My IQ has been increasing year by year.

In early April, the capital city was still chilly.

In the staff quarters of the Institute of Physics, Chinese Academy of Sciences, the heating had just been turned off two days ago, and the room was still chilly with the early spring chill in the air.

Zhou Zhenhua, wearing an old navy blue woolen overcoat, sat at his desk in his study. The desk was piled high with various journals and printed documents, and the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. He was a high-energy physicist who had spent most of his life in this field.

In the center of the table was a thick copy of a document entirely in English.

This is the latest issue of Physical Review Letters. The domestic print version hasn't arrived yet, so he had someone make a copy at a university library abroad and sent it back via fax.

The ink smell is still quite strong.

Zhou Zhenhua, wearing reading glasses, held a red ballpoint pen in his hand, his gaze fixed on page six of one of the papers. The corresponding author of the paper was Derian from the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton.

Zhou Zhenhua had been staring at this page for almost half an hour.

His brows were furrowed tightly, and the tip of his red pen drew heavy horizontal lines under several core algebraic matrix formulas.

As a fellow professional, he knew very well where Derian's team had been stuck for the past six months.

The divergence problem at the singularity boundary was like an impenetrable wall, blocking all physicists who tried to overcome it using continuous calculus. But now, a hole has been punched in that wall from the side.

"Discrete grid..."

Zhou Zhenhua muttered something to himself.

He looked at the derivation process on the paper; there was no tedious renormalization, and no forcibly truncated approximations.

The entire derivation process is clean and concise, with a cool, purely mathematical perspective.

It doesn't rely on physical intuition; instead, it directly shatters the smooth spacetime background and reassembles it using the nodes of algebraic geometry, forcefully bypassing the dead end that would reduce the denominator to zero. Zhou Zhenhua took off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Having been in the physics community for so many years, he had rarely seen such a method of completely abandoning physical intuition and relying solely on mathematical brute force to break through. Brilliant, but also incredibly cunning.

He put his glasses back on and turned to the last page of the copy.

Among the long list of references and acknowledgments, he began searching for the name of the collaborator who might have provided this mathematical tool.

In papers of this caliber, the person who provides the core breakthrough idea will usually be placed in a very prominent position. His gaze lingered on the acknowledgments section.

There was a short line of English text there.

"Special thanks to C. Zhuo from the University of Science and Technology of China, whose discrete algebra model provided a crucial breakthrough for this research." Zhou Zhenhua paused for a moment.

USTC?

He put down the red pen in his hand, picked up the landline receiver on the table, and dialed a number he knew by heart.

The phone rang five or six times before it was answered.

"Hey, Lao Lin."

Zhou Zhenhua heard the sound of turning pages coming from the other side.

"Have you read the latest issue of PRL, the paper about singularity boundaries published by Derian's team?"

On the other end of the phone was Professor Lin from the Department of Physics at Tsinghua University.

"I just finished reading the fax."

Professor Lin's voice also revealed a trace of lingering turmoil.

"That approach to discrete algebra was brilliant."

Did you see the acknowledgments section?

Zhou Zhenhua got straight to the point.

"I saw it, it's from USTC, C. Zhuo."

Professor Lin paused for a moment.

"I just thought about it in my head. If we follow English spelling conventions, are there any old friends at HKUST with the surname Zhuo? If we follow our domestic spelling conventions, then the range is much wider. People with the surnames Chen, Cheng, and Cao, or whose names contain the characters Zhuo or Zhuo, are all possibilities."

Zhou Zhenhua reached for the cigarette pack, took out a cigarette, and put it in his mouth.

"That's exactly why I'm contacting you."

Zhou Zhenhua pressed the lighter, lit a cigarette, and took a puff.

"We basically know all the top math and physics experts at USTC. Old Zhao is one who works on algebraic topology, but he retired a few years ago and his health isn't good. Old Zhou works on condensed matter physics, so his approach isn't right." "Could it be some reclusive master that USTC recently poached from abroad?"

Professor Lin guessed on the other end of the phone.

"Those retired professors who obtained tenure abroad and then quietly returned to China?"

"Possibly."

Zhou Zhenhua exhaled a puff of smoke.

"This kind of mathematical intuition can't be developed without 20 or 30 years of hard work. The fact that he can abandon the continuity of spacetime so completely shows that he doesn't care about the traditional physical framework at all. This guy is a ruthless character."

"Why don't you call USTC and ask?" Professor Lin said.

"USTC can't possibly keep a talent of this caliber hidden. If possible, we should invite him to give a talk on this discrete model at the spring symposium in a few days. That would be a great opportunity." "Okay, I'll ask around at USTC."

Zhou Zhenhua hung up the phone.

He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, opened the address book on the table, and found the office number of Fang Shi, the vice dean of the School of Physics at the University of Science and Technology of China. The dial tone beeped in the study.

Huizhou, USTC Physics Building.

The window of the third-floor office was half-open, and the cold wind made the blinds sway gently.

Fang Shi sat behind his desk, holding a newly delivered epidemic prevention notice.

The landline on the table rang.

The Taoist priest put down the notice and picked up the receiver.

"Hello, who is this?"

"Dean Fang, my name is Zhou Zhenhua."

The voice on the other end of the phone was very loud.

The Taoist priest paused for half a second. He was all too familiar with the voice and immediately guessed the purpose of the call.

What's meant to come will come.

The paper from Princeton has been published, and people in the field have definitely seen it.

"Old Zhou."

The Taoist priest spoke politely, with his usual composure.

"The New Year celebrations just ended, what brings you to call me? Is it still cold in Beijing?"

"It's cold, and I'm still wearing a coat."

Zhou Zhenhua didn't beat around the bush.

"Old Fang, I won't stand on ceremony with you. I read the paper that Derian published in PRL. Was that discrete model created by someone from your USTC?" Fang Shi picked up the teacup beside him, took a sip of water, and moistened his throat.

"Professor Zhou's news travels fast." Fang Shi did not deny it. "Our department just saw the paper too."

"Who exactly is this C. Zhuo in your department?"

Zhou Zhenhua's voice carried an undisguised curiosity.

"Old Lin from Tsinghua University and I have been thinking about it for a long time, but we still can't figure it out. Is it a big shot you just poached from some research institute abroad? Or is it some old professor from the School of Mathematics who has crossed over into this field?" Fang Shi put down his teacup.

He quickly went through the prepared speech in his mind.

"Old Zhou, you really shouldn't ask about this matter any further."

The sorcerer's tone conveyed a perfectly balanced sense of helplessness and secrecy.

"The person is indeed from our university, but this model was just something he casually played around with."

"Just pushing it around for fun?"

Zhou Zhenhua raised his voice on the other end of the phone.

"Old Fang, stop trying to fool me. What Derian struggled with for half a year, he just figured out as a kidding me? This level of algebraic logic, you say he just did it as a kidding me? Aren't you implying that we old guys aren't smart enough?"

The sorcerer smiled silently.

"Mr. Zhou, I'm not joking with you."

The sorcerer's tone became more serious.

"This scholar's situation is rather special. He is currently in a very important infrastructure construction phase, and his personal studies... well, his research tasks are very heavy. He doesn't want to be disturbed by the outside world." There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

Zhou Zhenhua seemed to be processing the information in the Taoist priest's words.

Infrastructure construction phase.

I don't want to be disturbed.

The situation is special.

In the ears of older scholars like Zhou Zhenhua, these words automatically combined to form an extremely profound and unfathomable image.

A top scientist who is leading a major national classified project, indifferent to fame and fortune, and may even have signed a confidentiality agreement.

"I see."

Zhou Zhenhua's tone also became more serious.

"You're working on a big project, right? Then you really can't just show your face anywhere."

The sorcerer didn't respond, letting him fill in the blanks in his mind.

"But Lao Fang, once this paper is published, there are quite a few people in the domestic circle who are keeping an eye on your USTC."

Zhou Zhenhua reminded him.

"This morning alone, I've received several calls asking about it. You can keep it a secret for a while, but you can't keep it a secret forever."

"No need for Elder Zhou to worry about that."

The sorcerer answered with great confidence.

"You know the rules at USTC. As long as he doesn't want to, our school respects his personal wishes and will never arrange any foreign affairs exchanges or interviews." "Fine, USTC is known for protecting its own."

Zhou Zhenhua sighed.

"Once he finishes the basic phase, you, Lao Fang, must arrange a meeting between us. I have many questions about the discrete matrix that I'd like to ask in person." "Definitely, definitely."

After hanging up the phone, Fang Shi let out a long sigh of relief.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

The first wave was successfully blocked.

But this is just the beginning. As long as C. Zhuo doesn't show his face, the speculation from the outside world will become more and more outrageous.

Some say he is a hermit in his seventies.

Some say he was an architect who secretly returned to China from Bell Labs.

Some people even went to the USTC logistics department to inquire if there was an old man named Cheng Zhuo or Ying Zhuo who liked to solve math problems on campus. Fang Shi shook his head.

There was a knock on the office door.

Fang Yuanming pushed open the door and walked in. He was holding a form in his hand and wearing a thick white cotton mask on his face.

"Dean."

Fang Yuanming placed the form on Fang Shi's table and pulled his mask down to his chin.

"The temperature registration forms for each dormitory building have been delivered. The report says that several more provinces have been added today, so the school's lockdown measures need to be tightened. The main gates are completely locked, and you need a slip from the logistics department to enter or leave." Fang Shi sat up straight, picked up the form, and flipped through it.

"During this special period, we must not let anything go wrong." Fang Shi put down the form. "Especially in the student dormitories, daily disinfection and temperature checks must be carried out." "Everything is being done according to the requirements."

Fang Yuanming nodded.

The Taoist priest looked at Fang Yuanming and suddenly asked a question.

"How's dormitory 215 going?"

Fang Yuanming was taken aback for a moment, then realized who the Taoist priest was asking.

"It's fine." Fang Yuanming smiled. "Whose call did you just receive?"

"Hmm, they've come to probe the bottom."

The Taoist priest rubbed his temples.

"People outside are practically calling this C. Zhuo a hidden master. Old Zhou even made an appointment with me to ask him for advice in person once his infrastructure project is finished," Fang Yuanming chuckled.

"With that kind of infrastructure, it'll probably take another two or three years to finish his undergraduate degree."

Fang Yuanming pulled up his mask.

"I'm going to take a stroll over to the dormitory area and see what our 'sweeping monk' is up to."