My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 263 Welcome to Princeton

I've had breakfast.

Matilda took the empty plates off the table into the kitchen.

Pierre took a light coat from the coat rack by the door and put it on.

"Let's go."

Pierre pushed open the wooden door of the villa.

Chen Zhuo followed him out.

Princeton at around 9 a.m.

Sunlight filters through the branches and leaves of the tall oak trees lining the road, casting dappled patterns on the clean asphalt surface.

Neither of them was driving.

The Institute for Advanced Study is not far from Pierre's residence, only a ten-minute walk away.

The streets of the small town were quiet.

Occasionally, one or two cars would drive by at a steady speed, and the lawns along the roadside were neatly trimmed, glistening with a little morning dew.

Several young people carrying backpacks rode past on bicycles, their wheels crunching over fallen leaves with a crisp, cracking sound. The two walked along the sidewalk.

Pierre walked slowly, his hands in his pockets.

Chen Zhuo walked beside him.

Throughout the journey, Pierre did not discuss those heavy academic topics, nor did he explain who he was going to meet next.

He simply pointed to a shop by the roadside, saying it was the best bagel shop in town, and then pointed to an intersection ahead, telling Chen Zhuo that following that road would lead to the town's post office. Chen Zhuo listened quietly, nodding occasionally, noting down these locations of everyday life.

A dozen minutes later.

A large, open green lawn came into view ahead.

At the end of the lawn stood a building with a clock tower, its walls covered with a layer of green vines.

This is the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton.

There are no tall walls or imposing guardhouses, only a smooth road leading to the main building's gate.

Pierre led Chen Zhuo across the lawn.

I stepped onto the stone steps in front of the door and entered the main hall of the building.

On the walls on both sides of the corridor hung some black and white photos, most of the people in the photos were wearing clothes from the last century.

Pierre walked down the corridor to the door at the very back.

Pierre didn't knock; he reached out, grabbed the handle, and pressed it down.

The door was pushed open.

This is a spacious office.

A large desk was placed near the window.

The desktop was piled with various folders, layout proofs, and a stack of fax papers.

Cyril sat behind his desk.

Hearing the door open, Cyril looked up.

Cyril's gaze first fell on Pierre as he walked in.

Then, his gaze passed over Pierre's shoulder and landed on Chen Zhuo, who was following behind.

Standing there quietly.

Cyril paused for a moment.

He slowly loosened his hands from the table, and his tense shoulders visibly slumped.

Cyril let out a long breath.

That breath could be heard very clearly in the quiet office.

"You really brought him here."

Cyril leaned back in his chair, his voice a little dry.

Pierre walked to the desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

"Otherwise what?"

Pierre looked at the pile of fax papers on the table.

"Should we leave him in the country and wait for people from Boston to come knocking on our door with checks?"

Pierre reached out and tapped the edge of the table, looking at Chen Zhuo.

"Plato Cyril, Dean of the Department of Mathematics."

"to be honest."

Cyril's tone carried a sense of relief, as if he had survived a catastrophe.

"When MIT sent me that fax with a one million dollar quote a while ago..."

Cyril pointed to the pile of papers on the corner of the table.

"I stood in front of this window and smoked half a pack of cigarettes."

Cyril looked at Chen Zhuo.

"I'm really afraid that after you get off the plane, you'll just take a taxi at Kennedy Airport and head straight to Boston."

One million US dollars, plus the title of associate professor.

For any scholar, even an established one, this is a bargaining chip that is enough to make people stop and rethink.

Cyril's concerns were not unfounded.

In academia, this kind of situation of being intercepted halfway through has happened far too many times.

Chen Zhuo stood there.

He listened to Cyril's sigh without any change in expression.

He glanced at Pierre, who was sitting in the chair next to him.

Then, Chen Zhuo turned his gaze back to Cyril.

"Dean Cyril."

Chen Zhuo's voice was steady, with a reassuring quality.

"I have already agreed to be Professor Pierre's student."

A gentle smile played on Chen Zhuo's lips.

"Since you've agreed..."

"It won't be changed anymore."

The office fell silent.

Cyril looked at the boy in front of him.

It's the simplest promise.

I came because I had promised.

Cyril leaned back in his chair. He glanced at Chen Zhuo, then at Pierre.

Pierre.

Cyril shook his head.

"Your luck in this life is so good that it makes people jealous."

Pierre ignored Cyril's remarks.

He stood up and glanced at the clock on the wall.

10:15.

"We've finished recognizing everyone," Pierre said to Chen Zhuo. "Let's go."

Chen Zhuo nodded.

The two turned and walked toward the office door.

"etc."

Cyril called out from behind.

Pierre stopped in his tracks.

Cyril stood up, straightened his tie, and then gathered the scattered fax papers on the table to one side.

Let's go together.

Cyril walked around the desk.

"It's 10:30. In the lounge of Van Enlou, those old guys should be drinking coffee there right now."

Cyril walked to the door and opened it.

The three of them walked out of the office together.

Passing through the path behind the main building, you'll find another equally ancient building ahead.

Van Enlou.

The location of the Mathematics Department of the Institute for Advanced Study.

The corridor here is wider, and occasionally you can see a few portable blackboards standing against the walls, with some symbols left on them that haven't been erased. We reached the end of the second floor.

There is a double door.

The door wasn't closed properly, and the sounds of a coffee machine running and the clinking of cups and saucers could be heard coming from inside.

There were also the sounds of several people talking in hushed tones.

This is the common lounge of the Institute for Advanced Study.

The morning tea time at 10:30 every morning is a local tradition.

Pierre walked in front and pushed open the door.

The lounge is very spacious.

Several rows of sofas were placed against the wall, with a few round tables in the middle. In the corner stood a huge blackboard, densely covered with derivation fragments of some kind of topological manifold. There were probably a dozen or so people in the room.

Most of them were elderly people with gray hair, wearing sweaters or shirts, holding cups in their hands.

Some people sat on the sofa flipping through journals, while others stood in front of the blackboard pointing at the formulas on it.

These people, if you pick any one of them, their names are printed in contemporary mathematics textbooks.

I heard the door open.

A few people near the door turned their heads and glanced at it.

Upon seeing that it was Pierre and Cyril, they simply nodded without interrupting their conversation.

Pierre walked in.

Chen Zhuo followed beside him.

Pierre did not walk towards the crowd.

He walked straight to a side cabinet by the window in the lounge.

There's a fully automatic coffee machine on the cabinet, and next to it are some communal cups and sugar bowls.

He opened a small door under the sideboard.

They took out a teacup with a lid and a sealed tin can.

Pierre placed the teacup on the counter.

Unscrew the lid of the tin can; inside are black tea leaves.

He picked up the spare kettle from the cabinet and pressed the boil button.

The kettle emitted a low humming sound.

Pierre used a small spoon to scoop a spoonful of black tea from the tin can and poured it into a cup.

The movements were slow and deliberate, extremely relaxed.

In this room filled with top scholars, he still maintains his own unique set of lifestyle habits.

The water has boiled.

Pierre picked up the kettle.

Boiling hot water was poured into the teacup, and the red tea soup instantly spread out, with steam rising from the rim of the cup.

Pierre put down the kettle and put the lid on the teacup.

Just at this time.

Pierre turned around, holding a cup of freshly brewed black tea in his hand.

He looked at the old guys in the lounge.

There was no increase in volume, nor any grand opening remarks.

Pierre spoke in an extremely flat tone, as if he were saying that the weather was nice today.

"Everyone."

Pierre's voice rang out in the lounge.

"This is Chen Zhuo, my student."

The conversation stopped.

An elderly professor next to the coffee machine was stirring his coffee with a small spoon. The spoon made a crisp sound as it hit the cup, then stopped abruptly. A person sitting on the sofa flipping through a journal looked up.

The two people arguing in front of the blackboard turned around.

The gazes of more than a dozen people.

In the same second, they all swept past Pierre.

It landed on the boy standing behind him.

The lounge fell silent.

Even their breathing seemed to slow down.

They looked at Chen Zhuo.

Looking at the most ordinary white short-sleeved shirt, and at that young face, which even had a touch of the naivety characteristic of a minor.

No one spoke.

These old guys in this room.

Just a month ago.

They were locked in a windowless, enclosed seminar room upstairs.

They used up an entire box of chalk, their eyes bloodshot from working in front of the blackboard, their wrists numb from calculating.

They tried to use calculus to smooth out the singularity on the discrete grid, attempting to find flaws in the dimension-reduced matrix.

Thirty days in total.

Those forty-three pages of drafts shattered the edifice they had built over thirty years.

They had certainly seen Chen Zhuo's birth date in the documents.

They knew it was a fourteen-year-old child.

but.

When this fourteen-year-old child actually stood alive in front of them.

The numerical concept and the stark visual contrast still struck everyone's hearts like a heavy hammer.

too young.

She's so young it seems unreal.

The silence lasted for about ten seconds.

An elderly professor standing next to the sofa moved.

Arthur.

He gently put down the coffee cup bearing the logo of the Institute for Advanced Study.

Arthur turned around and started walking.

He walked through the aisle between the round tables toward the door.

Arthur had a full head of white hair and was wearing a dark blue wool sweater.

He stopped in front of Chen Zhuo.

He carefully examined Chen Zhuo's face.

Then, Arthur extended his right hand.

Chen Zhuo looked at the old man in front of him.

He did not back down or hesitate; he raised his hand, extended his right hand, and shook hands with Arthur.

Arthur's hands were somewhat rough, and the backs of his hands were covered with the marks of time.

The two hands are clasped together.

Arthur looked into Chen Zhuo's eyes.

"We're in that room upstairs."

Arthur spoke up.

His voice wasn't loud, but rather carried a sigh.

There are no windows.

"I spent a whole month working on your forty-three-page draft."

Arthur shook his head.

A self-deprecating smile appeared on his lips.

"We checked your age up there."

"But today."

Arthur's gaze lingered on Chen Zhuo's clean face.

"I really see you standing here."

"I still feel that way."

Arthur sighed and released Chen Zhuo's hand.

"We old guys are really getting old."

Chen Zhuo stood still.

He looked at Arthur, the corners of his mouth slowly curving upwards with a gentle smile.

"But my teacher told me that my foundation is actually not very solid, and that I will need the professors at Princeton to spend a lot of time teaching me slowly." After listening to Chen Zhuo's words.

Arthur paused for a moment.

Then, the hint of disappointment in his eyes disappeared.

Arthur laughed.

He shook his head and turned away.

Walk up to the cabinet where the coffee machine is located.

He took a clean white cup from the cabinet.

Press the button on the coffee machine.

Steaming hot coffee flows from the spout and falls into the cup.

After filling the cup to more than half full.

Arthur, holding the cup, walked back to Chen Zhuo.

He handed him the coffee.

Arthur looked at the gentle young man.