The controversy over the distortion of historical figures became huge. Haters dug up every detail from the mansion’s secret room to criticize one by one.

Some malicious marketing accounts even cut parts into short videos.

They deliberately juxtaposed high-energy scenes and highlight moments from other red-themed dramas with Meng Zezhou’s final corrupted appearance.

Special effects were added to the comparison frames with text: “They wielded guns in resistance, not cigarette guns! Defaming? Distorting? Is this how you treat heroes?!”

The online backlash intensified, reaching the point where netizens collectively demanded the show be taken down and the actors banned.

At this moment, a local museum of historical materials associated with the mansion posted an official thank-you notice:

【Thanks to @SecretRoomShow for using modern presentation methods to recreate that dark period of history, allowing more viewers to see and pay attention to it. We will soon host a live broadcast, where curator @Quan Chengcong will explain the historical facts related to this period.】

The post even included #818, marking him as a rising VIP resource figure in the domestic entertainment circle—this TGA.

Comments:

【Did I read that right? Is this really the official account?】

【I guarantee it’s a genuine official account (flowers).】

【Official? Can I take a few relics?】

【This museum can’t lend relics right now, dear (points). But you can visit 【location X1】. As a national educational and cultural base, we don’t charge any admission—just bring your ID (smile).】

【Official accounts are really hustling for attention now? You even included the TGA… I’m dying (dog head).】

【(Whisper) Life isn’t easy. Sometimes we have to play internet hooligans. Don’t expose the museum~】

The museum’s livestream setup was simple—just one camera. Production was basic, without even an opening sequence. Curator Quan Chengcong appeared directly in front of the camera.

His hair was completely white, and he wore round reading glasses on his nose. Slightly lowering them, he looked at the camera, a little awkward. “Are we starting? Should I just speak to this side?”

He wore a modified Tang suit, exuding scholarly elegance. Once he started explaining, all traces of his earlier awkwardness disappeared. He spoke fluently, full of vigor.

“Our museum mainly exhibits materials and artifacts from modern history. This period is relatively painful, so not many people visit. We’re very grateful for this opportunity to promote it.”

Previous livestreams by the museum drew only a few hundred viewers at most, mostly older people, with little interactive commenting—but this time was different.

Comments:

【Came from the trending topics. Let’s see if they’re whitewashing XJX and the production team.】

【Official museum whitewashing a celebrity? Are you kidding?】

【Can you guys argue somewhere else? Look where you are!】

【Resist the distortion of historical figures! Resist historical distortion!】

Quan Chengcong was unfazed by the comments, smiling lightly as he pushed up his glasses. “History is right before our eyes.”

“These are all newspapers. Let me take one down so you can see.”

“This paper is a significant publication from the late Qing to the Republic era. Although locally run, it had national influence. Look here—the journalist named Wei Renshui is the real-life prototype of the character played by Xiao Huai in the show.”

He laid the newspaper flat on the table, and the camera focused on the editorial commentary.

The noisy commenters quieted down; after a while, someone posted:

【Even after so long, you can see his writing was sharp like a blade, full of integrity.】

【Indeed. We didn’t live through that era, but reading these words moves the heart.】

“Resistance was the defining trait of that era,” Quan Chengcong said, putting the newspaper away with a sigh. “Later, he joined the party on the front lines, becoming an outstanding underground member, then disappeared into history.”

The camera followed him to an embroidered artwork.

“This double-sided embroidery is by Ms. Tan, the wife of journalist Wei Renshui—the model for Xiao Yu’s character.”

He gently turned the screen, changing the image from a beauty to a man checking his pocket watch.

“Both sides of the piece are portraits, but unfortunately unfinished. Only the outlines were completed, so the actual appearances of these two patriots remain unknown.”

Comments:

【Wow, exquisite. Goosebumps. I really want to see it in person.】

【I already booked a visit—it’s in my city. I didn’t know such a hidden treasure of a museum existed.】

“The ones on the wall were embroidery used to transmit intelligence,” he explained, holding one up. “In the show, Morse code was written with a pen for display. In reality, it was much more discreet. Look…”

He moved the camera close for a macro shot. “See these tiny holes? They’re patterned. With light behind them, you can see shapes—the Morse code was created with needles.”

Comments:

【Is that why she eventually went blind?】

【I’m crying. They really struggled so hard!】

“Ms. Tan had little formal education, but with her wit and intelligence, she made enormous contributions to the revolution. Unfortunately, we only preserved this one coded embroidery. Others were lost or destroyed in the war, and what’s on the walls now is just a fraction of the originals.”

“Next, we’ll show this.” Quan Chengcong put on white gloves and took out a very old book.

The pages were brittle. He turned them carefully, one by one, without speaking.

The camera focused on the pages, occasionally flipping one.

Comments:

【I’m sweating just watching. All these are indenture contracts!】

【Makes me feel grateful for my current life.】

【Damn old society!】

The camera paused on one page. Quan Chengcong stopped flipping and sighed deeply.

Comments:

【Whoa, Yue Qinyao! Isn’t this the ghost woman from the show?】

【Yes, I remember Ran Shi found a similar contract—exactly the same!】

【But that doesn’t prove Zhu Shimei was a Western-educated young master—maybe just a local farmer. The identity could be fabricated.】

Quan Chengcong turned the page, revealing a land deed. It clearly divided the Zhu family mansion into two parts: one for Zhu Shiqing and the other for Zhu Shimei.

“According to our research, the journalist Wei Renshui’s real name was Zhu Shiqing,” his voice came through the camera.

Comments:

【Wei Renshui—if you change a radical, that’s plausible.】

【So the show really reconstructed nearly 70% of the character relationships. Amazing.】

【Only Ran Shi and Quan You’er had no real-life counterparts.】

After showing these materials, Quan Chengcong held a cup of tea, ready to chat with the viewers.

He responded to a comment:

“Not everyone deserves to be recorded by history. Most people, the only ones who remember them are those around them.”

He cleaned his glasses, then took out some letters. “The character played by Ran Shi, Quan Huai, is my great-grandfather, and Chun Ya is my great-grandmother.”

“They were ordinary people, unworthy of historical records, but I have some family letters.”

“After the war, my great-grandmother returned to this city. By then, it was liberated, and the mansion was mostly destroyed in the war. The land had been seized by the government, but she still remembered the old occupants and regularly visited to pay respects, even on her deathbed instructing descendants to continue visiting.”

Comments:

【Shocked my whole family. I thought the script was fake, but it’s 90% true events.】

【Truly moving. I even want to fly there to visit.】

【Let’s go together! I also want to check out the secret room.】

Viewers discussed visiting the museum and making travel plans. Quan Chengcong smiled, putting away the letters.

“I’m very happy to share these with young people today. Modern Chinese history is fragmented and cruel, but it’s also a history of resistance and progress.”

“I hope more young people can face this history honestly, drawing nourishment and motivation to move forward from it.”

The livestream ended there, and a fan had recorded the entire stream and directly posted it under the previous topic.

【I hope the haters can face history honestly, and stop using it as a tool for slander and spreading rumors.】

Qi Zhen seized the opportunity and bought a trending hashtag for the museum’s official livestream.

The platform reacted quickly: #818, the latest rising superstar in the Chinese entertainment industry—this trending topic soon vanished from the charts.

Meanwhile, the account “Inside Entertainment Exposé” was permanently banned by Big Eye Social.

A netizen named “Just 500 More Words” posted a mini-essay under the museum’s trending topic.

【Before becoming a screenwriter, I was a web novel writer.

Since I majored in history, my favorite works were always historically researched stories.

Later, I had a bit of success (embarrassed to admit), and I transitioned into screenwriting.

Being a screenwriter is different from writing your own stories—you have to consider the filming schedule, costume and set costs, the director’s and producer’s ideas, and even the actors’ performances.

There’s not as much creative freedom anymore, so I started writing various idol dramas. As for historical accuracy? That didn’t matter. What mattered was that the male lead could lift the female lead and spin her in slow motion.

EMMMMM… now, some of the historical-romance dramas I wrote, rated below 6 on Douban, were publicly criticized.

I was excited to have a chance to work on something that wasn’t an idol drama. I think by now, everyone understands—I’m the “top-level screenwriter who tweaks scripts for superstar clients.”

The first draft of the script 【Document X1】—if anyone is interested, you can check it out. The director approved it almost immediately because it was the most commercially viable, appealing, and executable version. But I felt a twinge of dissatisfaction.

Is this really all I can write? Does the market really not allow other forms of expression?

The crew spends money daily, and our budget wasn’t high, so there was no time to explore other approaches. The script was finalized.

When preparing to start filming, a small unexpected incident caused a pause.

I have to thank this incident—it woke me up. Because of it, we had to completely revise the script.

I felt like I returned to the time when my creative drive was strongest, searching every day for traces related to the mansion, consulting countless references, and poring over local archives in libraries.

Finally, at a local historical archive, I found historical records related to the mansion—you all probably saw this in the livestream.

I remember that afternoon, sitting in the archive reading that document, feeling cold sweat soaking the back of my clothes. It made me realize how narrow-minded and terrible my previous writing had been.

We shouldn’t distort history, but we also shouldn’t romanticize its suffering—pretending that covering these bureaucratic records of wives and concubines with a veil of romance could make a dark, cannibalistic era magically sentimental.

Women were not meant to wait for a high-quality man to protect and save them, just to fit someone’s idea of a “romantic, fleeting” era.

That’s wrong, and it’s not what I wanted to express.

What I wanted to express was that women trapped in the mire were saving themselves and each other.

Even under oppression and abuse, they never lost the courage to resist and the strength to fight. In the darkest places, they formed an unbreakable alliance of women, turning toward the light.

I’m glad I wrote it. I’m glad the show performed it. I’m glad that today, we still have courage and strength, and the unbreakable alliance between me and all of you.】