My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 430 has been posted.

In the following days, Van Enlou was unusually quiet.

The blackboard in the conference room was not erased immediately.

The chalk writing remained there, as if it hadn't completely cooled down. Occasionally, someone would pass by the door, glance inside, see the interlaced symbols on the blackboard, and quickly look away.

No one goes in casually anymore.

No one stood in the corridor anymore to ask for more details.

Chen Zhuo's stack of handwritten manuscripts returned to his office.

The entire day spent in the main conference room was enough for Van Enlou to understand that this was not an ordinary discussion, nor was it a supplement to the Madrid report.

The rest is not something we should continue to watch around the long table.

It needs to be turned into a formal version.

For the past few days, Wu Li has been going back and forth between Chen Zhuo's office and the small room next door.

The handwritten manuscript was organized page by page into the typesetting file, the notes on the draft paper were placed in their proper places, the few temporary symbols were standardized, and the references were also relisted.

Chen Zhuo sat at the table, mostly in silence.

Woolley stopped typing a certain symbol and glanced back at him.

Chen Zhuo then flipped to the corresponding position in the original manuscript, confirmed it, and said, "Use the one at the back."

Alternatively: "Put this paragraph in the footnotes."

That's very little.

The proof is already there.

What we're doing now isn't adding anything inside, but rather enabling others to walk into it.

Pierre has been arriving early these past few days as well.

He no longer sat opposite Chen Zhuo reading the manuscript as he had on the first night.

More often than not, he simply sat in the chair by the window, holding his own black tea, watching Wu Li type and Chen Zhuo flip through the manuscript.

If someone comes looking for Chen Zhuo from outside, he will go out first.

When asked about the academic details, Pierre only said to wait for the official draft.

When asked to conduct an interview, he wouldn't even let the interviewer knock on the door.

When asked about the arrangements made in the Madrid report, he sent someone to find Cyril.

Chen Zhuo ignored all of that.

He only finished organizing the manuscript in front of him.

On the morning of the third day, Arthur slowed his pace a little as he passed by the office door.

The door was open.

He saw Chen Zhuo looking down at the introduction.

Woolley sat in front of the computer, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, waiting to confirm the last sentence.

Arthur did not go in.

He stood at the door for a while.

This time, there were no sharp, cutting words on paper.

There is no structural redundancy.

There are no sentences like those that nearly nailed an entire generation of continuous manifold scholars to the wall back then.

Chen Zhuo simply laid out the problem, presented the existing path, and then presented his own method.

It was so calm, as if it were explaining where a road begins and where it leads.

Arthur read those lines but said nothing.

He walked away with his coffee cup.

The lounge was quite crowded during the morning tea break.

At this time of day, people usually talk about things unrelated to mathematics.

The bagel shop has a new menu.

The printer is broken again.

Which student wiped the public blackboard too clean?

There have been far fewer cases these past few days.

Some people were reading journals, some were drinking coffee, and some were flipping through lecture notes, turning a few pages and then stopping to glance down the corridor.

Chen Zhuo's office is at the end of the corridor.

The door is sometimes open and sometimes closed.

No one went to urge them.

But everyone knew that the entire Van Een Building was waiting for the official draft.

Cyril came once on the evening of the fourth day.

He didn't go inside, but only asked Woolley from the doorway, "How much more is needed?"

Wu Li glanced at Chen Zhuo.

Chen Zhuo said, "I can come out tonight."

Cyril nodded.

"it is good."

He said only this one word, then turned and left.

That night, the lights in Chen Zhuo's office stayed on very late again.

By the time Woolley finished typing the last section, it was completely dark outside.

The formatted document on the computer screen is stuck on the last page.

Chen Zhuo started reading from the first page.

Turn the pages one by one.

Woolley sat beside him, rubbed his eyes, and didn't urge him.

Pierre leaned back in his chair; the black tea in his hand had gone cold.

He didn't say anything.

When he reached the last page, Chen Zhuo paused for a few seconds.

Then he saved the file.

Woolley printed out the first official draft.

The printer kept running in the next small room for a long time.

The sheets of paper were ejected one by one.

Wu Li took them back, arranged them in order, and placed them in front of Chen Zhuo.

This time, there were no handwritten question pages.

There is no ink mark.

It features only neat layout, clear page numbers, and a clean author's column.

Chen Zhuo read it once and then closed it.

"It will be sent tomorrow."

Pierre looked up at him.

"Um."

Woolley let out a long breath and leaned back in his chair.

"Then I'll come earlier tomorrow."

Chen Zhuo said, "No need to do it too early."

Woolley looked at the official document on the table.

"It has to be done sooner rather than later."

The next day, Woolley arrived early as usual.

When he arrived at Van En Building, the coffee machine in the lounge had just started beeping.

He didn't go inside; he went directly to Chen Zhuo's office.

Chen Zhuo is already here.

Pierre was there too.

A cup of black tea sat by the window, still warm.

The official document was on the right side of the table, and the computer was already turned on.

Woolley pulled out a chair, sat down, and checked the documents.

topic.

author.

summary.

text.

appendix.

参考文献。

There were no extra versions, no temporary markings, and no handwritten patches.

He gave the mouse to Chen Zhuo.

"That's fine."

Chen Zhuo sat down in front of the computer.

The screen displays the preprint submission page.

He didn't click it immediately.

He first looked through the page from top to bottom.

His name is the only author listed.

The filename is also very simple.

There is no further explanation.

There was no pre-written press release.

There is no text explaining the weight.

It's just a research paper.

After Chen Zhuo finished reading, he gripped the mouse with his right hand.

Woolley stood to the side, tapping the rim of his cup lightly with his finger.

Pierre stood by the window, holding a cup of black tea.

No one spoke inside the room.

The next second, Chen Zhuo clicked submit.

Page redirection.

The progress bar paused briefly.

Then it displays "Submission complete".

Woolley stared at the screen for a few seconds, as if he hadn't fully reacted yet.

He quickly reopened the public page and refreshed it.

no change.

Refresh again.

still none.

On the third refresh, a new record appeared at the top of the page.

Woolley's hand stopped.

He did not speak immediately.

Pierre walked over and took a look.

Chen Zhuo sat in the chair, also looking at the screen.

The line of text appeared quietly on the page.

No sound.

There are no lights.

There are no additional markings.

From this moment on, any mathematician in the world can see it by opening that page.

After several seconds, Woolley whispered, "It's up."

Pierre did not speak.

He stood next to the computer, holding a cup of black tea, looking at the new record on the screen.

Chen Zhuo leaned back in his chair.

His face didn't show much expression.

It was like finally dropping a very long letter into the mailbox.

Once it was dropped, the letter was no longer in his possession.

Woolley refreshed the page again.

That record is still there.

He then picked up his cup and found that there was no coffee inside.

"I'm going to the lounge."

He said.

No one stopped him.

When Woolley walked out of the office, there were already people in the hallway.

When the other person saw him, they were about to ask something, but then stopped themselves from speaking.

Woolley didn't stop.

He walked to the door of the lounge and pushed it open to go inside.

Arthur sat by the window.

David stood next to the coffee machine.

Cyril was also there, holding a journal, but he didn't open it.

As soon as Woolley entered, everyone looked at him.

He stood at the doorway and paused for a moment.

Then he said, "It's up now."

There was a moment of silence in the lounge.

David's spoon touched the side of the cup with a soft sound.

Arthur raised his head.

"A preprint?"

Woolley nodded.

"Um."

Cyril placed the journal he was holding on the table.

He didn't ask any questions, nor did he ask the author.

There's no need to ask these questions anymore.

He stood up and walked towards the door.

"I'll go check it out."

Arthur also put down his cup.

David followed behind.

The other people in the lounge did not move immediately.

They watched Cyril and his companions walk out, then looked at each other.

Soon, some people also stood up.

The corridors of Van En Building were filled with sound again.

It's not a commotion.

The doors just kept opening one after another.

Someone came out of the office.

Someone walked halfway with a cup, then turned back to get their glasses.

Someone asked in a low voice, "Has it already been made public?"

The person next to him nodded.

"just."

No one said anything more.

No further explanation is needed.

In Chen Zhuo's office, the computer screen was still lit.

Cyril stood by the table, looking at the record on the public page.

Arthur stood behind him.

David, standing nearby, had already taken out his notebook and written down the numbers.

Pierre stepped back to the window, making room for him.

Chen Zhuo did not move.

There were more people in the room than before, but no one pushed in front of him.

They weren't looking at Chen Zhuo.

It's the screen.

The certificate was finally moved from Van Enlou's desk to a place where everyone could open it.

After reading it, Cyril returned to his office.

He closed the door and sat down at the table.

There were several unopened letters, a stack of typesetting proofs, and a fountain pen that had been left uncapped on the table.

He opened his email and wrote a very short message.

There aren't many recipients.

Cambridge.

Paris.

Bonn.

Chicago.

There are also a few people he knows will definitely read it immediately.

The main text consists of only one sentence.

The Hodge conjecture preprint has been made public.

send.

After sending the email, Cyril did not stand up immediately.

He sat in the chair, looking at the screen.

A few minutes later, the first reply appeared.

Cyril's eyes flickered slightly when he saw the sender's name.

Cambridge.

He opened the email.

There was only one sentence inside.

Is it true?

Cyril stared at the two words for a moment, then turned to look out the window.

More and more footsteps echoed in the corridor of Fan Enlou.

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