Chapter 158: Handle the Princess's Past Affairs Yourself

They were fortunate to finally step into the classroom indicated by their junior at 1:58 PM.

Today's session was a specialized small-group lecture for journalism majors, held in a tiered lecture hall on the east side of the second floor. Because Professor Yao's classes did not adhere to the traditional, rigid mode of rote learning and often utilized open-ended thinking to explore the disciplines of journalism and communication, whenever he taught, numerous students from other majors would come to audit the class. True to the university's humanistic philosophy of open education, all of "Master Yao's" classes were conducted in tiered lecture halls.

By the time Xia Wushuang and his companion arrived, they habitually held hands and walked to the back to sit down, while the front rows were already packed to capacity.

As the class bell rang, an elderly gentleman with grey temples walked in, dressed in the simplest of grey cloth garments. His teaching aids were extremely minimal—a single cup of clear green tea was all he had; he did not even hold a textbook.

This was the grand master in the hearts of all journalism and communication students across China—Yao Baisheng. As a universally renowned luminary, his claim of having three thousand disciples was by no means an exaggeration. Over the years, the talents dominating the Chinese journalism world—ranging from the top-tier authorities within the state-run national news apparatus in the upper echelons, to the pivotal figures of large and small newspapers across the vast nation in the middle, down to the young reporters walking the grassroots to interview first-hand news materials—mostly originated from his tutelage. At the very least, a significant portion of them had received his direct teachings.

When the old gentleman walked into the classroom, Xia Wushuang and Shangguan Qinglin had just found their seats and settled down.

The old gentleman gave a light cough, scanned the classroom, and said, "Class is in session!"

The students present all stood up respectfully to greet him, their piety akin to primary school students saluting the national flag for the very first time.

The old gentleman set down his cup of green tea and said in a resonant voice, "Today's class will not cover theory; we will discuss practical application—practical journalism."

An uproar arose among the students. The journalism majors were relatively calm, having already grown accustomed to their mentor's teaching style, but those who had wandered in from other majors out of curiosity were evidently somewhat disappointed. A considerable portion of these people were just here to join the excitement, intending to post an update on social media later to show off. To their surprise, the old gentleman was not following convention and was instead prepared to spend the entire period "shooting the breeze."

"Ah, Professor Yao isn't lecturing on our major today," Shangguan Qinglin whispered with a hint of disappointment. Her major was forensic medicine, and she had genuinely hoped to audit a journalism class outside her field. Xia Wushuang gently stroked her back, signaling her to remain calm and patient.

The old gentleman continued, "For half a lifetime in this profession, I have essentially dealt only with this three-foot podium and students thirsting for knowledge. Occasionally, I also deal with government officials, but those are all my own students—Yao Baisheng's students. In this life, I possess a modest reputation. However, my late father named me Yao Bai. The character 'Bai,' as in Qu Qiubai; my father hoped I would become an ambitious youth who, like Qu Qiubai, strives for the grand cause of our country and nation. At age twenty-one, I changed my name to Yao Baisheng myself, abandoning the name Yao Bai. Do you all know why?"

As soon as these words were spoken, an uproar broke out.

In our traditional culture, one's body, hair, and skin are received from one's parents, let alone one's given name and appellation; all of these are gifts from parents and ancestors. Not just people of our nation, even in the freedom-advocating West, names are generally bestowed by parents.

Someone immediately stood up and replied, "Sir's intention must have been to contribute to the nation's culture, to become a true grand master, to gather the strengths of a hundred schools of thought, and to establish sagely descendants for future generations."

Another student answered, "I believe that Sir's changing of his name was not necessarily to discard his late father's instructions, but rather to harbor lofty aspirations, elevating his parents' expectations to a higher level."

For a time, discussions about the old gentleman's name change rose and fell within the tiered lecture hall, and the imaginative theories grew wilder and wilder. Some said Yao Baisheng changed his name because in his youth he met a girl he loved but could not have, so he changed his name to commemorate his ambition; some said Yao Baisheng changed his name due to the household registration restrictions of the time, forced to change it to achieve a certain purpose; and some even said Yao Baisheng's reason for changing name was simply based on Taoist feng shui and birth date calculations.

The discussion concerning the name change lasted for a full twenty-five minutes. The old gentleman stood on the podium sipping his tea, watching all this unfold with unruffled composure. He was like an experienced farmer who had planted a vast field of wheat, watching the boundless sea of wheat thrive under the scorching summer sun: his teaching philosophy was very simple—to instigate independent thinking among the students.

Even if their thoughts were wildly unfocused, it was still better than being led by the nose by textbook dogmas.

"What about the journalism students? Any thoughts?" The old gentleman set down his teacup and asked.

Compared to departments at other universities, Fudan's Department of Journalism pursued an elite path. A single cohort, including both undergraduates and master's students, numbered only around three hundred, encompassing all branches of journalism and broadcasting. It could truly be called sparse in numbers, and with journalism being just one of its branches, the population was even scarcer.

A refined-looking young man stood up and said loudly, "Chun Shen believes that the essence of news dissemination lies in seizing the initiative with a preemptive voice. Sir's name change was not a change of name, but a change in the momentum of that 'preemptive voice.' Since the late Qing Dynasty, our generation of journalism people has spoken out for the common people. At that time, the populace was ignorant and national consciousness had not yet been awakened; it required journalism people to raise their arms and act as those who strike the warning bell. Today, the realm enjoys peace, yet numerous livelihood issues remain entangled, making it even more imperative for journalism people to write reports and return the truth to the audience. Moreover, amid today's contending of a hundred schools of thought in China, our discipline of journalism—though an imported and niche field—is the one most closely tied to the national economy and people's livelihood. From state institutions down to the common masses, none can do without news as this 'mouthpiece'."

Chun Shen's speech drew upon extensive historical and modern references, even bringing the theories of journalistic masters from developed Western nations into the classroom. Switching effortlessly between Chinese and English, his demeanor and poise were second to none.

Following Chun Shen, several other journalism students from the Fudan School of Journalism spoke. Their remarks were all logical, well-founded, erudite, and poised, demonstrating the profound heritage of the Fudan School of Journalism.

"As expected of journalism majors, engaging in verbal sparring one after another, professional terminology falling like raindrops. It leaves me utterly bewildered," Shangguan Qinglin whispered, holding Xia Wushuang's hand while casting a sweet, adoring gaze at him. In her eyes, no matter how profound these academic elites sounded, it was merely talking on paper. Xia Wushuang was the true people's reporter. She had specifically read the reports he previously spearheaded; his critique of current affairs was pearls of wisdom, profound and thorough, and his focus on people's livelihoods was reasoned with logic and deeply touching—especially when exposing social ills, he was bold, outspoken, and impartial. It was the existence of outstanding young reporters like him that constituted the conscience of national media professionals.

"Very well, everyone's remarks were quite good. Truly the future hope of the journalism world." The old gentleman smiled slightly, yet said with a hint of regret, "However, from your speeches, I did not hear what I most wanted to hear."

"I believe that most of what they said is merely gilding the outside—flattering words."

As soon as these words dropped, the entire tiered lecture hall boiled over!

This was naked provocation and disregard, especially since this venue was the home turf of the journalism major. Those auditing from other departments were relatively calm, but to the ears of the journalism students, this sounded like the utterings of an uneducated, ignorant, and reckless bumpkin from the wilderness—arrogant and presumptuous! Having learned calligraphy for a few days, he thought himself a man of letters!

"Who on earth is uttering such wild words!"

Chun Shen took the lead in retaliating against the provocation, and all the journalism students felt displeased: "Who is this? They get to freeload as auditors and yet dare to speak words that wound others."

A stylishly dressed young man stood up from the back row. He wore a crisp, well-fitted suit, and his sharp-angled face looked clean and resolute. This unrivaled, sharp entrance, coupled with the remark he had just made, instantly attracted the gaze of the entire classroom.

"Isn't that Senior Sister Shangguan Qinglin, of whom it's said that 'making Qinglin smile is harder than ascending to the blue heaven'?"

"Indeed, why is Senior Sister together with that impolite fellow?"

The young man was none other than Xia Wushuang. As he stood up from the back row, he was still holding the hand of the peerless beauty Shangguan Qinglin. With her hand held by his, a flush of a shy, proud maiden bloomed across her face.

This world is simply too unreasonable!

This was the unanimous thought in everyone's mind.

"This young man, what are your thoughts?"

Seeing Xia Wushuang, the old gentleman smiled as if seeing his own unrestrained youth and said, "Take a seat in the front row and let me hear your high见."

With Professor Yao having spoken, the rest of the room fell silent.

Amidst everyone's gazes, Xia Wushuang held Shangguan Qinglin's hand and sat down in the front row.