My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 431 Daily List

At a fixed time each day, arXiv compiles new submissions from each category.

Some people subscribe to email lists and receive a long announcement in their inbox; others are too lazy to check emails, so they simply open the new submissions list on the webpage and scan it from top to bottom.

Most of the time, mathematicians don't read the email word for word.

They look at the title first, then the author.

A familiar name will make you pause your mouse.

Unfamiliar and exaggerated headlines are often simply swiped over.

The mathematics community is already used to this.

More often than not, this email will lie quietly in the inbox along with conference notices, student papers, travel expense reports, and journal requests for manuscripts.

It was sent out as usual that day.

It wasn't completely dark in Cambridge yet.

In a small office, a young postdoctoral researcher was munching on a cold sandwich while flipping through the day's preprint list.

His tutor had a short class in ten minutes, and he originally just wanted to take advantage of that break to scan the new material that came out today.

The previous articles were all quite ordinary.

A deformation problem.

A construction on a modulo space.

A short article about singularity decomposition.

He's quick to read.

Scroll the mouse down.

Suddenly, his hand stopped.

The title lay in the middle of the list, without any special markings, just like the ordinary papers above and below, taking up only a small space.

The young postdoctoral researcher first frowned.

He thought he was seeing things.

It rolled back half an inch.

After looking closely, he placed the sandwich in his hand on a tissue.

My colleague, who was grading students' papers, casually asked, "What's wrong?"

The young postdoctoral researcher did not answer immediately.

He stared at the screen and looked at the author's section again.

His colleague looked up at him and glanced at his computer.

"Is someone writing about Hodge again?"

This kind of thing is not unusual.

Every now and then, someone will submit something that looks very big to the preprint system.

Some titles are very intimidating, but the actual text can't even fill two pages.

The young postdoctoral researcher was still looking at the screen.

"This is not a review."

"What is that?"

His voice was a little dry.

"prove."

My colleague smiled.

"Whose proof?"

The young postdoctoral researcher turned the screen around.

My colleague had only glanced at it casually.

After reading it, the smile on his face disappeared.

The office fell silent.

After a few seconds, he put down the pen in his hand.

"Chen Zhuo?"

The young postdoctoral researcher nodded.

"The one at Princeton."

My colleague stood up.

The chair slid back a little and bumped into the bookshelf with a dull thud.

Neither of them paid any attention to the chair.

The young postdoctoral researcher picked up his computer and walked straight out.

At the other end of the corridor, Professor Gray's office door was ajar.

There are people talking inside.

Professor Gray held his lecture notes in one hand and looked for his glasses on the desk with the other.

He was going downstairs to class in ten minutes.

The young postdoctoral researcher stood at the door and knocked.

"professor."

Gray looked up.

"What is it?"

The young postdoctoral researcher offered no explanation, simply turning the computer around.

"Today's preprint."

Gray had originally intended to wait and see.

But when his gaze fell on the question on the screen, he didn't say anything.

He put down the lecture notes he was holding.

Another person in the office also came over to take a look.

No one spoke first.

Gray put on his glasses, bent down close to the screen, and looked at it for a few seconds.

Then he asked, "Has the author confirmed it?"

"Confirmed."

"Not just a coincidence of names?"

"no."

Gray reached out and took the computer, scrolling the page down a little.

Author information, affiliated institution, and submission time.

They're all there.

After reading it, Gray returned the computer to the young postdoctoral researcher.

Go tell the people downstairs.

The young postdoctoral researcher was taken aback for a moment.

Your class...

'

"Cancel."

Gray walked to the table and picked up the phone.

"Have them open the discussion room."

The same list also appeared in a lecture hall in Paris.

A small discussion group was originally taking place there.

Today's topic is written on the blackboard.

The presenter was already standing at the front, chalk between his fingers, and had just finished explaining the second definition.

A student in the back row looked down at the computer.

He initially just wanted to look up a reference.

When the list popped up, he clicked on it casually.

The next second, he sat up straight.

The person next to him nudged him gently.

"What's wrong?"

The student did not answer, but simply pushed the computer aside.

The person next to him glanced at it, froze for a moment, and then looked up at the podium.

The reporter was still writing the third line.

The noise from the back row was very quiet, but it still reached the front.

The old professor who was leading the discussion turned around.

"Is there a problem?"

The student stood up, somewhat hesitant.

"Sir, today's preprint list includes..."

The old professor frowned.

"Let's talk after class."

The students did not sit down.

He picked up the computer, walked to the front, and placed it on the lectern.

The old professor was initially somewhat displeased.

But after he looked down, his expression slowly changed.

The chalk in the reporter's hand stopped on the blackboard.

The old professor looked at the screen and then at the question.

Next, let's look at the author.

No one spoke in the lecture hall.

After a while, the old professor reached out and picked up the blackboard eraser.

He erased the discussion topic he had just written.

The reporter was stunned.

"professor?"

The old professor put the blackboard eraser back.

"Let's not talk about that today."

He said.

"Turn on the projector."

In Bonn, the afternoon tea is still warm.

The two professors were discussing a student paper in the hallway.

One of the people's phones vibrated.

He took it out to look at it.

It's a forwarded message.

There were no further explanations, only a preprint link and a single sentence:

Did you see it?

He clicked on it.

After reading the first page, he did not continue scrolling down.

He looked up at his colleague across from him.

"We'll talk about the student's paper this afternoon."

The other party seemed somewhat bewildered.

"What happened?"

He handed the phone over.

The other person took it, looked at it for only a few seconds, and then frowned.

It's not a doubt.

It is the natural expression that appears on a person's face when their attention is completely captured by something in an instant.

"Was it posted by Chen Zhuo?"

"Um."

"When?"

"just."

The two stopped talking in the hallway.

They turned around together and walked towards the office.

A few minutes later, the printer started beeping.

It's early morning in Chicago.

A professor was woken up by a phone call before dawn.

He touched the glasses on the bedside table, his voice clearly sleepy.

"What is it?"

There was no small talk on the other end of the phone.

"Open your email."

"Now?"

"Now."

The professor sat up with a frown.

"Whose email was it?"

"It's not an email, it's today's list of preprints."

He rubbed his eyes.

"You'd better have a reason to get me out of bed right now."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Chen Zhuo published a proof of the Hodge conjecture."

The room was silent for two seconds.

The professor pulled back the blanket.

"wait for me."

In less than twenty minutes, people from several different cities began doing the same thing in different offices.

Open the page.

Author confirmed.

Download the paper.

Forward this to the people who should see it most.

There was no unified notification.

No one organized it.

No one stepped forward to announce what was different about this day.

But the change has already happened.

The class that was supposed to be attended was canceled.

The topic of the seminar that was originally scheduled to be held has been changed.

The review comments that were supposed to be sent out are stuck in the drafts folder.

The person who was going to have lunch hung their coat back on the back of their chair.

Someone was about to say, "This kind of headline appears every year," but stopped midway when they saw the author.

Because if the author's name is an unfamiliar name, they can laugh it off, shake their heads, or leave it for the weekend.

But that was Chen Zhuo.

The man who, at the age of fourteen, submitted the entire Hodge conjecture to the front page of the Yearbook of Mathematics.

The man who once locked a group of old professors in a windowless seminar room in Princeton's Vane Building for a month to do calculations.

Now, he has put the Hodge conjecture itself on a public page.

This matter cannot be postponed until tomorrow.

The message spread faster than any official email.

Someone sent the link to the group email.

Someone took a screenshot and sent it to a long-time collaborator.

Someone called a friend who was waiting at the airport.

Someone interrupted the initial online discussion and directly posted the preprint number.

At first, everyone asked, "Did you see it?"

Soon, the sentence changed to: "The author is Chen Zhuo."

After that, there was no need to say that anymore.

Because everyone who receives the message will look at the author's name first when they open the page.

Those two words are enough to explain why the email was forwarded, why the phone rang in the early morning, and why the blackboard in the lecture hall was erased.

The discussion room in Cambridge was the first to fill up.

Professor Gray did not begin with an introduction.

He simply projected the paper onto the screen and let everyone read it quietly for a few minutes.

Someone was standing in the back row.

Someone is sitting by the window.

The young postdoctoral researcher was still holding the half-eaten sandwich in his hand, having completely forgotten about it.

Gray stood next to the screen, holding a pen in his hand.

"Don't rush to comment."

He said.

"Don't rush to write a letter."

No one objected.

Everyone knows what he means.

This is not something that can be dismissed with a simple "interesting" or "absurd".

It needs to be read.

We need to follow up.

We need to temporarily set aside the old routes we had in mind regarding Hodge's conjectures and see how Chen Zhuo actually completed that path.

However, even before reading further, many people already had the same feeling.

Things have changed.

It's not because the title is big.

It's because Chen Zhuo's name is listed under this title.

In the lecture hall in Paris, the original discussion class was completely turned into a temporary reading session.

The old professor did not announce hope Yao.

He only allowed students to project the page onto the big screen.

The people sitting in the front row looked up at the screen.

Someone in the back row whispered, "Are we going to go over the same old questions today?"

The person next to him glanced at him.

What do you think?

The man fell silent.

The printer in Bonn kept running for a long time.

Someone walked down the corridor carrying the first page that had just been printed.

The door to another office opened.

"What is it?"

The person holding the paper stopped.

"Chen Zhuo".

The person inside the door was taken aback at first, then stood up from the chair.

"Give me one."

Ten minutes later, a line formed outside the printing room.

Nobody thought it was exaggerated.

They all just wanted a paper copy.

The paper in my hand is different from the link on the screen.

That stack of papers has weight.

On this day, many people wanted to confirm the weight themselves.

In Princeton, the morning at Van House wasn't over yet.

There weren't many people sitting and chatting in the lounge anymore.

Someone went back to the office to look at the preprint.

Someone went to see a colleague.

Someone was standing in the corridor, whispering about the forwarded message they had just received.

Cyril's inbox started popping up with new emails.

He didn't open it all.

Just by scanning the title, you can tell that it's already been seen outside.

At first, some people asked, "Is it true?"

Soon, the problem changed.

Will Chen Zhuo talk about this in Madrid?

Will the report title be changed?

Will Princeton arrange a public preview lecture?

"Is there enough space in Madrid?"

Cyril looked at the emails, his finger hovering over the mouse.

He did not reply immediately.

There was a knock on the office door.

David pushed open the door and came in, holding a stack of newly printed email summaries.

"The news has spread outside."

Cyril nodded.

"I know."

David placed the email summary on the table.

"I received replies from Cambridge, Paris, Bonn, and Chicago. There were also a few inquiries about Madrid."

Cyril picked up the top one.

I read a few lines.

lay down.

"They should find out in Madrid soon too."

He said.

Things happened faster than he expected.

In the afternoon European time, the staff in the Madrid organizing committee's office first received only a forwarded email.

He didn't pay much attention at first.

With the conference approaching, various report summaries, schedule confirmations, and venue arrangements are changing daily.

He opened the email, glanced at it, and prepared to file it.

The next second, he stopped.

Then I scrolled the email back up.

A few minutes later, he took the printed pages and went into the next office.

The person in charge of arranging the conference reports is looking at the meeting schedule.

He looked up when he heard footsteps.

"What is it?"

The staff member handed over the paper.

"Princeton just released a preprint."

"Whose?"

"Chen Zhuo".

Upon hearing the name, the other person paused for a moment.

He took the paper.

He didn't say anything after reading the title.

A thick stack of meeting room schedules was spread out on the table.

Each lecture corresponds to a hall.

Each hall has a number of seats.

There are conflicting schedules for each time slot.

These were already mostly arranged.

But now, looking at the paper in his hand, he suddenly felt that one line needed to be reread.

He turned to Chen Zhuo's one-hour report.

The original question was still too broad in its wording.

The venue was arranged as usual for the conference report.

The staff member stood in front of the table, waiting for him to speak.

After a while, the person in charge looked up.

He didn't ask whether the preprint was genuine or not.

They didn't even ask Princeton if they had exaggerated anything.

He only asked one question: "How many seats were there in the original hall for Chen Zhuo's lecture?"

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