My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 429 Last Night's Meeting

The next morning at 10:30, the coffee machine in the Van En Lou lounge was running as usual.

Three people were sitting at the round table by the window.

One person was flipping through the latest issue of a magazine, while another held a pencil and wrote half a line of formula on the back of a napkin, then crossed it out. Near the coffee machine, Arthur held a cup, waiting for the coffee to fill up.

The lounge was originally very relaxed.

Some people were talking about yesterday afternoon's discussion class, some were complaining that the printer jammed again this morning, and others said that one person was missing from last night's 7 pm meeting.

"Pierre didn't come."

The speaker was a tall, thin professor, holding half a cookie in his hand.

"I thought he was just late."

The other person chuckled.

"Pierre is late? How many times have you seen him late?"

That's why I said it was strange.

The tall, thin professor put the biscuit back on the plate.

"Later, Woolley called to say he couldn't come."

After he finished speaking, everyone around the round table looked up.

Pierre disliked meaningless meetings, but he also rarely stood people up at the last minute, especially having Woolley call to cancel, which was even rarer.

Someone casually joked:

"Did he finally decide that event would be so boring that it wasn't worth personally turning it down?"

Someone chuckled twice in the lounge.

The laughter was soft and quickly dissipated.

Arthur stood by the coffee machine, not responding.

He only reached out and moved the cup away and put the lid on when the coffee had spilled close to the rim.

David came in through the door just as he overheard this.

He was carrying several sheets of printing paper. After entering the room, he first placed the papers on a small table against the wall before asking questions.

"Are you talking about Pierre?"

The tall, thin professor nodded.

"He didn't come at seven o'clock last night."

David raised an eyebrow.

"He didn't come?"

"Woolley called to cancel."

David glanced at Arthur.

"You left very late last night? Did you see him?"

Arthur held his cup and paused for a moment.

I didn't see Pierre.

He said.

"I saw Woolley."

Someone at the round table asked with a smile.

"Woodley got dragged off to work on the manuscript by Pierre again?"

Arthur shook his head.

"It was past 11 o'clock, and he was still pouring coffee."

The lounge became a little quieter.

It's past eleven o'clock.

Pour the coffee.

When these two things are put together, it's not as simple as just canceling a meeting.

David asked:

"For Pierre?"

"It should be."

Arthur took his cup and sat down at the round table.

"He came back from Chen Zhuo's office."

The laughter stopped completely.

Someone pressed the journal in their hand down a little.

"Chen Zhuo?"

"Um."

"The Madrid Report?"

Arthur did not answer immediately.

He didn't ask many questions last night.

Woolley only said a few words.

Hodge direction.

So Arthur only said:

"Hoch direction."

This statement, when it was heard in the lounge, didn't immediately cause a big commotion.

Chen Zhuo was already preparing for the Madrid Report.

The direction mentioned in the letter from Madrid was originally related to Hodge.

It's not unimaginable that he's made new progress on Hodge's manuscript these days.

David picked up his cup and walked to the coffee machine.

"Pierre canceled the 7 o'clock meeting because of his manuscript on Hodge's topic, which is typical of him."

The tall, thin professor asked:

"Is there significant progress?"

Arthur glanced at him.

"I have no idea."

He genuinely didn't know.

Last night, Woolley stood at the door of the lounge with an empty coffee pot, saying that Pierre was still with Chen Zhuo and looking in the direction of Hodge.

Woolley didn't say anything more.

Arthur didn't press the matter further.

At that time, he thought it would at most be a new draft before the Madrid report, or a key supplement.

There was some noise again in the lounge.

Some people say that Chen Zhuo has been staying at Fan Enlou until very late lately.

Some say that Pierre has been frequently delaying dinner lately.

Some people say that the one-hour report in Madrid was probably not just about the relevant developments.

The conversation gradually shifted from Pierre's absence the previous night to Chen Zhuo's Madrid report.

Just then, the door was pushed open.

Woolley walked in.

He had a faint bluish tinge under his eyes, held an empty coffee pot in his hand, and rolled-up shirt sleeves, as if he hadn't sat down to rest properly all night.

Several pairs of eyes in the lounge fell on him at the same time.

Woolley was surprised that so many people in the room were watching him, and he paused for a moment.

He raised the pot in his hand.

"The coffee is gone."

No one responded to that sentence.

Arthur spoke first:

"Is Pierre still with Chen Zhuo?"

Woolley looked at him.

"exist."

David placed the freshly poured coffee on the table.

"You watched all night?"

Woolley did not answer immediately.

He walked to the coffee machine, put the empty pot on it, and pressed the button again.

The machine began to hum softly.

He then said:

"almost."

The lounge became quieter again.

Cyril entered at that moment.

He had a magazine between his fingers and his glasses case in the other. After entering the room, he was about to walk to his usual seat, but after taking a few steps, he noticed that the atmosphere in the lounge was a bit off.

He stopped.

"What's wrong?"

No one spoke immediately.

Cyril's gaze swept over Arthur and David, finally settling on Woolley.

Woolley stood in front of the coffee machine.

Hot coffee dripped slowly from the pot.

Cyril looked at him.

Pierre didn't go to the meeting last night.

He said.

This is not a question.

Woolley nodded.

"Um."

"Did you go to Chen Zhuo's office?"

"Um."

"Are you here now?"

Cyril's gaze darkened slightly.

"Where is Chen Zhuo?"

"Also there."

Cyril did not go any further.

The people in the lounge were all looking at Woolley.

David asked:

"What exactly is it?"

Woolley's finger paused briefly beside the coffee machine.

He is neither Chen Zhuo nor Pierre.

It didn't seem quite right for him to say those words.

But the question paper was right there on the table.

He saw it with his own eyes.

Pierre saw it too.

Chen Zhuo did not cover it up.

So Woolley finally spoke up.

"I only see the title page."

Arthur looked up.

"How should I write the title?"

The coffee machine was still running.

Steam slowly rose from the spout of the kettle.

Woolley looked at the table without looking up.

"Proof of the Hodge Conjecture"

The lounge fell silent.

It wasn't the kind of silence that had briefly paused because of hearing Hodge's direction.

This time, even the sound of coffee flowing into the pot was clearly audible.

Arthur had already brought the cup to his lips.

He didn't drink it.

The cup stopped at the rim, and the steam rose up his face.

David stood by the coffee machine, the spoon he had just picked up failing to fall into the cup.

Cyril looked at Woolley.

After a few seconds, he asked:

"Is it written on the title page?"

Woolley nodded.

"Yes."

"Did Chen Zhuo write it himself?"

"Yes."

Cyril did not ask any further questions.

He closed the journal in his hand and placed it on the table next to him.

Arthur finally put the cup down.

The bottom of the cup touched the table, making a very soft sound.

"I asked about Hodge's direction last night."

He said.

Woolley whispered:

"I didn't dare say much last night."

Arthur did not blame him.

Anyone who hears these words knows that you can't just casually say them standing at the door of the lounge.

Cyril put on his glasses.

"Let's go."

He said.

Nobody asked where we were going.

Arthur stood up.

David put the cup down.

Woolley picked up the coffee pot that had just been filled.

Cyril walked in front.

Arthur and David followed behind.

Woolley walked at the back, carrying the coffee pot.

Several people walked through the door of the lounge and into the corridor of the Van En Building.

The morning light streamed in through the windows, casting a long, faint, bright line on the hallway floor.

The doors to several offices were half-open.

Someone heard footsteps and looked up from inside the door.

The man paused for a moment when he saw Cyril, Arthur, and David walking in the same direction.

I didn't ask.

My gaze simply followed them to the end of the corridor.

The door to Chen Zhuo's office was not closed properly.

There's a light on inside.

The blackboard was covered with chalk writing.

Several stacks of manuscript paper were laid out separately on the table.

Pierre sat at the table, his coat draped over the back of his chair, with a cup of coffee that had gone cold in front of him.

Chen Zhuo sat opposite him, with a cup of coffee beside him, though the coffee in the cup was only slightly less.

Neither of them spoke.

Pierre was looking down at a page of manuscript paper.

He looked up when he heard a noise at the door.

He wasn't surprised to see Cyril and the others.

There was no explanation.

Cyril stood at the doorway and glanced at the blackboard first.

Then I saw the light yellow question page on the table.

It says in the title bar.

Proof of the Hodge conjecture.

Cyril's gaze lingered there.

Arthur looked over from behind him and saw it too.

What happened last night regarding Hodge's direction has now truly become something else entirely.

It's not about direction.

Not progress.

It is not the vague statement in the report title.

This is proof.

Cyril walked into the office.

"Can we watch?"

Chen Zhuo looked up.

"Can."

He pushed the stacks of manuscript paper on the table forward a little.

Pierre did not stop him.

He simply put the page he was holding back in its original position, pressing his fingers against the edge of the page, as if afraid of messing up the order.

Arthur picked up the top few pages first.

He did not sit.

I stood by the table and looked.

David pulled out an empty chair from the side, sat down, and took a stack of manuscript papers in front of him.

Cyril did not take the manuscript immediately.

He stood in front of the blackboard, looking at the chalk writing that had just been put there.

There was no complete proof on the blackboard.

There are only a few skeleton segments.

Page numbers, arrows, and several key symbols.

Cyril stared at it for a long time before turning around and picking up the small stack in the middle from the table.

The office fell silent immediately.

Woolley placed the coffee pot on the small cabinet and didn't pour any for anyone.

No one reached out.

Someone walked by outside the door.

Their pace slowed down.

The man paused for a moment when he saw the people in the office.

Cyrillic.

Arthur.

David.

Pierre.

Chen Zhuo.

Wu Li.

This office is not usually small.

But now it feels very crowded.

The person outside did not come in.

He stood there for only a few seconds, then took a step back.

After a while, another person came from the other end of the corridor.

He was originally going to the break room, but he stopped here.

Two more people slowly appeared at the door.

They didn't speak.

No one went in.

He just looked inside the house.

After Arthur finished flipping through the pages in his hand, he finally pulled up a chair and sat down.

David put his cup on the floor, making room for the corner of the table.

Cyril glanced around the room.

I looked at the doorway again.

"This isn't enough."

He said.

This is a very ordinary statement.

Woolley immediately understood.

"I'll go check out the meeting room next door."

People at the office door automatically moved aside.

A few minutes later, Woolley returned.

"The meeting room is empty."

Cyril nodded.

Chen Zhuo stood up and put the light yellow title page back on top of the entire manuscript.

Below the title page was a thick stack of manuscript paper.

Pierre reached out and helped him align the small stack on the right.

Arthur put the pages he was holding back in their place.

David picked up a few sheets of draft paper from the table, thought for a moment, then put them down and only took his own cup.

Chen Zhuo picked up the stack of manuscript papers.

The paper was thick, and it felt a little heavy when I held it in my arms.

He walked out of the office.

People at the doorway made way for each other.

A few more people had appeared in the corridor at some point.

No one spoke.

Their gazes fell on the stack of manuscript papers in Chen Zhuo's arms.

The topmost light yellow title page is visible.

The text in the title bar is very clear.

Proof of the Hodge conjecture.

Chen Zhuo carried the manuscript paper and walked towards the conference room.

Pierre walked beside him.

Cyril, Arthur, and David followed behind.

Woolley, carrying a coffee pot and several cups, walked at the back.

Several doors in the corridor opened gently again.