"Comrade Egg Dingbao, to be honest, the dean recommended me because my academic attainments are worlds apart from what they used to be."
"Can you stop calling me Egg Dingbao? The students will laugh their teeth out if they hear it, huh? Comrade Zhang Dogspawn!"
The old professor standing opposite Zhang Weiguo was red with anger, yet rather endearing.
Pointing at Zhang Weiguo's nose, he said, "Let's talk professional knowledge. My paper on the Nicomachean Ethics was recognized by every professor in the entire college. Everyone knows that I, Egg Dingbao—no, Ding Ming—have greater academic attainments than you!"
"The Nicomachean Ethics?"
"Tsk, tsk."
"I understood it thoroughly seventy years ago."
As Zhang Weiguo spoke, he set a cardboard box on the table with a thud and curled his lip. "These are the papers I submitted to the dean a week ago. Take a look and broaden your horizons."
"Papers?"
Professor Ding Ming was dumbfounded. "This must weigh over a hundred pounds, right? Do you take me for a junk collector? Can a person write this much material?"
Zhang Weiguo stood with his hands behind his back, staring ahead. He looked down from above, cold and merciless, carrying the bearing of the White Robe Immortal Zhang Weiguo.
Professor Ding Ming was suppressed by that domineering aura.
With a puzzled expression, he opened the box and began examining the materials one by one. Soon, his face grew more and more shocked, and he kept drawing sharp breaths.
"An in-depth analysis of Descartes' Meditations on First Philosophy?"
"An argument on Arthur Schopenhauer's The World as Will and Representation?"
"Flawed views in Paul Sartre's Being and Nothingness?"
"Zhang Weiguo's reproduced edition of Thus Spoke Nütsutela? Wasn't this book burned and lost? You can reproduce it?"
"Zhang Weiguo's Three Million Two Hundred Thousand Views on