones.

In the past, their century-old heritage, robust facilities, and vast teaching staff easily crushed any emerging challengers.

But this time, all their pride seemed laughable in the face of He Yu’s unfathomable “money power” and near-miraculous personal charisma.

“We’ve completely lost the battle for public opinion.”

***

The Admissions Director of Yanjing University, a middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses and a scholarly demeanor, spoke slowly.

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, drawing all eyes to him.

“If we can’t win with hard power, then we can only… win hearts and minds.”

He pushed up his glasses; the lenses reflected a cold gleam.

“Everyone, we’ve overlooked the most fundamental question: What is a university for? It’s for educating people. Everything He Yu has shown is top-tier research resources, a feast for scientists.”

“But what about his students? They’re just a bunch of kids who just shed their high school uniforms.”

His voice was low but carried a unique penetrating power that lit up everyone’s eyes.

“We may have lost face, but we must not lose the authority to define ‘education.’”

A meaningful curve lifted the corner of the Admissions Director’s mouth.

“He can build the tallest buildings and hire the best experts. But we will make sure he loses on the word ‘education’ itself.”

***

The next day.

The most authoritative official media, China Education Weekly, published an exclusive interview.

The interviewee: Wang Bonian, Admissions Director of Yanjing University.

In front of the camera, Wang Bonian wore a well-fitted dark suit, the backdrop the dignified, classical library of Yanjing University. He exuded the calm and compassion typical of an intellectual.

At the start of the interview, he lavished praise on Longhai University’s emergence.

“Longhai University’s sudden rise is a good thing. Like a catfish stirring the waters, it has injected tremendous pressure and motivation into our established institutions.”

“Mr. He Yu is a remarkable visionary who, in a short time, united our nation’s top scientific forces. Whether it’s the ‘Dragon Heart’ supercomputer or the ‘Valley of Hope’ ecological city project, both are historic achievements. I hold him in the highest regard.”

He laid a foundation of sincere praise with every word, making viewers feel this was the true demeanor of a top institution.

Yet, just as the atmosphere was most harmonious, his tone shifted sharply.

A fittingly deep worry appeared on his face.

“However, admiration aside, as a veteran who has worked in undergraduate admissions and education for thirty years, I have a serious concern that must be voiced.”

He paused, giving the camera a close-up of his furrowed brow.

“We’ve all seen that Longhai University has gathered many of our country’s top scientists, but we also notice their focus is on cutting-edge, highly advanced research projects—lunar bases, ecological cities, and the like.”

“While these projects are magnificent, they are far removed from ordinary life. Even further from an undergraduate who has just finished the gaokao and hasn’t even mastered calculus.”

***

His voice grew heavier, full of genuine care.

“So the question arises.”

Wang Bonian looked earnestly into the camera, as if speaking directly to every student’s parent.

“Can an ordinary undergraduate who just graduated from high school keep up with the thinking of these academicians and chief engineers?”

“Are they going to receive systematic, step-by-step education that builds a solid foundation, or be thrown directly into these grand national projects as an insignificant cog in the machine?”

This question was a poisoned dagger, striking precisely at Longhai University’s most vulnerable and fundamental point.

He did not stop, continuing in a heart-wrenching tone as he offered his “answer.”

“In my personal view, this ‘elite research’ model, though dazzling, is actually counterproductive!”

“It completely violates the objective laws of education. It sacrifices the precious four golden years of foundational learning for students on an ethereal dream of scientific grandeur!”

“This is not cultivating masters; it is strangling the future! It is utterly unsuitable for foundational undergraduate education!”

He delivered the last sentence with painstaking emphasis, each word heavy with a sense of duty to the nation and its people.

These words were too “right.”

Right to the point of being unassailable.

They perfectly exploited every parent’s universal anxiety—the desire for their child to succeed and fear of them going astray.

This new line of attack no longer clung to superficial issues like hardware or faculty, which could be disproven; it struck at the very roots of Longhai University’s educational philosophy, piercing to the heart.

The interview video went viral the moment it was released.

Its impact was thousands of times greater than the previous pale “joint statement.”

Online, public opinion swung instantly.

“Damn, what Director Wang said… actually makes some sense?”

“Yeah, my son is just an average student barely passing the cutoff. If he went to Longhai University, listening to academicians talk about Zenith Star technology every day, would he understand? Would he end up learning nothing in four years and just waste his time?”

“Chilling to think about! Isn’t that like throwing a bunch of elementary school kids into a PhD research group? What else can they do besides menial tasks?”

“I was excited before, but now that I think about it calmly, it is a big problem. Undergraduate education should be about building foundations, right?”

A nationwide debate on whether undergraduate education should focus on fundamentals or research ignited once again, thrusting Longhai University—just crowned atop the academic pantheon—back into the eye of the public storm.