My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 439 Where Did It Go Wrong?

"You were not convinced by the proof."

The voice came from the second row of the small lecture hall at the École Normale Supérieure in Paris.

The speaker was a middle-aged professor.

He placed a reading transcript on the table; the edges of the pages were already slightly crumpled from his gripping.

"You were convinced by Princeton."

The lecture hall fell silent for a moment.

This is the third time this week that they have argued over Chen Zhuo's preprint.

I was relatively restrained the first two times.

The first point of contention was whether Bonn had offered their congratulations too early.

The second point of contention was whether the Cambridge reading group's decision to increase discussions to three times a week was being swayed by external trends.

By the third time, the words had become quite harsh.

The young researchers in the front row looked up.

"What do you mean by that?"

The middle-aged professor did not retire.

"The meaning is very clear."

He reached out and tapped the record on the table.

"Chen Zhuo, fifteen years old, Princeton, Hodge Conjecture."

"These words piled up together make it too easy for people to lose their judgment."

"Now, if someone writes 'He succeeded,' you're all eager to follow suit."

The young researcher stared at him for a while.

"And what about you?"

The middle-aged professor frowned.

The young researcher said, "Are you unable to be convinced by the facts, or by Chen Zhuo's age?"

The atmosphere in the lecture hall changed instantly.

Someone coughed softly.

Someone put down their pen.

That statement is already in the past.

It shifted the debate from the manuscript itself to the human perspective.

The middle-aged professor's face darkened.

"Young man, watch your words."

The young researcher realized he had spoken too harshly, but did not immediately retract his words.

Did I say something wrong?

"Every time you object, your first comment is always 'too fast.'"

"The second thing I said was that he was too young."

"The third thing is Princeton."

He pointed to the printed manuscript on the table.

"But these hundreds of pages are here."

"You still haven't said where it went wrong."

The middle-aged professor stood up.

The chair legs dragged on the floor with a screeching sound.

"Do you think you can just push forward in mathematics by being bold?"

"This is Hodge's conjecture."

"It's not something that you can start congratulating someone on just because you've looked at it for a few weeks and think it's beautiful."

The young researcher also stood up.

"I didn't say it was about courage."

"I said it depends on the manuscript."

"Then let's continue reading the manuscript!"

"So please tell me where the manuscript is wrong!"

The two people stood facing each other across a row of tables.

No one in the lecture hall spoke.

Such debates are not uncommon in Paris.

When mathematicians get into a heated argument, their voices are never necessarily lower than elsewhere.

But this time is different.

Because they weren't arguing about a typical lemma, nor a typical academic paper.

It's Hodge's conjecture.

It is Chen Zhuo.

It's that sentence that's been circulating in several European reading circles for several days.

"Please tell Chen Zhuo that I believe he has succeeded."

This statement is not formal.

It's not made public either.

But it's like a thorn, stuck in many people's hearts.

Some people felt relieved.

Some people find it jarring.

Some people felt they could finally say it out loud.

Some people also feel that the statement itself is dangerous.

Someone in the back row couldn't help but speak up.

"I agree with remaining cautious."

The young researcher turned his head.

"Being cautious is not a problem."

The man said, "Then what are you doing now? You're not being cautious; you're prematurely declaring victory for him."

No one declared victory.

"Congratulations are an announcement!"

"no."

"People outside will think so."

"What does it matter how it's written on the outside, or whether the proof is correct?"

The man choked for a moment.

Another person took over.

"Of course there is a connection. The mathematics community doesn't live in a vacuum. Chen Zhuo is no longer an ordinary author; every line of his work will be magnified."

The young researcher said, "So, because it will be amplified, you're just denying what you've read?"

"I meant wait."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Wait until more people finish reading it."

"We can wait," the young researcher said, "but waiting doesn't mean it's wrong."

The middle-aged professor gave a cold laugh.

"You're saying all this nicely now, but what if problems arise later?"

The young researcher fell silent for a moment.

"Then admit there's a problem."

"Then what's the rush?"

"Because some people have already read the information and can make their own judgments."

"What gives them the right?"

"They read it."

"Why do you believe they read it?"

"Then why do you assume they didn't understand?"

At this point, it's no longer just about arguing about past shortcomings.

The atmosphere in the lecture hall grew increasingly tense.

Some people say that things are moving too fast in Bonn.

Some say Cambridge is too cautious.

Some people say the name Princeton makes them uncomfortable.

Some say that Chen Zhuo's achievements over the past few years have indeed given this new manuscript extra credibility.

Someone immediately countered by asking if his age also fueled his suspicions.

One question finally came out: "If this article were authored not by Chen Zhuo, but by a sixty-year-old French professor, would you still speak so quickly?"

The lecture hall fell completely silent.

This statement carries more weight than any of the previous arguments.

The middle-aged professor suddenly turned his head.

"Are you saying we're unwilling to admit it because he's young and not European?"

The person who was speaking also stopped.

He clearly didn't expect his comment to be pushed to this position.

"I didn't say that."

That's what you mean.

"What I'm saying is, you guys always say that math doesn't consider age."

"But every time you object, you start by saying he's fifteen."

The middle-aged professor looked very unpleasant.

"absurd."

"What I object to is the lack of rigor."

"Then point out where the inaccuracies lie."

"I told you, it's too fast!"

"Going too fast is not a mistake!"

That statement came crashing back at me once again.

The lecture hall was in a mess.

Several people spoke at the same time.

The chair was pushed backward.

Some tried to steer the conversation back to the eighth quarter, while others were still debating Bonn's congratulatory remark. Some argued that young people shouldn't speak like that, while others said that the older generation shouldn't use seniority as a basis for judgment.

Le Maire always sat in the front row by the window.

He hasn't uttered a single word since the argument began.

In front of him lay Chen Zhuo's preprint.

A red pen was placed next to it.

The red pen cap was off, the nib was pointing at the paper, but it hadn't touched the paper for a long time.

He finally raised his head when the word "qualification" was uttered as a judgment.

Snapped.

He placed the red pen on the table.

The sound wasn't loud.

But the lecture hall fell silent.

Le Maire did not speak immediately.

He first glanced at the middle-aged professor standing there, then at the young researcher.

Finally, he stood up and walked to the blackboard.

A small piece of chalk broke off in his hand.

He switched to a different one.

He cut the blackboard in half.

On the left, he wrote two words.

Too fast.

On the right, he wrote two words.

Error.

After he finished writing, he turned around.

"You two were arguing for ten minutes just now."

No one in the lecture hall responded.

Not a single word was in the manuscript.

The middle-aged professor opened his mouth.

Le Maire raised his hand to stop him.

"I'll write it for you first."

He turned around and wrote the first line on the left.

Chen Zhuo was fifteen years old.

second line.

Princeton.

Third line.

The media may misinterpret this.

Fourth line.

Hodge's conjecture is too big.

Fifth line.

Bonn's congratulations are premature.

The sixth line.

I read Cambridge too quickly.

With each line he wrote, the lecture hall quieted down a little.

By the time he finished writing, there were already six entries on the left.

The right side is empty.

Not a single word.

Lemaire stood beside the blackboard, holding a piece of chalk.

"Some of these statements make sense."

"Some of these don't make any sense."

"But whether it makes sense or not, they're all on the left."

He marked the "too fast" column with chalk.

"They are not wrong."

The lecture hall was very quiet.

Le Maire looked at the middle-aged professor.

"You don't have to congratulate me."

"You could say Bonn is too fast."

You can say you want to continue reading.

"You could even say you don't like Chen Zhuo's path."

He paused for a moment.

"I don't like it either."

No one was surprised.

Le Maire disliked it from the start.

He didn't like Chen Zhuo taking those old tools apart again.

I don't like the placement of the constant C in the manuscript.

I don't like the entire proof route being as cold as a narrow knife.

What I dislike even more is that this knife happened to cut into a place that others couldn't avoid.

But he didn't present these as rebuttals.

Le Maire moved the chalk to the right column.

"But if you're going to say it's wrong."

"Write it here."

The middle-aged professor's expression changed slightly.

Le Maire asked, "Which page?"

"Which step?"

"Which sentence?"

Write it down.

Nobody moved.

The young researcher remained silent.

He was the loudest one just now, but now he lowered his head and put the paper back on the table.

Le Maire looked at the crowd.

"I'm not speaking up for Chen Zhuo."

"I'm speaking up for mathematics."

"Liking something is not proof."

"Disliking it is not a rebuttal."

After those words were spoken, the lecture hall fell completely silent.

I could hear a car outside the window.

Someone is closing a door in the distance.

The only sound in the room was the soft thud of chalk dust falling into the blackboard slot.

After a while, a low voice came from the back row.

"If there's nothing on the right side for now, does that mean we can congratulate them?"

Le Maire turned to look.

"no."

The man breathed a sigh of relief.

Le Maire continued, "That only means you're not in a position to say it's wrong right now."

This statement carries even more weight than the previous one.

The person in the back row stiffened for a moment and then said nothing more.

Le Maire put down the chalk.

"Paris doesn't need to congratulate Chen Zhuo today."

"I also don't know how to write 'proof holds'."

"But starting today, we will no longer discuss whether it is worth reading."

He looked at the preprint on the table.

"This issue is now resolved."

No one in the lecture hall objected.

In fact, at this point, no one can object.

Because whether you like it or not, someone in Bonn has already made their judgment.

Cambridge has added reading classes.

The fighting in Chicago has gone on and on.

Paris itself has placed Chen Zhuo's manuscript on the center of the table three times in a row.

An article that isn't worth reading wouldn't have caused these people to argue to this extent.

The recorder sat by the door, head down, writing.

At this moment, she looked up and asked, "So how do I memorize today's questions?"

Le Maire glanced at the blackboard.

The left side is a full column.

The right side is empty.

He paused for a moment, then said, "The verification of Chen Zhuohuoqi's certificate."

Someone in the lecture hall looked up.

The middle-aged professor also looked at him.

"A written statement?"

Le Maire turned to look at him.

"Can you fill in the right side? I'll have her change it back."

The middle-aged professor remained silent.

Le Maire looked around again.

No one spoke.

So the recorder lowered his head and wrote that line on the paper.

Verification of Chen Zhuohuoqi's certificate.