Chapter 62: Striking at the Root, Shaking Morale!

"Academic blockade."

These four words, carrying a cold and unquestionable arrogance, were precisely delivered before the eyes of every practitioner through major official channels.

Striking at the roots.

This heavy blow did not target Longhai University's infrastructure, nor did it attack its funding. Instead, with pinpoint accuracy, it smashed into its most core and fragile vulnerability—the human heart.

Inside the temporary conference room of the Valley of Hope.

Around the massive circular conference table, the very flow of air seemed to be frozen. The cold wind blowing from the central air conditioning circulated silently, yet it could not sweep away that suffocating oppression.

Beneath Academician Qian Liqun's graying hair was a face as calm as an ancient well. He finished reading the statement; the screen's light reflected in his turbid yet sharp eyes. In the end, he merely let out a light snort from his nasal cavity, carrying a trace of old-school scholarly aloofness and disdain.

Chief Engineer Li Weimin, sitting beside him, couldn't even be bothered to lift his eyelids. He gently tapped his fingers on the tabletop, seemingly pondering some technical difficulty of an environmental engineering project. The storm outside had nothing to do with him.

They were grand masters.

They were people who already stood at the pinnacle of the pyramid, people for whom they themselves were part of the rules. The so-called "blockade" was, to them, nothing more than a ridiculous boundary drawn by a few ants at the foot of a mountain.

However, not everyone in the conference room was a grand master.

There were more scholars in their forties, and those brilliant young talents in their early thirties.

At this moment, their complexions were unsightly to the extreme.

Every single word of the sternly worded joint statement on their phone screens pierced into their nerves like a red-hot steel needle.

A complete break with forty-five top domestic universities.

What did this mean?

It meant that once the research projects they were currently conducting were brought to Longhai, their subsequent national-level funding application channels would be instantly severed.

It meant that the papers they had written with their heart's blood would be shut out by all top domestic journals, lacking even the eligibility for peer review.

It meant they would be unable to attend any high-level academic conferences domestically, unable to communicate with peers, and completely reduced to prisoners on an academic deserted island.

This was no longer a clash between ideals and reality.

This was betting one's entire career, gambling all the academic prestige and networking resources accumulated in the first half of one's life, on an illusory and unpredictable "future."

The stakes were too high.

High enough to crush any ideal.

Around the conference table, a young scholar who had just returned from an overseas prestigious university and gained some fame in the field of artificial intelligence subconsciously loosened his tie. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, but no sound came out. A layer of fine cold sweat had already seeped across his forehead.

Opposite him, a middle-aged professor stared fixedly at the tabletop, his hands tightly clenched into fists beneath the desk, his knuckles stark white from excessive force.

Silence.

A dead silence.

No one spoke, but every person's breathing and every subtle movement expressed the exact same emotion: wavering.

This team that He Yu had managed to unite with ideals, sincerity, and blueprints for the future—this dream lineup praised by outsiders as the "Genesis Faculty Super-Team"—was now undergoing a drastic collapse of morale.

The meeting began in silence, and ended in silence.

He Yu did not say a single word to boost morale. He merely looked at faces filled with struggle and pain, and calmly announced the adjournment.

He knew that in the face of such an iron wall of reality, any language was pale.

The night grew deep.

In the president's office of the Valley of Hope, the lights were brightly lit.

He Yu sat alone behind the massive desk, the screen's light illuminating his young yet steady face.

At the bottom right corner of the computer, the notification light of the email client began to flash at a fixed frequency.

"Ping."

The first email arrived.

The sender was a well-known expert in the field of materials science, and a core member whom He Yu had personally visited three times to invite.

"President He, I am deeply sorry... My family situation is rather complex, and my wife firmly opposes my leaving the current system... She believes this is an act destroying our family's future, and I... I cannot stand against her. Please forgive my cowardice."

Between the lines, the message was filled with struggle and guilt.

He Yu's gaze lingered on the email for over a dozen seconds without replying.

"Ping."

The second email.

"President He, I am extremely sorry. The project for the national key laboratory in my hands has not yet concluded, involving a team of over a hundred people and tens of millions in funding. If I leave now, it would be irresponsible. Therefore... perhaps... I am temporarily unable to fulfill the employment contract with Longhai University. I will bear the subsequent breach of contract penalty in full."

"Ping."

The third, the fourth...

The chime of the email notifications, like a life-claiming pendulum, struck one after another in the dead silence of the office. Every single sound represented the loosening of a foundation stone.

Immediately afterward, his personal phone began to vibrate.

The caller ID showed it was a deeply respected professor who had already publicly published an article announcing his full-time joining of Longhai University.

He Yu answered the call.

"...President He."

On the other end of the line, the old professor's voice carried an imperceptible tremor and the exhaustion of being crushed by reality.

"I have failed your trust... I am old, and originally wanted to make one last push, but I never expected... the situation would turn out like this. Several of my doctoral students are about to graduate; if I stubbornly go my own way, their futures will be completely ruined... I..."

The old professor could not go on, and a heavy sigh came through the phone.

He Yu listened quietly, without interrupting, without refuting, and without even a shred of blame.

He could clearly hear how the last persistence of a scholar on the other end of the line was being ground into dust bit by bit by the cold reality.

"I understand."

After a long while, He Yu finally spoke calmly, with no emotional fluctuations audible in his voice.

Hanging up the phone, he placed the device on the desk.

On the screen, the notifications for over a dozen unread emails were still glowing.

Outside the window were the brilliant lights of the Valley of Hope, outlining the contours of the future campus. That land carrying the dreams of countless people appeared grand yet lonely in the night.

He Yu knew that Longhai University was facing the most fatal crisis since its founding.

This "Genesis Faculty Super-Team" composed of the nation's top scholars, this vanguard army carrying the hope of China's educational reform, had arrived at the edge of a crumbling cliff even before the official start of the semester.

A single step away, and there would be an abyss of eternal damnation.