Chapter 57: Storms Rise Again: The Malicious Smear by a Network Expert

Several days passed.

Above every dynasty, the furnace burned crimson.

The frenzy over the "Industrial Revolution," a struggle for national survival, continued to ferment in the ancient timeline.

In Qin, convicts swung iron picks; in Han, alchemists boiled saltpeter.

Every inch of land exuded a desperate, savage will to survive.

And in the modern world.

Sunlight pierced through the clouds and spilled into the apartment's living room.

Xiao Sizi's life was plain and regular.

Learning pinyin, stacking blocks, every day without fail she went to the study to practice calligraphy with suspended wrist for half an hour.

She remained utterly unaware that beyond this tranquil world, the internet had erupted into a torrent of malicious hatred directed at her.

Lin Xuan sat on the sofa, holding half a cup of Americano.

His Mobile Phone rested on the coffee table, screen always lit.

An hour earlier, a major V-account named "Huaxia Calligraphy Anti-Fraud First Person · Liu Qingfeng" had published a three-thousand-word denunciation.

With the help of paid trolls funded by capital, the article surged upward, rocketing to the top of trending searches.

Lin Xuan leaned forward, his fingertip sliding across the screen.

He skimmed the lengthy article, its every line brimming with malicious speculation.

Every word of the article struck at the heart.

"A four-year-old child producing Feibai Script with imperial aura? Absurd beyond belief!"

"I, in conjunction with three national-level Appraisers of painting and calligraphy, have dissected this video frame by frame."

"Conclusion: a child's wrist muscles cannot possibly support the intensity of central-brush stroke execution. The so-called spiritual essence in the video is, in fact, a scam enabled by modern technology!"

"First, the sleeves are overly wide—likely concealing a miniature mechanical arm for guidance."

"Second, the table's reflection is abnormal—suggesting the use of cutting-edge AI optical projection technology; the child merely traces over projected outlines."

At the end of the article, the mask slipped.

"The video's publisher, Lin, fabricated this for massive traffic, using despicable means to stage the child."

"Forcing a four-year-old to wear heavy mechanical arms day and night to fake calligraphy—what kind of monstrous exploitation is this!"

"I urge the entire internet to boycott this. I implore relevant authorities to intervene and rescue the abused girl!"

Seeing this, Lin Xuan's lips twitched involuntarily.

He opened the backend of his own account.

Unread messages displayed a bright red "9999+."

In his private messages, keyboard warriors' curses poured forth like floodwater breaking a dam.

"Monster feeding on human blood buns! Leave that child alone!"

"You cheat for views—you'll get your comeuppance!"

"Find his address, let's storm his house and rescue the little girl!"

Lin Xuan lifted the coffee and drained it in one gulp.

Bitter liquid slid down his throat.

He turned off the screen.

He casually cut the power to the home router.

He severed all internet connections.

He would not let Xiao Sizi see these vile words; he would not let the malice of these keyboard warriors sully the eyes of the Tang princess.

The study door stood half-open.

Xiao Sizi sat on a raised chair.

In her hand, she held a cloth, carefully wiping away dried ink from the edge of the Duan Inkstone.

Her expression was focused and serene.

Lin Xuan stood outside the door, watching for several seconds.

A resolve flashed in his eyes.

To defend oneself by typing replies in comment sections against internet mobs was the stupidest move—it was exactly the trap they had set. You explained once, and they would drown you in ten thousand lies.

Only by smashing the so-called "evidence" into shards, with the most brutal force, before the eyes of all, could one prevail.

……

The Sky Screen translated this malicious article, along with its filthy comments, word for word, and projected them into the ancient timeline.

In Taiji Palace of the Tang Dynasty.

The emperor and ministers, who only days ago had been fretting over industrial steelmaking,

Now all froze mid-motion.

The atmosphere in court dropped to freezing.

It was a rage more tangible than the fury faced against foreign warships and cannons.

Cheng Yaojin stood in the front row of military officers, his eyes bulging like bronze bells.

"What damn so-called expert! What anti-fraud!"

He tore open the laces of his armor, reached behind his waist, and drew out two Xuanhua Battle-Axes.

The axes clanged loudly in his hands.

"Mechanical arm? What the hell is that?"

"The princess's Feibai Script was taught to her stroke by stroke, hand in hand, by His Majesty!"

"These blind beasts dare claim the princess is a traced puppet!"

Cheng Yaojin paced frantically around the hall.

"Such a twisted, foul-mouthed ruffian!"

"If this were Great Tang, old Cheng would lead troops to level their mansion and chop each of these keyboard warriors into minced meat with one axe blow!"

Among the civil officials.

Wei Zheng trembled with rage.

He valued reputation above all. Seeing Lin Xuan branded with accusations of "exploiting children" and "abuse," Wei Zheng gripped his court tablet tightly.

"Malice in men's hearts has existed in every dynasty."

"These later-era scoundrels, unable to bear another's talent, resort to such vile tricks to smear them."

Wei Zheng gritted his teeth, "Multitudes can melt gold; accumulated slander can destroy bones."

"That young man, Lin Xuan, alone—how can he withstand the torrent of a million voices condemning him?"

In the center of the hall.

Li Shimin sat upright upon the dragon throne.

He did not slam the table. Nor did he roar like Cheng Yaojin.

He simply stared silently at the Sky Screen.

In the eyes of the Eternal Emperor, there was no flame of anger.

Only profound ice-coldness.

Killing intent.

A killing intent, thick as solid matter, spread from the dragon throne.

"They say my daughter forged it, that Great Tang's imperial heritage is some AI projection trick."

"They say my daughter forged it, that Great Tang's imperial heritage is some AI projection trick."

Li Shimin let out a faint, cold laugh.

Those who knew him well understood: when the emperor laughed like this, it foretold the extermination of three clans.

"The treasures of the Great Tang Imperial Family shall not be pointed at by rats lurking in later-era sewers."

"Lin Xuan, let me see your methods."

"If you cannot silence this rabble's noise, you do not deserve the Different-Surname King I granted you!"

…

Modern apartment.

The study door was pushed open.

Lin Xuan carried three heavy cardboard boxes into the study.

"Brother Lin Xuan, what are these?"

Xiao Sizi set down her cloth and curiously approached.

Lin Xuan set down the boxes, took a utility knife, and sliced open the seals.

"A few eyes to see things."

Lin Xuan pulled out several professional ultra-high-definition cameras and thick metal tripods from the boxes.

He began assembling them.

"No need to wipe the inkstone today," Lin Xuan said, adjusting the tripod's height, "Tonight, we'll play a bigger game."

Xiao Sizi walked around the cold, black machines with her hands behind her back.

"A game? With whom?"

"With a group of blind fools who refuse to believe."

Lin Xuan mounted the first camera directly in front of the desk.

Xiao Sizi, perceptive as ever, glanced at the lens aimed at the desk.

"They suspect my handwriting is forged?"

Her tone was calm—no child's tears or tantrums at being wronged, only a cold pride befitting a Great Tang princess.

"Yes. They say you hide mechanisms in your sleeves, that the desk projects ghostly glyphs."

Lin Xuan secured the second camera above the desk.

The lens pointed straight down, locking onto the tabletop.

He crouched and began connecting complex cables.

"Can we take them to Dali Temple?" Xiao Sizi asked.

"We don't answer to Dali Temple here."

"We only use facts to slap their faces until they swell."