My IQ has been increasing year by year.

the next morning.

Sunlight filters through the oak leaves outside the window, casting dappled shadows on the solid wood floor.

Chen Zhuo opened his eyes.

The room was very quiet.

He lay in the thick, pale blue down comforter, staring at the ceiling.

After a transoceanic flight of more than ten hours, plus a twelve-hour time difference, it takes some time for the biological clock to adjust.

He didn't get up immediately, but lay quietly for a while, listening to the occasional sound of the wind outside the window.

It's exactly eight o'clock.

Chen Zhuo threw off the covers and got out of bed.

He unfolded the thick down comforter and spread it flat on the bed.

Wash up in the bathroom.

The cold water splashed on his hands, bringing a refreshing coolness. He scooped up some water to wash his face and then dried it with a towel. The window at the end of the corridor was half-open, and a cool morning breeze blew in, carrying away a trace of the late summer's gloom.

Chen Zhuo walked down the stairs.

The air on the first floor was filled with a rich aroma of tea, along with a hint of toasted bread.

Chen Zhuo walked down the last step.

He did not go directly to the restaurant.

At the end of the left-hand corridor on the first floor, the door to the study was half-open.

The aroma of tea wafts out from there.

Chen Zhuo walked over.

The study had dark walnut floors, and several rows of bookshelves reaching the ceiling lined the walls, crammed with heavy hardcover books and stacks of documents. Pierre sat behind the large desk.

The desktop is still messy.

A copy of the *Annals of Mathematics* lay carelessly on the corner of the table, along with printed papers, used drafts, and an uncapped fountain pen. Pierre held a white teacup in his hand.

He was looking at a manuscript on the table.

Hearing the noise at the door, Pierre looked up.

My gaze went over the top edge of the reading glasses and landed on Chen Zhuo standing at the door.

Pierre put down his teacup.

Good morning, teacher.

Chen Zhuo stood at the door, his voice gentle.

"How did you sleep?" Pierre asked.

"Very good," Chen Zhuo said. "The blanket is very warm."

Pierre nodded, reached down and took off his reading glasses from the bridge of his nose, placing them on the draft paper on the table.

"Come in and sit down."

Chen Zhuo walked into the study, pulled out a chair opposite the desk, and sat down.

Pierre picked up a glass kettle from the table.

He took a clean glass, poured in half a glass of water, and pushed it in front of Chen Zhuo.

"Thanks."

Chen Zhuo accepted the cup with both hands.

He didn't drink it immediately, but held it in his hands.

Pierre leaned back in the wide leather chair.

His gaze fell on Chen Zhuo, and he sized up the fourteen-year-old boy.

Clean, calm, with no trace of the awkwardness or unease one might feel upon arriving in a foreign land.

It was as if he hadn't traveled halfway around the world to Princeton, but had simply finished breakfast and walked over from the next street for a visit. Pierre's gaze shifted downwards.

It landed on the corner of the table on the "Annals of Mathematics".

The study was quiet for a while.

Only an old-fashioned wall clock emitted a monotonous ticking sound.

"The underlying discrete grid has been completely laid out."

Pierre spoke up.

Chen Zhuo raised his head and looked at him.

"Using algebraic methods to cut continuous manifolds—this idea has already given those old guys in Europe who insist on calculus a real headache this month." Pierre leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him.

"What's next?"

Pierre looked into Chen Zhuo's eyes.

"Is the next plan to follow this path you've already paved and finish writing the final proof of the Hodge conjecture?" The question was asked quite naturally.

It's like asking what you're planning to eat for lunch today.

For any mathematician, this seems like a question that can be answered without any thought.

Hodge's conjecture.

That is a towering mountain looming over the field of algebraic geometry.

Now, the basic tools have been built, and the road to the top of the mountain has been paved.

As long as we keep going, complete the final logical chain, and kick open the last door, the crown symbolizing the pinnacle of human intelligence can be firmly placed on our heads. Chen Zhuo looked at Pierre but did not answer immediately.

He held the glass of water and gently stroked the inside of the glass with his fingers.

Before Chen Zhuo could even speak.

Pierre, who was sitting opposite him, suddenly stopped moving.

He shook his head.

Then, Pierre laughed.

It was a smile that carried a hint of self-deprecation and a touch of relief.

"Look at me."

Pierre smiled and sighed, pointing to himself.

"I actually asked such a redundant question. You've already chewed up the toughest bone."

"You have completely reshuffled the underlying logic of algebraic geometry."

Pierre looked at the pile of scattered draft papers on the table.

"The research has already progressed to this point, how can you possibly stop at this time?"

Pierre picked up the teacup on the table and took a sip of the tea, which had cooled down a bit.

"It's like you've walked up to a slightly ajar door and you have the key in your hand."

"You can't help but push it away."

Pierre put down his cup and looked at Chen Zhuo.

"That's a stupid question."

Chen Zhuo sat opposite him.

As Chen Zhuo listened to Pierre's self-contradiction, a smile appeared in his eyes.

He didn't respond to those grand terms.

He simply picked up the glass in his hand and took a sip of water.

The water temperature is just right.

Chen Zhuo put down his cup, looked at Pierre, and nodded gently.

The movements were very gentle.

No need for oaths or grand research plans.

A nod is enough.

Pierre looked at Chen Zhuo and nodded, then completely relaxed.

He reached out and pulled open a drawer on the right side of his desk.

There was a thick stack of papers in the drawer.

Pierre took out the stack of papers.

Those were more than a dozen faxes.

Pierre placed the stack of faxes on the table, pressed it down with his hand, and pushed it in front of Chen Zhuo.

Chen Zhuo glanced down at it.

The top one has the logo of MIT’s School of Science printed on it.

"July and August."

Pierre leaned back in his chair, his tone becoming as if he were having a casual conversation.

"That is, the two months you spend your summer vacation in the country."

Pierre's gaze swept over the faxes.

"It's quite lively outside."

Chen Zhuo didn't touch the papers; he just listened quietly.

"These schools and research institutes almost broke down the fax machine at the Institute for Advanced Study in their efforts to win you over."

Pierre extended a finger and tapped on the fax from MIT.

"MIT's Dean of Science, Davis, was so anxious that he slammed his fist on the table in the conference room."

Pierre's voice was flat, as if he were telling a completely unrelated joke.

"His offer was to hire you directly as an associate professor, give you an independent laboratory, and not have to teach undergraduate basic courses." Pierre paused for a moment.

"In addition, there is a personal start-up fund of one million US dollars."

The study was very quiet.

One million US dollars.

Associate Professor.

For a normal person, any one of these words is enough to make them lose their mind in an instant.

Chen Zhuo remained seated, his gaze fixed on the paper, not even blinking.

Pierre removed his fingers.

Lifting MIT's paper revealed the one underneath.

Several German words were printed on the top of the object.

"Germany, Bonn, Max Planck Institute for Mathematics."

Pierre looked at Chen Zhuo.

"Director Schultz."

"That old rival who's been arguing with me in meetings for over a decade."

As Pierre said this, a complex smile appeared on his lips.

"He locked himself in his office for two days and read your paper."

"Then they called me."

"He gave up."

Pierre looked at the signature on the fax.

"He extended an invitation to USTC, and the Max Planck Institute's tenured visiting professorship will be reserved for you forever."

"No approval or defense is required."

"You can go anytime."

Chen Zhuo's gaze lingered on those lines of German for two seconds.

He still didn't say anything.

Pierre's fingers flipped again.

This time, he pulled out a separate invitation.

The paper is stiffer than regular fax paper.

It has the Cambridge University crest printed on it.

Pierre placed the invitation letter separately in front of Chen Zhuo.

"Newton Institute of Mathematical Sciences, University of Cambridge"

Pierre's voice lowered slightly.

Sir Michael.

"Among this group of people, he was the most anxious."

Pierre pointed to the date on the invitation.

"He doesn't want to wait until you come to Princeton in September."

"He sent this invitation so that you would fly to the UK before boarding your flight to New York."

Pierre looked into Chen Zhuo's eyes.

"You are invited to give a public lecture on behalf of both Cambridge and the Newton Institute."

"Let's talk specifically about the discrete grid you wrote about in the introduction."

Pierre tapped his fingers twice on the table.

"The condition is that you must go to Cambridge to speak."

"Cambridge University has made an exception and awarded you an honorary doctorate, and given you an independent research lab without performance evaluation criteria."

Pierre stopped.

He spread all the faxes and invitations out on the table.

MIT, Max Planck Institute, Cambridge University.

These three names represent three insurmountable mountains in the global academic community, besides Princeton.

Now, these three powerful figures have laid out all the top resources, titles, and money they can offer to a fourteen-year-old boy. Pierre leaned back in his chair.

He picked up his teacup, but didn't drink it.

"When I received these things..."

Pierre looked at Chen Zhuo, his tone slightly teasing.

"Cyril is the head of the Institute for Advanced Study."

"He was so angry in the office that he kept smashing cups."

"He's afraid you'll be lured away by that million dollars or the honorary doctorate from Cambridge."

Pierre put down his teacup with a soft thud.

"If you're packing your luggage at HKUST."

Pierre asked the question casually, like any ordinary grandfather.

"They will intercept you directly in the country with these conditions."

Pierre looked into Chen Zhuo's eyes.

What would you choose?

That's a very direct question.

There were only the two of them in the study, free from the gaze of outsiders, and without the need for any high-sounding diplomatic rhetoric.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the faxes spread across the table.

Chen Zhuo slowly withdrew his gaze from the papers.

He reached out and picked up the glass of water on the table.

He took a sip and put down the glass.

Chen Zhuo raised his head and looked at Pierre sitting opposite him.

A gentle smile slowly curved the corners of his mouth.

Chen Zhuo didn't look at the temptations on the table.

"professor."

Chen Zhuo spoke, his voice calm and reassuring.

"I was personally called here by you."

Chen Zhuo looked at Pierre's somewhat cloudy eyes.

"Since I already agreed to be your student."

Chen Zhuo smiled.

"I can't just back out halfway through."

This statement was made very casually.

He didn't explain why he disliked money, nor did he explain why he didn't care about titles.

Because I agreed.

Because you're the one who asked me to come.

Chen Zhuo believed from the bottom of his heart that some things were far more important than a million dollars and a tenured professorship.

Pierre sat behind his desk.

Upon hearing this...

He was stunned.

He had prepared a lot of ideas in his mind, and even thought that Chen Zhuo would say that he wanted to do research in a quiet environment, or that the academic atmosphere at Princeton was better. But he never expected that Chen Zhuo would give such an answer.

An answer that completely contradicts the Western spirit of contract and the principle of maximizing interests, yet takes human touch to the extreme.

Pierre looked at the boy in front of him.

Several seconds passed.

Pierre suddenly burst out laughing.

He laughed and shook his head.

"That idiot Cyril."

Pierre muttered a curse under his breath.

"He will never understand this kind of thing in his entire life."

Pierre reached out and gathered all the faxes scattered on the table together.

The movements were very casual.

It's like sorting through a pile of useless scrap paper.

He made no further mention of the one million from MIT, nor of the lifetime position at the Max Planck Institute.

Pierre's hand finally stopped on the invitation letter from Cambridge University.

This invitation carries a different weight than the others.

It is not just a title, but also an opportunity to publicly assert oneself in front of the global academic community.

Pierre looked at the invitation.

"And what about this one?"

Pierre pushed forward the Cambridge invitation a little.

"Sir Michael's public report."

Pierre looked at Chen Zhuo.

"The reason for rejecting anything else is because you came to Princeton."

"But this is just a lecture and it won't affect your studies here."

"With the draft you've written so far, you're good enough to establish yourself at Cambridge University."

Pierre's tone became more serious.

"are you going?"

Chen Zhuo's gaze fell on the invitation letter bearing the Cambridge emblem.

He glanced at it only once before looking away.

Chen Zhuo did not hesitate.

He shook his head.

"I'm not going."

Chen Zhuo's voice was gentle, but it carried an undeniable firmness.

"Why?" Pierre asked.

Chen Zhuo sat in a chair with his hands on his knees.

"Too early."

Chen Zhuo said.

"The final proof of the Hodge conjecture is not yet fully written."

Chen Zhuo looked at Pierre.

"Although the bottom grid has been laid, houses still need to be built on top of it."

"The building isn't even finished yet, and they're already running up there, telling the people below how great the building is."

Chen Zhuo smiled faintly.

"That's not good."

Chen Zhuo picked up the water glass on the table and drank the remaining half glass of water.

"Let's wait until everything is finished."

Chen Zhuo put down his cup.

"Wait until the final step of the derivation is completely written down on paper."

"It's not too late to give the report later."

Pierre sat behind his desk and didn't ask any more questions.

He doesn't need to ask anymore.

He reached out and picked up the Cambridge invitation letter, placing it together with the stack of faxes he had just received.

I opened the drawer and threw the thick stack of papers inside.

Close the drawer.

The only sound in the study was the ticking of the wall clock.

Footsteps could be heard in the corridor outside.

Matilda's voice came from the direction of the restaurant.

"Pierre, little clumsy."

Matilda's voice carried the energy of a morning.

"Breakfast is ready, come out and eat."

Pierre stood up from his chair.

He glanced at the "Annals of Mathematics" on the corner of the table.

"Let's go."

Pierre walked around the desk.

"Let's go eat breakfast."

Chen Zhuo also stood up.

He pushed the chair back into its original position.

"Okay, teacher."

The two walked out of the quiet study, one after the other.