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

After the sky darkened.

"Interesting," Ying Zheng commented on the play in a calm tone.

Although it wasn't long after the sky curtain began, Ying Zheng picked up his pen to continue handling state affairs. He had already vaguely sensed that this lesson was similar to the lessons about Xianglin's Wife and Kong Yiji that he had taught before.

"Acting," Ying Zheng silently repeated the word to himself. He had seen far too many people act.

The ministers in the court were all putting on an act, the women in the harem were all putting on an act—did he know it was all an act? Yes.

But he needed that performance; Zhou Puyuan needed his family to be "most perfect and orderly," and he also needed his court to be "most disciplined and obedient."

From this perspective, he and Zhou Puyuan...

He didn't think any further, since such an idea could only exist in later generations without an emperor, and the Qin Dynasty didn't exist.

Taiji Hall.

Li Shimin was still sitting on the dragon throne, the lines on the sky screen still swirling in his mind. "Recall the record of the last time I recited 'The Blessing'."

Wei Zheng was taken aback: "The New Year's Sacrifice?"

"Xianglin's Wife," Li Shimin said, "and there's also the record of telling the story of Kong Yiji last time."

Wei Zheng and Fang Xuanling exchanged a glance, and at the same time realized something.

Wei Zheng strode to the archive rack on the side of the hall. Since the appearance of the Heavenly Canopy, each department had set up a special archive rack on the side of the hall. All the records of the Heavenly Canopy were arranged in chronological order. He found the corresponding volumes, picked them up and spread them out on the table.

The three texts are: "The New Year's Sacrifice", "Kong Yiji", and "Thunderstorm".

Li Shimin pointed to the three volumes of archives spread out, "Three texts, three social classes, but their tragedies have one thing in common: what harmed them was not a single person, but a certain order."

He paused for a moment.

"Zhou Puyuan's home was a model of traditional Chinese etiquette."

Under the same sky, the atmosphere is completely different.

Liu Bang sat cross-legged on the couch, with a pot of wine and a small dish of snacks in front of him.

As darkness fell, he still craned his neck to look up, smacking his lips with lingering enjoyment.

"That's it? This is only the first act! Fanyi, her affair with Zhou Ping hasn't even been exposed yet, and Zhou Chong says he wants to marry Sifeng. How will this end? When is the next act?"

Sitting next to him, Lü Zhi and Xiao He were looking down at the records on the bamboo slips.

"This Zhou Puyuan," Liu Bang said loudly, with an excited tone that suggested he couldn't help but share a good show, "do you think he knows anything about Zhou Ping and Fanyi's affair?"

No one replied to him, so Liu Bang started analyzing the situation himself.

"I think he knew that when he made Zhou Ping kneel before Fan Yi, the tone he used was like telling you to kneel down and persuade your mother to drink the medicine. This wasn't teaching a son to be filial; it was using rules to slap both of them in the face."

He knew those two were hiding something, so he deliberately made them kneel facing each other, one kneeling and calling her "Mother," while the other sat and drank the medicine offered by his kneeling "son." This was worse than beheading.

After he finished speaking, he shook his head again, "But not necessarily. If he really knew, how could he tolerate it? It's unreasonable, it's unreasonable."

Liu Bang looked to his left, then to his right, waiting for someone to respond to him, but no one did.

He couldn't hold back any longer and reached out to pat the table in front of Xiao He: "Xiao He! Xiao He! Tell me."

Xiao He was engrossed in organizing his notes, his pen never stopping, nor did he look up: "Master Shen didn't say."

"What do you think?"

"Both are possible." Xiao He dipped his brush in ink. "If you know, this kneeling is a warning; if you don't, this kneeling is pure despotism."

"Whether you know it or not, it doesn't change the fact that Zhou Puyuan is a..." Lü Zhi thought for a moment and found a suitable word, "a scoundrel."

Liu Bang was taken aback; this was the first thing Lü Zhi had said to him that evening.

He immediately climbed up the pole: "Yes! He's a bastard! Look at you..."

Lü Zhi picked up her teacup, resumed her previous posture, and showed no intention of continuing the conversation.

Liu Bang then turned to Xiao He: "That Zhou Chong, the youngest one, do you think he'll die in the next class?"

Xiao He finally raised his head. "Master Shen said that everything should be detonated within 24 hours. The word 'everything' probably means that no one can escape."

After they finished speaking, the group looked in surprise at the sky, which had just darkened, and then brightened again.

On the sky, Shen Moyan glanced at the whole class.

"In this lesson, we will discuss the second act of 'Thunderstorm'."

She picked up the chalk and wrote two words on the blackboard: "Reunion," then turned around and leaned against the podium.

"The first act is the fuse, burying all the secrets; the second act is the beginning of the explosion."

This scene consists of three acts, each involving a single match.

The first one, Shiping recognized the Zhou family.

The second one, Zhou Puyuan recognized Shiping.

The third one, Lu Dahai, barged into Zhou Gongguan.

"Three matches were struck, and the entire mansion began to burn."

"In the first scene, Shiping arrives at the Zhou mansion with the initial intention of finding her daughter, Sifeng."

"She had no idea that Sifeng was working for the Zhou family. She only knew that her daughter was a maid in a wealthy household, and she deliberately concealed her surname and address, Lu Gui."

Shen Moyan turned a page of her textbook. "But as soon as she stepped into the living room, she felt a strong sense of unease. The furnishings, wooden furniture, and arrangement of the room were all old things she had left in the Zhou family thirty years ago. Decades had passed, and they hadn't changed at all."

Shen Moyan read the corresponding stage prompts from the textbook: "Shi Ping walked to the cabinet, stroked the carvings on it, and looked up to see a photograph of a young woman hanging on the wall—it was herself thirty years ago, still hanging in the same place."

She put down her textbook. "Students, pay attention to her reaction. It wasn't one of being moved, but rather one of confusion and fear."

She was driven away; these things shouldn't still be there. She thought she had been erased long ago, but Zhou Puyuan preserved her traces perfectly.

Under the sky, Liu Bang paused for a moment while chewing.

"That Zhou fellow, he drove his wife away, but kept all her things, pretending they were his for thirty years..." He turned to look at Lü Zhi, "What do you think he's after?"

Empress Lü put down her teacup and, unusually, replied, "To save face for yourself."

Liu Bang nodded, then glanced at Lü Zhi, feeling that these words seemed to refer not only to Zhou Puyuan, but he didn't dare to ask further.

"Shi Ping didn't leave immediately," Shen Moyan continued. "She saw Zhou Ping in the living room, her biological son. Thirty years ago, Zhou Puyuan kept this child and took him from her arms. Now he has grown into a young master, standing in front of her, asking her: 'Who are you?' She didn't recognize him, and he didn't recognize her either. Mother and son met, but they didn't recognize each other."

She closed her textbook. "A mother standing in front of her son cannot say, 'I am your mother.'"

Even at night, the light from the sky illuminates the earth brightly. An old farmer sits with his hands clasped under the big banyan tree in the village, surrounded by a group of people, all looking up at the play unfolding in the sky.

Upon hearing the part about the mother and son meeting but not recognizing each other, the old farmer muttered, "What a tragedy."

The old man next to him nodded: "If you can't raise a son and have to give him away, that's the only option. But if you have a son and someone snatches him away, and then he stands in front of you thirty years later asking who you are, who can bear that?"

"That Shiping," a young woman whispered, "why won't she admit it? Wouldn't it have been better if she did?"

The old farmer glanced at her. "So what if he acknowledges it? If he does, the child will know he's illegitimate. He grew up in this family, so who will he acknowledge? If he acknowledges his mother, he'll have to tear off his father's mask. His father is a big shot; do you think he'll acknowledge him?"