A live-streamed Chinese language lesson under the sky—the ancients were taken aback.

Three days later, on New Year's Eve.

The sky lit up for the second time, and this time, it did not darken again.

Shen Moyan, dressed in a dark blue suit skirt, stood behind the podium, with a dark green blackboard behind her and a projection screen showing a PowerPoint presentation next to her.

Her opening remarks were concise and composed:

"Hello students, I am Shen Moyan. Today, we will begin our discussion of Mr. Lu Xun's short story 'The New Year's Sacrifice'."

Three days ago, we used a passage from Lu Xun's "Diary of a Madman" as a preview.

This passage carries Lu Xun's consistent writing style: sharp and precise.

However, when the article was first published, it made very little impact; only a small number of progressive young people agreed with it, while the vast majority of ordinary people were bewildered and confused, and the conservatives ignored it with disdain.

"Because admitting that you live in a 'cannibalistic' system is one of the hardest things in the world."

"But Mr. Lu Xun was not an enemy; he was a doctor. He used the sharpest scalpel to cut open the flesh of his own nation, not to humiliate it, but to save it."

"In the following lessons, we will analyze step by step how Mr. Lu Xun used his pen as a sword to pierce the feudal ethics."

The protagonist of the story is named Xianglin's Wife.

The scene shifts to snowflakes falling in Luzhen.

On New Year's Eve of the twelfth lunar month in the thirtieth year of the Qianlong reign, in the Forbidden City.

The Qianqing Palace was brightly lit, filled with the melodious sounds of silk and bamboo instruments, presenting a magnificent scene of a prosperous era.

As the sky brightened, all the officials and civil and military officials in the hall paled in shock.

The guards drew their swords, the eunuchs screamed, and the concubines covered their faces.

Emperor Qianlong suddenly stood up and stared at the woman in the dark blue suit on the sky.

Heshen stepped forward: "Your Majesty, this object does not seem to be a demon, but rather some kind of image. The sound is clear and the picture is realistic, yet it cannot be touched. I dare to speculate that this is an omen sent down by Heaven."

Emperor Qianlong sneered, "I'd like to see what Heaven has to tell me."

On the sky, Shen Moyan opened a book in front of him and read aloud:

"The end of the old lunar year is indeed the most like the end of the year; needless to say, it's in the villages and towns, and even the sky shows signs of the approaching New Year..."

The scene shifts, and a quaint little town appears on the sky.

Snowflakes fell, and firecrackers went off one after another.

Every household is busy preparing "blessings," slaughtering chickens and geese, burning incense to worship ancestors, and kneeling to worship heaven and earth.

In the scene, a woman wearing a white flower in her hair appears.

She wore a tattered cotton-padded coat, carried a bamboo basket, and leaned on a bamboo cane taller than herself, trudging alone through the snow.

His face was covered in wrinkles, and his eyes were as empty as a dry well.

His lips moved, and he kept muttering something.

"This woman is Xianglin's Wife."

At the beginning of the novel, she asked a question…

Shen Moyan paused, his voice softening but becoming even clearer: "After a person dies, does a soul exist?"

Beneath the heavens, countless people throughout history heard these words simultaneously.

Chang'an City, Taiji Hall.

Emperor Taizong of Tang, Li Shimin, and Empress Zhangsun are receiving the congratulations of the officials.

The ceremony was briefly interrupted when the canopy appeared.

But when Shen Moyan uttered the question, "After a person dies, does he or she have a soul?", Empress Zhangsun's hand trembled slightly.

Empress Zhangsun gazed into those empty, sorrowful eyes, her fingertips trembling slightly, and sighed softly: "In times of chaos and famine, people in dire straits often have such eyes. All she seeks is a little comfort."

Li Shimin's expression was solemn, and he ordered in a deep voice: "Record every word Tianmu said without omission. If such a human tragedy occurs under the rule of the Great Tang, it is my oversight."

Lin'an City, New Year's Eve of the twelfth year of Chunxi, Wuyi Academy.

Zhu Xi is spending New Year's Eve with his disciples.

When the sky appeared, he was lecturing on the first chapter of the Doctrine of the Mean.

When Shen Moyan uttered the words "Xianglin's Wife," one of his disciples scoffed, "What's so interesting about a woman?"

Zhu Xi frowned: "Silence, let's hear what she has to say."

As Shen Moyan recounted the story of Xianglin's wife freezing to death on the street on the night of the New Year's Eve and Master Lu scolding her as a "misfit," Zhu Xi's expression gradually became solemn.

He muttered to himself, "What a scoundrel... How could this person speak so harshly of someone who froze to death?"

In the scene, Master Lu's study appears.

On the table were "Reflections on Things at Hand" and "The Four Books"; on the wall hung half of a couplet that read "Understanding principles and reasoning leads to a peaceful mind."

Zhu Xi suddenly stood up.

Those were the books he compiled, the scholarship he advocated.

This "Master Lu" was actually a follower of Neo-Confucianism.

The video continues playing on the screen.

Shen Moyan continued, "Xianglin's wife died on the most lively blessing night in Luzhen, and her death did not cause anyone any grief."

Master Lu thought she died at the worst possible time, cursing her as an unworthy offspring. The day laborer casually remarked that she died of poverty.

"A living, breathing person just disappeared silently amidst the sounds of celebratory firecrackers."

"Classmates, you might ask: What exactly did Xianglin's wife do to deserve this treatment? What heinous crime did she commit?"

Shen Moyan paused for three seconds, then clearly revealed the truth that shattered eternity:

The answer is: she did nothing.

She was just a woman from the lower class who had lost her husband, remarried, and then lost her second husband and child.

Her only sin was living.

Under the sky, countless women trembled simultaneously.

Lin'an, New Year's Eve of the twelfth year of Chunxi.

Chen Chun, a disciple of Zhu Xi and one of his most valued students, finally couldn't hold back any longer after Shen Moyan had been speaking for half an incense stick's time.

"Sir, the speaker on the screen is a woman."

Zhu Xi did not answer.

He was staring at the words "Criticism of Feudal Ethics" written on the blackboard in front of him.

Chen Chun, thinking his teacher hadn't heard him, repeated, "Sir, it's against propriety for a woman to lecture. The sage said: 'Women are subservient to men.' She not only lectures but also criticizes these so-called rites and regulations... this..."

"I don't want to discuss whether women should teach today."

Zhu Xi looked up at the sky again. "I just want to know if what she said is right. If it is, what does it matter if she is a woman? If it is wrong, then even if she is the reincarnation of Confucius, it is not worth listening to."

He paused, then added, "But you must remember, these kinds of things are fine to say in private, but don't say them in public. The School of Neo-Confucianism already has enough enemies."

Chen Chun humbly accepted the instruction.

But what Zhu Xi didn't tell Chen Chun was that what he really cared about at that moment was not Shen Moyan's gender.

She was a woman, she told stories, she criticized traditional ethics—all of which should have made him feel contempt.

But he could not be contemptuous.

Because every argument she made was clean and concise, and every point she made hit the nail on the head, even he couldn't find a way to refute her for a while.

This instilled in Zhu Xi a long-lost sense of fear.

It's not about fearing the truth.

It is fear that the truth may not be on our side.

"In this lesson, we will first review the life of Xianglin's wife."

In the next lesson, we will return to her first marriage and see how she was gradually stripped of all her rights as a human being, transforming from a "good factory worker."

The image freezes on Xianglin's empty eyes.

The sky slowly darkened.