My IQ has been increasing year by year.

You'll get used to Chapter 272 after reading it a few times.

11:15 AM, in the office.

The room was quiet, with only the sound of chalk writing on the blackboard.

Chen Zhuo stood in front of the blackboard that occupied the entire wall, holding half a piece of white chalk in his hand.

The blackboard was covered with formulas, stretching from the top left corner to the bottom right corner.

He stopped what he was doing and stared at the line of derivation about the cotone group that he had just written down for a while.

Chen Zhuo raised his hand, rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, and then threw the half piece of chalk in his hand back into the chalk tray.

Pierre sat on the sofa a few steps away.

The old man, wearing reading glasses and holding a notebook, was looking at the equations on the blackboard line by line.

"here."

Pierre pointed with his ballpoint pen to a spot on the right side of the center of the blackboard.

"When the manifold deforms here, the boundary condition is still missed, just like water flowing through a sieve, a few drops always seep into somewhere."

Chen Zhuo turned around and looked in the direction Pierre was pointing.

"Um.

""

Chen Zhuo responded.

He walked over, picked up the blackboard eraser, and erased several equations from that area.

"Approaching it from the perspective of homology groups might still be a bit of a stretch."

Chen Zhuo looked at the blank space that had been erased.

"The nodes in this dimension of the grid have not yet been laid out."

Pierre took off his reading glasses and rubbed his temples.

Let's stop here for the morning.

Pierre closed the notebook and placed it on the armrest of the sofa.

"I'm getting old, my brain isn't working properly anymore, I'm going to get something to eat."

Chen Zhuo nodded.

The two walked out of the office, and Pierre closed the door behind him. The corridor was quiet.

Pushing open the door of Fan Enlou, the sunlight outside immediately dazzled my eyes.

The two walked along the road toward the restaurant.

There were quite a few people on the main road.

Students who had just finished class walked around in twos and threes, while some rode bicycles past, their chains rattling.

Several workers were mowing the lawn by the roadside, and the roar of the lawnmowers was quite jarring.

Pierre frowned, moved closer to the middle of the road to avoid the flying grass clippings, and Chen Zhuo walked on the outside, his pace neither hurried nor slow.

Neither of them spoke.

This is their habit.

With my mind filled with too many complex discrete lattice points, this time spent walking is a good opportunity to clear my head.

Pushing open the cafeteria door, a wave of heat mixed with the aroma of food hits you.

Roast meat, onion soup.

The flavors of these two restaurants are simply unparalleled.

It was not yet noon, and there weren't many people in the restaurant; only a few people were sparsely lined up in front of the tables.

Chen Zhuo walked to the stack of trays, drew one, and handed it to Pierre behind him. Pierre took it, and Chen Zhuo drew one for himself.

The two moved forward with the group.

"What are we having for dinner today?" Pierre asked casually, glancing at the plate in front of him.

Chen Zhuo's gaze swept over the person in front of him.

"We have roast beef," Chen Zhuo said.

"There's also macaroni and cheese, broccoli, and mashed potatoes in that corner over there."

It was their turn in the line.

"Macaroni, no red sauce."

Pierre pointed to the black woman behind the dining table.

"Just a little olive oil and black pepper, plus a vegetable salad."

The woman took a pair of tongs, picked up a ball of macaroni and threw it into Pierre's plate, then drizzled a spoonful of olive oil over it.

Pierre took a step to the side with the tray in his hand.

Chen Zhuo pushed the plate forward.

"Two pieces of roast beef, with extra gravy," Chen Zhuo said.

"A spoonful of broccoli, a spoonful of mashed potatoes."

The older woman glanced at Chen Zhuo and grinned.

"You're growing, so eat more meat."

She held the iron spoon steady, scooped out a large chunk of mashed potatoes and placed it on a plate. Then, she used tongs to rummage through the bottom of the grill pan, selecting two thick cuts of meat with slightly charred edges, and placed them next to the mashed potatoes.

The spoon scooped a full spoonful of sauce from the bowl and poured it over the pork chops. The sauce slid down the chops and seeped into the mashed potatoes.

"Thanks."

Chen Zhuo looked at the plate full of food and nodded.

So the cafeteria auntie's hands don't shake, Chen Zhuo couldn't help but complain in his heart.

He carried the tray to the vending machine and got a glass of water, while Pierre got a glass of hot water and tossed in a tea bag.

The two carried their things and walked to a corner by the window.

It's a bit quieter here.

Outside the window was a lawn, and several gray squirrels darted around under the thick tree roots, their tails swishing back and forth.

Chen Zhuo pulled out a chair, placed the tray on the table, and took out two tissues from the tissue box next to him. He placed one under his water glass and the other next to his hand.

Pierre sat down opposite him, took out his teacup, and pushed the tray aside.

Chen Zhuo picked up the knife and fork.

He held the steak down with his fork and cut into it with his knife.

The meat was a bit tough; you could feel noticeable resistance when cutting it.

He cut off a piece and put it in his mouth.

The meat seemed a little overcooked. Chen Zhuo chewed slowly, swallowed, and cut off another piece.

Pierre picked up a ball of macaroni with his fork, put it in his mouth and chewed it a couple of times. Without red sauce, the macaroni didn't have much flavor, just a hint of raw flour and the spiciness of black pepper.

He chewed slowly, and after swallowing, he placed the fork on the edge of the plate.

He reached into his coat pocket, felt around, and pulled out a few folded sheets of printing paper.

The edges of the paper were curled, indicating it had been in the pocket for a while.

As Chen Zhuo was cutting the second piece of meat, he caught a glimpse of the paper Pierre had taken out.

He didn't stop using his knife and fork, but he slowed down his chewing.

"The email I received last night in the middle of the night."

Pierre picked up his black tea, took a sip to moisten his throat, and then his gaze fell on the few sheets of paper.

Chen Zhuo raised his head, swallowed the mashed potatoes in his mouth, and looked at Pierre.

"It was sent by Jean Paul," Pierre said.

Chen Zhuo didn't move his hand holding the fork.

He was very familiar with the name.

The older generation of algebraic geometers in Paris dedicated their lives to studying manifolds and algebraic varieties; they were staunch traditionalists.

"Because of that article Harvard published on arXiv?"

Chen Zhuo asked casually, as if asking if the soup was salty today.

I guess so.

Pierre unfolded the paper, laid it on the table, and smoothed out the creases with his fingers.

The cafeteria gradually became more crowded.

A few undergraduates sat down at the next table and were talking loudly about going to New York to watch a game over the weekend. The sound of plates clattering and their voices mingled together.

Pierre's voice was caught up in the noise.

"Those people from Harvard acted pretty quickly."

Pierre leaned back in his chair, his hands crossed over his stomach.

"Jean Paul mentioned the article in his letter, but they weren't really that interested in the results Harvard came up with."

Chen Zhuo forked a floret of broccoli and put it in his mouth. The broccoli was overcooked and mushy.

"You've probably heard about Jean Paul's temper."

Pierre glanced at Chen Zhuo and shook his head.

"That group of people has their own set of rules in their minds. For them, algebraic geometry must be continuous, logical, and as natural as fruit growing on a tree."

Pierre looked down at the papers spread on the table and began scanning them from the middle. He wasn't wearing his reading glasses and squinted.

"A meeting was held in Paris."

As Pierre read through the email, he translated its contents into plain language.

"Jean Paul said that they barely looked at Harvard's proof process; everyone's eyes were on the underlying tool that Harvard used."

Pierre lifted his eyelids and looked at Chen Zhuo.

"I'm keeping an eye on that grid you created."

Chen Zhuo picked up his water glass and took a sip.

"Is there a logical error?"

Chen Zhuo put down his water glass and pressed it onto a tissue.

"No." Pierre shook his head.

"They're upset precisely because they can't find fault with anything."

Pierre tapped the paper with his finger.

"Jean Paul wrote a long passage here."

, 7

Pierre frowned, seemingly pondering the best way to translate it.

"The gist of it is that these old guys spent forty years developing a very sophisticated set of brushes, and they spent every day sweeping dust and studying the texture of manifolds."

Pierre sighed.

"And what did you do? You didn't even say a word, you just threw a meat cleaver in there."

Pierre pointed to the knife and fork on Chen Zhuo's plate.

"Jean Paul said that the people at Harvard took your knife and dug a hole in the wall. They thought it was too crude, cutting continuous things into pieces, with no aesthetic appeal at all. They felt uneasy looking at this discrete grid, feeling that this was not what algebraic geometry should look like."

The noise in the cafeteria continued, and the undergraduates at the next table burst into laughter because of a joke.

Chen Zhuo listened quietly.

He looked at the remaining half-piece of beef on the plate.

After the steak was cut open, the slightly undercooked pink center was revealed, mixed with the dark sauce.

He fully understood what Jean Paul meant.

Forcibly breaking a continuous manifold into discrete lattice points is indeed a very violent approach.

It's like smashing a beautiful piece of porcelain and studying its cross-section. Those who are used to appreciating the patterns on the surface of porcelain will definitely feel heartbroken.

But so what? If the porcelain contains the key to Hodge's conjecture, smashing it is the only way.

Chen Zhuo didn't think about these grand principles.

He simply picked up the knife and cut the half-piece of meat in half.

"A sharp knife makes cutting things effortless."

Chen Zhuo spoke calmly, as if he were commenting on a cheap cafeteria knife in his hand.

He speared a piece of meat with his fork, coated it with some mashed potatoes, and put it in his mouth.

"As long as the tools can solve the problem, that's fine."

Chen Zhuo chewed slowly while glancing at Pierre across from him.

There was no anger at being offended in his eyes, nor was there any eagerness to prove himself.

He swallowed his food and pulled out a tissue to wipe the corner of his mouth.

"They feel uneasy now simply because they've never seen this cutting method before."

Chen Zhuo looked out the window at the squirrel that seemed to be digging at something.

"If you're not used to it, after a few years and seeing it a few more times, you'll naturally get used to it."

Rules are always changing.

Pierre looked at Chen Zhuo, watched him calmly eat meat, and calmly uttered these words.

The old man suddenly laughed, without making a sound, but his shoulders twitched twice.

He picked up his fork and started working on the lump of pasta in the plate, which was almost completely cold.

"yes."

Pierre took a bite and mumbled something indistinctly.

"Who cares, as long as it works, those old men are just bored."

Pierre folded the few pages of paper on the table back up.

Because it had been pressed before, the creases didn't quite align when he folded it again, so he just folded it haphazardly a couple of times and stuffed it back into his coat pocket.

"The letter ended with one more thing."

Pierre said as he chewed.

"They want to invite you to Paris to give a presentation on how your knife was made."

Pierre swallowed the pasta and took a sip of tea.

I've pushed it away for you.

"6

Pierre looked at Chen Zhuo.

"I told Jean-Paul, 'Your daily routine is very regular now. You fly there for more than ten hours, then you have to deal with jet lag, you can't eat or sleep well, it's too exhausting, and I'm afraid it will affect your work.'"

"Thank you for your help, teacher."

Chen Zhuo nodded, his tone sincere.

Pushing it is good, it saves trouble.

He lowered his head and finished off the remaining broccoli and mashed potatoes on his plate.

We've almost finished lunch.

Chen Zhuo's plate was empty, and Pierre's pasta was still half full. The old man had no appetite and couldn't eat anymore.

Chen Zhuo stood up and placed the empty water glass on the plate to prevent it from rolling away.

Then he reached over and pulled the tray in front of Pierre over, stacking it on top of his own tray.

"Go straight to Van Eyr this afternoon?"

Pierre also stood up and pushed his chair back.

"Um."

Chen Zhuo carried two trays stacked together, avoiding the people carrying food in the aisle, and walked towards the food waste recycling cart in the corner.

Pierre followed beside him.

"How do we work on that normal function this afternoon?" Pierre asked.

The conversation naturally shifted back to the Parisian invitation, as if it had never existed.

"Try a different direction."

Chen Zhuo placed the tray on the recycling truck.

"I missed some conditions before, I'll try to get them back this afternoon."

The two turned and walked towards the restaurant's entrance.

The two stood on the steps outside.

The sunlight shone directly on the steps, making them a little dazzling.

"I'm going home to lie down for a while."

Pierre tugged at the collar of his coat. It wasn't actually cold, but he was getting old and always felt the wind was biting.

"If you don't close your eyes for a while at noon, you won't be able to keep your eyes on the blackboard in the afternoon."

"it is good."

Chen Zhuo responded.

Pierre turned around and took a few steps before the old man stopped and turned to look at Chen Zhuo on the steps.

"Xiao Zhuo."

Pierre called out, but not loudly.

Chen Zhuo didn't move, standing on the steps watching him.

"Jean Paul added one more thing at the end of the email."

Pierre squinted, the sunlight reflecting off his reading glasses and creating a white glare.

He said that if you create this grid, you're really aiming at the higher-dimensional barrier that Hodge conjectures.

'

Pierre paused for a moment, his tone somewhat wistful.

He said that the old rules of algebraic geometry might really be about to change.

Chen Zhuo stood in the sunlight, listening quietly.

He felt neither excited nor proud.

He just felt that the bottleneck in his mind regarding normal functions seemed to be loosening a bit.

"Um."

Chen Zhuo replied.

Pierre waved his hand, turned around, and walked away.

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