Chapter 53: A Clash of Ideologies, He Yu's Dimensional Reduction Strike!

National Television, Studio One.

The auditorium, composed of thousands of seats, was currently a silent ocean of bustling human heads. The stage lighting was scorching, baking the air until it wavered slightly.

The plaque bearing the words "Century Debate" hung directly above the center of the stage, its heavy lettering radiating an indisputable sense of authority.

The veteran professor from Yanjing University took the stage first.

He wore a tailored dark-gray Chinese tunic suit, his silver hair neatly combed without a single strand out of place. The man exuded an elegance and calm forged by years of immersion in academia.

Instead of heading toward the podium, he paced to the center of the stage, acting as though this were not a debate arena thick with the smell of gunpowder, but rather the lecture hall where he had taught for years.

"The foundation of education lies in 'humanity.'"

As soon as he spoke, his voice carried through the microphone across the entire studio. It was a rich and magnetic baritone, delivered at an unhurried pace. Every single word was articulated with absolute clarity, carrying a natural power of persuasion.

"Two thousand years ago, Confucius stated: 'In education, there should be no distinction of classes.' These eight words laid the cornerstone of our Chinese civilization's education. They speak of a breadth of vision, an ideal that transcends class and origin."

His gaze swept across the expert panel of judges in the audience—those towering figures of the domestic educational world—who nodded approvingly in response.

"A century ago, Mr. Cai Yuanpei took the helm at Yanjing University and proposed 'freedom of thought and inclusiveness.' These four words embody moral backbone and spirit. They tell us that a university should be a battlefield of ideas, not a temple for a single school of thought."

His speech did not cite any obscure theories; instead, he smoothly recounted those names and concepts long imprinted in the cultural DNA of the nation. The chain of logic progressed layer by layer, moving from the classical era to modern times, and finally to the social responsibilities and historical mission that contemporary education must shoulder.

The entire delivery was as smooth as flowing clouds and moving water, leaving no chink in the armor.

At this moment, the livestream comments were utterly conquered.

["My god, is this the demeanor of a top scholar? The aura is simply overwhelming."]

["There is no way to debate this; the professor has occupied all the high ground of morality and history."]

["It's over. I feel like the university president is going to lose. This is not even the same weight class. One is talking about sentiment and history, while the other... sigh."]

The camera cut to He Yu sitting opposite him.

He sat quietly, his spine straight, his expression calm as he watched the radiant old man on stage without making a single gesture.

Finally, the professor's speech concluded amidst the enthusiastic applause of the entire house.

It was He Yu's turn.

Amidst the gaze of all present, he slowly rose and walked step by step toward the stage.

He did not walk toward the professor's side, nor did he head to the podium. Instead, he walked straight to the edge of the stage and silently connected his personal terminal to the huge, high-definition screen on the site.

This action filled everyone with a trace of confusion.

What was he planning to do?

"The professor's speech was exceptionally brilliant."

He Yu's voice sounded through the microphone, clear and steady. He first nodded slightly in the direction of the veteran professor, expressing the most basic respect.

"It has given me profound inspiration."

The entire audience waited for what he would say next, waiting to see how he would refute that seemingly unshakable ideological barrier from a philosophical or theoretical level.

However, He Yu's tone abruptly shifted.

"But that is a perfect educational model that exists only in an ideal."

Not a single ripple of emotion could be heard in his voice, yet it instantly cooled the heated atmosphere of the studio by half.

"Now, I would like to invite the audience across the country to take a look at the real world beneath our feet."

The moment his words fell, the giant screen behind him lit up.

There were no dazzling animations, no stirring music.

Appearing on the screen was an administrative map of Nanhe Province. The background of the map was dim, and taking the provincial capital of Longhai City as the center, glaring, bright red arrows—like unhealed wounds—extended frantically in all directions, pointing toward the capital, toward Modu, and toward all economically developed coastal regions.

At the tip of each arrow, a cold, harsh number was marked.

A repressed gasp of shock echoed throughout the studio.

"This is the brain drain rate of students who ranked in the top 10% of the National College Entrance Examination in our Nanhe Province after graduation over the past decade."

He Yu's voice, like a precise surgical scalpel, sliced open the bloodiest reality of this province.

"This figure is seventy-three percent."

The screen shifted.

A national pie chart occupied everyone's vision. More than half the area in the chart was painted an unsettling gray.

"This is the chart showing the alignment rate between majors and employment for all college graduates nationwide last year."

He Yu's gaze slowly swept over the expert judges whose expressions were beginning to grow solemn.

"The average is only forty-one percent."

This meant that for more than half of college students, what they studied for four years had no connection whatsoever to the jobs they ultimately took upon entering society.

Finally, a constantly rolling word cloud composed of countless words of varying sizes appeared on the screen.

"This is the backend data of the Longhai University official app. After we released our brand-new educational concept, we received over one hundred thousand 'future career planning' submissions from high school students across the country."

He Yu reached out and pointed to the words in the center of the screen that had been magnified countless times, as if constantly throbbing.

"Please look closely. The most frequently occurring word is not 'stability,' nor is it 'secure official post.'"

His voice was not loud, but it struck clearly against everyone's heart.

"Instead, it is 'interest,' 'creation,' and 'value.'"

The data presentation was complete.

The screen dimmed, and the stage lights refocused entirely on He Yu.

He slowly turned around, no longer looking at the cold data, and stared directly at the veteran professor opposite him with a calm yet incomparably sharp gaze never seen before.

He raised a question that was immensely heavy, yet impossible for anyone to evade or refute.

"Professor, the heritage you speak of is undeniably of the utmost importance."

"However, when this heritage you cherish and defend is already incapable of solving these problems before our eyes—problems so real they sting..."

He Yu paused slightly, deepening his tone. His voice seemed to pierce through space and time, interrogating the entire era.

"Do we, and our next generation, need a new possibility?"

At this moment, the entire studio was dead silent.

You could hear a pin drop.

All the grand narratives, all the classic theories, and all the moving speeches about history and sentiment appeared so distant, so pale at this very moment.

The veteran professor opened his mouth and his Adam's apple bobbed, but not a single word came out. For the first time, a trace of bewilderment surfaced on his face.

The theoretical tower he had spent his entire life building and defending had its foundation pulled out from under it in the face of He Yu's three sets of cold data.

This scene was akin to deploying an entire set of precise, gunpowder-scented modern military operational data analysis reports against an ancient book of military strategy worshipped inside a temple.

This was a thorough, dimensional strike.