My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 432 No reply yet

The Madrid organizing committee has been looking at the venue schedule and hotel list the most these past few months.

It's Perelman's file.

The files are not thick.

Copies of several official invitations, records of several emails forwarded through different channels, and several handwritten notes.

The handwriting on the notes has changed several times.

The first line reads: No reply.

The second line still reads: No reply.

Later on, some people were too lazy to even write the words, and simply drew a short horizontal line after the date.

Lopez looked at the short horizontal line, rubbed his temples, and simply drew a single horizontal line instead.

Inside the office, the electric fan was turning slowly.

The sunlight outside the window was bright, and cars were driving by on the street. The sound came in through the glass and became somewhat muffled.

They've looked through this file far too many times.

Still nothing?

The staff member on the other end shook his head.

"no."

"What about St. Petersburg?"

"no."

"Did your friend tell them?"

"No, not at all."

Lopez leaned back in his chair and raised his hand to press his temples.

Another person in the room chuckled.

"If you can find a phone number that you can call directly, I'll give you my seat right now."

No one responded to that.

It's not that it's not funny.

They've made too many jokes about this over the past few months.

Perelman's results are there.

The significance of the Poincaré conjecture also lies there.

The mathematics community has been discussing, verifying, and waiting for this for several years.

By the time the Madrid International Congress of Mathematicians arrived, everyone knew what that name meant.

The problem is, no one shows up.

No reply to the letter.

The invitation went unanswered.

Attendance is uncertain.

Whether or not the award will be claimed is uncertain.

Even the phrase "I'm not coming" didn't reach the organizing committee.

This is more troublesome than refusing.

At least you can write your refusal in a form.

If there's no reply, the message will remain blank.

Lopez flipped through the draft agenda on the table.

He folded a corner of the page showing the opening ceremony.

"This year has been lively enough."

He said.

The middle-aged mathematician sitting by the window looked up at him.

"To be precise, Poincaré's side has been making the world excited for several years, and we just caught the last part."

"This last part is quite troublesome too."

"At least everyone knows what that is."

The middle-aged mathematician picked up his coffee and took a sip.

"At least Perelman's paper didn't just appear this morning."

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

A young staff member pushed open the door and came in, holding a sheet of paper that had just been printed.

He didn't speak immediately.

Lopez looked up at him.

"Don't tell me that someone hasn't replied yet."

"no."

The young staff member walked up to the table and handed over the paper.

"There's a new preprint available at Princeton."

Lopez did not answer.

In the past few days, there have been enough links to the preprints forwarded to the organizing committee.

As the conference approaches, mathematicians always like to pass on new ideas to the organizing committee, as if by doing so, the committee can decide for them which presentation should be moved to a different venue, which abstract should be revised, and which speaker should be notified in advance.

The International Congress of Mathematicians is not a journal editorial office.

But as the meeting approaches, some people always forget this.

Lopez sighed.

"Don't tell me that someone else has proven something again."

The young staff member paused for a moment.

"That is indeed proof."

Lopez raised his eyes.

The laughter in the office hadn't even had a chance to start before it was silenced by those words.

The middle-aged mathematician by the window put down his coffee cup.

Lopez finally reached out and took the paper.

"Whose?"

he asks.

The staff member paused for a moment.

"Chen Zhuo".

The room became a little quieter.

The middle-aged mathematician by the window put down his coffee cup.

Lopez then reached out and picked up the paper.

He looked at the author first.

After confirming, shift your gaze upwards.

With just one glance, his previously weary expression vanished.

A few seconds later, he handed the paper to the middle-aged mathematician by the window.

The middle-aged mathematician took it.

After reading it, he didn't say anything.

Two other people in the office also gathered around.

No one mentioned Perelman's phone call again.

The fan is still spinning.

The paper fluttered slightly in the breeze.

Looking at the stack of draft agendas on the table, Lopez suddenly felt that this year's form was much heavier than in previous years.

"Hodge?"

Someone asked in a low voice.

"It's not related to Hodge."

The middle-aged mathematician put the paper back on the table.

"It's Hodge himself."

After those words were spoken, the office fell silent for a moment.

After a while, the person who had been joking earlier whispered, "Is this year's millennium problem about meeting up in Madrid?"

No one laughed out loud.

But that sentence truly captured the absurdity of the room.

One Poincaré alone is enough to make this conference a part of the history of mathematics.

Now, Princeton has sent Hodge.

Moreover, unlike Perelman, the world has at least had a few years to catch up.

This matter concerning Chen Zhuo was only made public today.

What's more troublesome is that Chen Zhuo isn't someone whose itinerary is impossible to confirm while he's far away.

He was on the list of speakers for the one-hour conference in Madrid.

Lopez immediately pulled out Chen Zhuo's file.

This file is much cleaner than Perelman's.

Name.

Affiliation/Organization

Report categories.

Directional instructions.

The final question section is still empty.

The abstract was not finalized.

This is perfectly normal.

With some time still to go before the conference, many speakers are still finalizing their titles and abstracts.

But now, that blank space suddenly seems very out of place.

Lopez pushed the file to the center of the table.

"Never mind the venue for now."

He said.

"First, confirm three things."

The staff members were already seated in front of their computers.

Lopez raised his finger.

"First, what was his final topic?"

"Second, when will the summary be provided?"

"Third, did he speak about this preprint in Madrid?"

The young staff member was banging away very quickly.

Someone nearby asked, "Where's the venue?"

Lopez glanced at him.

"Wait until he gets back before you start worrying."

The man then asked, "What if he doesn't reply either?"

The room fell silent for a moment.

Lopez glanced down at the Perelman file on the corner of the table.

"Don't say things like that today."

After he said that, there was finally some laughter in the office again.

Not big.

But the atmosphere relaxed a bit.

The email was quickly written.

The wording was very formal.

I did not make any judgments or proofs on behalf of the mathematical community, nor did I exaggerate the significance of this matter.

The organizing committee only confirms what the conference needs to confirm.

The final question.

Report summary.

Does the report focus on the latest publicly available findings?

Lopez read it once and nodded.

"Send it to Princeton."

He thought for a moment, then added another sentence.

"Copy to Professor Pierre and Dean Cyril."

After the email was sent, the office returned to its stuffy, quiet state.

Perelman's file is still on the corner of the table.

Chen Zhuo's file was spread out in the very center.

The group stared at the computer screen, remaining silent for a moment.

The young staff member glanced at the mailbox and then at the clock on the wall.

"How long do you think it will take for him to return?"

The middle-aged mathematician by the window picked up his coffee.

"We can't count on mathematicians replying to emails."

Lopez pointed to the corner of the table.

"You don't need to remind me of that."

Woolley was getting ready to pick up lunch when the email arrived at Princeton.

He had already reached the door when his mailbox beeped.

Woolley glanced back.

The sender was from the Madrid organizing committee.

He finished reading the email at the door and then stopped worrying about lunch.

Five minutes later, he stood at the door of Chen Zhuo's office with the printed document in his hand.

Chen Zhuo was sitting at the table reading the report materials.

The paper was laid out, with a fountain pen beside it.

Woolley knocked on the door frame.

"Madrid asked the final question."

Chen Zhuo looked up.

"Now?"

"They said as soon as possible."

Woolley handed over the email.

Chen Zhuo took the paper, read it, and then put it on the table.

Woolley asked, "Going back?"

"Return."

"topic?"

Chen Zhuo reached out, pulled out the report preparation page from the folder next to him, and handed it to him.

Woolley glanced down.

He already knew the answer.

"What about the abstract?"

I'll give it to you this afternoon.

"Shall I answer the question first?"

"Um."

Woolley nodded, took the paper, and turned to leave.

He paused again as he reached the door.

"They're probably going to be busy in Madrid."

Chen Zhuo lowered his head and continued reading the materials.

"They're already busy."

Woolley thought about it and agreed.

Madrid this year is certainly going to be very busy.

The reply was very short.

No further explanation is needed.

Chen Zhuo confirmed that he will present the newly published proof of the Hodge conjecture in Madrid, with an abstract to follow and the final title attached directly to the reply.

Woolley checked it over and sent the email.

From receiving the email to sending a reply, it took less than twenty minutes.

In Madrid, the young staff member was simply refreshing his email out of habit.

He was even taken aback when the new email popped up.

"Yes."

Lopez was flipping through another set of meeting materials without even looking up.

"Who?"

Princeton.

Lopez suddenly looked up.

"So fast?"

"Um."

The young staff member opened the email, and after reading it, his expression was somewhat complicated.

"The question has been confirmed."

The people inside the room exchanged glances.

The middle-aged mathematician by the window, sipping his coffee, said slowly, "There are still mathematicians in the world who reply to emails."

This time, laughter finally broke out in the office.

Even Lopez couldn't help but twitch his lips.

After laughing, he stood up and walked to the computer.

"Fill it in."

Staff members accessed the conference report system.

The title bar after Chen Zhuo's name was originally empty.

The cursor blinked a few times.

A new question was entered.

confirm.

Save.

Page refreshed.

That column is no longer blank.

Just as the young staff member was about to breathe a sigh of relief, the mailbox beeped again.

He clicked on it and read two lines, and the relaxation on his face slowly disappeared.

Lopez saw his expression.

"What's wrong now?"

"Some people asked whether Chen Zhuo's report could be open to the public."

The room was quiet for a few seconds.

Another person whispered, "This is the third one today."

The young staff member glanced at the email again.

No, this is the fourth one.

Lopez closed his eyes.

He closed Perelman's file and pushed it aside.

It's not that we're ignoring it.

It's something we can't control for the time being.

Then, he dragged the meeting schedule in front of him.

"All right."

He said.

"Now I'm starting to have another headache."