A perfect score on the college entrance exam? The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng has astonis

Chen Mo slowly closed his eyes.

He recalled everything from his past life.

I started writing.

He wrote slowly, not because he didn't know how, but because he needed to piece together the fragments of his memory.

Perelman's papers were like a vast library in his mind.

He knew which shelf each book was on.

But he needs time to remove them.

His hands didn't stop.

The sky outside the window gradually darkened.

The light from the table lamp cast a circular halo on the wall, within which only he and his shadow were visible.

He didn't look at his phone, didn't check the time, didn't drink water, and didn't stand up.

He just sat there and wrote.

On the first day of Chen Mo's seclusion, the online discussions did not subside; instead, they became increasingly intense.

Some people started the countdown, while others began placing bets.

Some people began to organize the basic knowledge of the Poincaré conjecture, hoping to understand Chen Mo's proof in seven days.

A math science popularization account posted a long video.

It took half an hour to start with the basic concepts of topology.

Someone in the comments section said, "I listened for half an hour and still didn't understand."

Some people say, "I listened for half an hour and only understood one sentence—this thing is very difficult."

Some people said, "I listened for half an hour and decided to give up trying to understand and just wait for Chen Mo's result."

Lin Zhiyuan sat in his study at home, with a thick English monograph, Hamilton's Ricci Flow, spread out in front of him.

He turned to the page with the folded corner, which contained a paragraph he had marked countless times.

Su Wanci lay in bed, her phone screen displaying Chen Mo's chat window.

She typed a message: "Have you eaten?"

I looked at it for a few seconds, then deleted it.

She typed a second line: "How did the first day go?"

I looked at it for a few seconds, then deleted it.

She typed a third line: "I won't bother you. I'll wait for you to come out."

After sending the message, she put her phone next to her pillow, turned over, and buried her face in the pillow.

Seven days.

Seven whole days.

Chen Mo's bedroom door was closed, the curtains were drawn, and the lamp was on.

The table was piled high with A4 sheets of paper covered in formulas.

It went from a dozen pages to dozens of pages.

It went from a few dozen pages to over a hundred pages.

The smell of ink permeated the entire room.

He moved the chair he was sitting in from in front of the desk to beside the bed.

He moved back from the bedside to the desk.

He drank seven bottles of mineral water and ate five packs of biscuits.

The trash can was piled high with crumpled packaging bags and crumpled draft paper.

On the evening of the seventh day, he finished writing the last page.

He put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and looked up at the ceiling.

The fluorescent tubes were somewhat blackened, and the ends had turned dark gray, resembling two burnt-out candles that hadn't yet gone out.

He stared at it for a long time, then closed his eyes.

The fragments in his mind—Perelman's paper, the equations of Ricci flow, the lemmas of singularity analysis—were all pieced together at this moment.

It has become a complete picture.

He went through it all in his mind from beginning to end.

Every definition, every lemma, every corollary, every step of the derivation.

Like a river flowing from its source to its mouth.

There was no interruption of flow, no change of course, and no drying up.

He opened his eyes and picked up his phone.

The screen lights up.

The page was covered with messages.

The messages came from Su Wanci, Principal Wang, our homeroom teacher Lao Fang, Professor Zhang from Peking University, and an unknown number.

The signature reads "Lin Zhiyuan, Department of Mathematics, Peking University".

He looked through them one by one, without clicking on any.

He opened Douyin (TikTok) and posted a video.

The video is only two seconds long.

The image shows the sunset outside the window, accompanied by only two words: "Leaving the pass."

The entire internet is in an uproar.

It didn't explode slowly; it exploded instantly.

One minute after the video was posted, it had been viewed over five million times.

In three minutes, it surpassed 20 million views; in five minutes, it topped the trending searches on Douyin.

The comments were scrolling by so fast that it was impossible to read what each one was saying.

All I could see were those frequently occurring words flashing wildly in front of my eyes.

"They're out."

"Seven days have passed."

"And the result?"

"Has it been proven?"

"Speak quickly, God of Silence!"

Su Wanci saw the video on her sofa at home.

She had just finished showering, her hair was still wet, she was wearing pajamas, and holding her phone.

She saw the "out of quarantine" post and her heart skipped a beat.

Then it bounces back at twice the speed.

She almost instinctively opened Chen Mo's chat window.

Fingers flew across the screen as they typed.

After finishing, I looked at it again and felt it was too rushed.

I deleted it and retyped it, but it still felt too bland, so I deleted it and retyped it again.

She asked several times, but finally only sent one sentence: "How is it?"

After the message was sent.

She stared at the screen for about ten seconds.

Those ten seconds felt like an eternity.

She could hear her own heartbeat and the hum of the air conditioner.

I heard cicadas chirping in the distance outside the window.

Then my phone vibrated.

Chen Mo replied with two words: "It's done."

Su Wanci looked at those two words.

My mind went completely blank.

She just sat there, looking at those two words, over and over again.

nailed it.

Seven days ago, he said he was going into seclusion.

The entire internet questioned him, a mathematics professor shook his head, science bloggers mocked him, and Liu Zhiyuan gambled by retiring from the internet.

Seven days later, he said, "It's all sorted out."

Seven days later, he said, "It's all sorted out."

Is it really that simple?

Just like that, so casually?

She recalled the information she had been researching online these past few days.

The Poincaré conjecture is one of the seven millennium unsolved problems.

The mystery has remained unsolved for over a century, and a reward of one million US dollars has been offered.

She read countless popular science articles, and every single one of them was saying the same thing.

This is something that humans cannot solve.

She couldn't understand the formulas, but she could understand the expressions on the mathematicians' faces.

When they say "no one can solve it," their tone is one of certainty.

It's not that "no one has solved it yet."

It means "it is possible that no one will ever be able to solve it".

Now, Chen Mo says, "It's all sorted out."

Her eyes reddened.

It's not sadness, it's something I can't quite put my finger on.

It was like a stone that had been hanging in mid-air finally falling to the ground.

It crashed to the ground, creating a deep crater, and dust flew everywhere, blinding everyone.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sent another message.

"real?"

Chen Mo replied.

"real."

Su Wanci sent another message: "You're not lying to me?"

Chen Mo replied, "When have I ever lied to you?"

Su Wanci looked at the words and suddenly smiled.

She remembered the things he had said before.

"Anyone can do it."

"It's alright, nothing special."

When have I ever not been serious?

Every sentence sounded like a joke, but in the end, they all became the truth.

She didn't know how he did it.

All she knew was that when he said "it's done," it was done.

No explanation or proof is needed.

There's no need to take a picture of those hundred-plus pages of manuscript and show it to her.

she letter.

It wasn't because she understood math, but because she understood him.

She put down her phone, stood up, walked to the window, and drew back the curtains.

When Principal Wang saw the video of "leaving the pass".

I'm having dinner at home.

He put down his chopsticks, opened Chen Mo's chat window, and typed a line of text.

"How is it?"

After sending it, he picked up his bowl, took a mouthful of rice, and before he could swallow, his phone vibrated.