My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 206 Rare Steak

In late October in Shanghai, the wind carried a damp chill.

Li Jianming got out of the taxi and looked up at the international conference center with its gleaming glass curtain wall in front of him. Next to it was a five-star hotel that was specially used to receive foreign guests and important guests.

A red carpet was laid out at the entrance, with flower baskets half a person's height on both sides, and a long, bright red welcome banner stretched out.

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket; the envelope containing two pages of tattered manuscript was still securely pressed against his chest.

Li Jianming walked to the registration area at the main entrance.

Behind the registration desk stood several young women in business attire, and next to them stood two male conference staff members wearing name tags.

Li Jianming reached into his pocket, pulled out the dark red, gold-embossed invitation card that he had smoothed out but was still covered in creases, and handed it over.

The girl in charge of reception took it with both hands, glanced at the name on it, and then looked up at Li Jianming.

Li Jianming was wearing an old trench coat that had faded a bit from washing, with the edges of his gray knitted vest pilling slightly, and a pair of old-fashioned black leather shoes.

His attire was quite out of place compared to the scholars and businessmen in suits who were coming in and out today.

But the girl was very polite and immediately checked the information on the list.

"Professor Li Jianming, Huaguo University of Science and Technology."

The girl looked up and gave a standard smile.

"Your seat is in the fifth row inside, but Professor Li, the morning session has ended and it's lunch break now. The afternoon session will begin at 2:30."

"I don't hold meetings."

Li Jianming took the invitation back and asked directly, "I'm looking for someone. Where is Professor Pierre from Princeton?"

The girl's smile froze for a moment.

The male conference attendant wearing a name tag walked over, looked Li Jianming up and down, and spoke politely, but with a stiff, businesslike tone.

"Professor Li, are you looking for Mr. Pierre?"

"Yes, I'm stuck on a few questions and would like to ask him for help in person."

Li Jianming spoke very frankly.

The male conference attendant sighed and lowered his voice.

"Professor Li, I'm so sorry, you won't be able to see Mr. Pierre."

Li Jianming frowned.

"What do you mean? He didn't come?"

"They came, but they're sick."

The male conference organizer pointed to the hotel building next door.

"Mr. Pierre has been working hard for several days and may have been suffering from some acclimatization issues. He suddenly experienced severe cardiovascular discomfort last night, and the organizing committee of the conference has already issued an emergency notice."

Li Jianming's heart sank.

"Where are you now? Which hospital?"

"I didn't go to the hospital."

The male conference organizer explained.

"The situation of the foreign guest is quite special. His personal assistant refused our suggestion to call an ambulance, saying that Mr. Pierre has his own medical team and emergency plan, and is currently in absolute medical isolation and recuperation in the presidential suite on the top floor of the hotel."

Li Jianming stood there, speechless for a long time.

He traveled all the way from Huizhou by train overnight, without even getting a full night's sleep, his mind preoccupied with how to get information out of that old madman. The result? He was told the man was sick and in quarantine.

"I'll go up and take a look, just from a distance, and I won't say anything."

Li Jianming refused to give up.

"It really won't work, Professor Li."

The male conference attendant stood in front of him with a wry smile.

"Even regular hotel staff aren't allowed on the top floor right now. That foreign assistant, Arthur, threw a tantrum, saying Mr. Pierre needs absolute quiet and refuses all visitors and media intrusion. Even the organizing committee leaders who went to visit him were turned away at the door. Please don't make things difficult for us."

Li Jianming pursed his lips.

He turned his head and glanced at the towering hotel building next to him.

Why did I have to get sick at this particular time?

But we're already here.

Chen Zhuo's derivation was like a fire burning in his chest. He wouldn't be able to sleep when he returned to USTC until he had paved the way.

"Alright, I won't make things difficult for you."

Li Jianming put the invitation back in his pocket, turned around and walked out of the conference center, heading straight into the entrance of the five-star hotel next door.

The hotel lobby is magnificent, with a huge crystal chandelier casting a warm yellow light, the marble floor gleaming, and a faint fragrance wafting in the air.

Li Jianming walked around the lobby and his gaze settled on the elevator lobby on the left.

There are four elevators there, and the innermost one has a small sign next to it that says "VIP Exclusive".

He found a seat in the lobby coffee bar diagonally opposite the elevator.

He could see everything from here; he could spot anyone entering or leaving the VIP elevator immediately.

A waiter wearing a vest came over and handed over the drinks menu.

Li Jianming didn't even look at it, only glancing at the tea section at the very end.

"A pot of Longjing tea."

The waiter smiled, nodded, and left.

Soon, a pot of tea and an exquisite white porcelain cup were served.

Li Jianming poured himself a cup of tea and covered the cup with both hands.

He began a long wait.

He had no other choice.

It wasn't realistic for him to break down the door of the presidential suite; he could only wait.

Wait for Pierre's assistant to come downstairs, wait for the private doctor to come downstairs, or wait for the organizing committee members to deliver the items.

Given the chance, even if it meant hiring a cleaning service, he would slip the envelope he was carrying into Pierre's door crack.

The afternoon slipped by slowly.

The teapot was refilled three times, and by the end, it had completely lost its tea flavor, leaving only the bland taste of plain water.

During this time, several foreign scholars wearing name tags came and went in the elevator, but none of them were Pierre's assistants, nor did they look like doctors.

it's dark.

The lights in the lobby became brighter, and soft piano music was played in the coffee bar.

Li Jianming's stomach rumbled; he hadn't eaten anything properly all day.

But he dared not leave, fearing that if he went to eat, he would miss some key person.

He stopped a passing waiter and ordered a plate of soda crackers.

He ate the biscuits dryly with the slightly cold tea, his eyes never leaving the elevator entrance.

It's 11 p.m.

The coffee shop is closing.

Li Jianming did not leave the lobby, but instead went to sit down on a sofa in the corner of the lobby.

He leaned back on the sofa, closed his eyes and dozed off for a while, but he would immediately open his eyes whenever he heard the door turn or the elevator ding.

That night was exceptionally difficult.

The elderly are prone to fatigue, and after two consecutive days of intense travel, Li Jianming felt a soreness deep in his bones.

Its daybreak.

The lobby bustled with activity again the following morning.

Li Jianming went to the bathroom on the first floor of the hotel to wash his face, splashed cold water on his slightly puffy eye bags, and looked at the old man in the mirror with a stubble beard and bloodshot eyes. He gave a self-deprecating smile.

They're really getting worse as they get older.

I've never done anything so humiliating in my life. Now I'm squatting in the hotel lobby like a thief on stalking.

He left the bathroom and sat back down on the sofa.

It was 12:30 in the afternoon.

The VIP elevator made a soft sound as the doors slowly opened.

Li Jianming's gaze immediately swept over there.

The man who came out was a white young man in his thirties, wearing a well-tailored dark blue suit, without a tie, and with the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

Li Jianming saw the photos in the opening ceremony's program yesterday.

This man is Arthur, Pierre's personal academic assistant.

Li Jianming subconsciously sat up straight, his hand reaching for the envelope on his chest, preparing to strike up a conversation when Arthur came over.

but.

Arthur did not walk towards the conference center, nor did he go to the gate to greet any medical team.

He walked directly to the bar counter on the other side of the lobby, pulled out a high stool, and sat down.

Li Jianming watched Arthur's back from a distance of more than ten meters.

Arthur waved to the bartender.

The bartender walked over, and the two exchanged a few words. Soon, the bartender pushed over a glass of amber-colored liquid with ice.

Arthur picked up his glass, took a sip, and then pulled out a copy of the day's English newspaper from the shelf next to him, slowly flipping through it.

Li Jianming stopped moving.

His brows furrowed into a tight knot.

Not right.

Having spent his entire life working on mathematical derivations, Li Jianming possesses an almost animalistic intuition for logical inconsistencies.

A 65-year-old man suffered a heart attack and is currently under strict medical isolation in the presidential suite upstairs.

As a personal assistant, this was probably the most chaotic time of his career.

He needs to keep a close eye on the medical equipment, communicate with the attending physician in China, deal with various visits from the organizers, and even prepare contingency plans for the worst-case scenario.

But he's sitting in a bar now.

Sipping iced whiskey while reading the newspaper.

There wasn't a trace of anxiety, fatigue, or panic in that figure; on the contrary, it exuded a sense of complete relaxation and ease after completing some task.

Li Jianming slowly withdrew his hand from his chest.

He sat on the sofa, his mind racing.

Just then, the door to the hotel's back-of-house corridor was pushed open.

A room attendant in a white shirt and bow tie pushed out a silver food cart covered with a stainless steel thermos, with a decanter and wine glasses next to it.

The waiter pushed the food cart straight to the VIP-only elevator.

Li Jianming stood up, pretended to go to the restroom, and followed the food cart at a distance.

While the waiter was waiting for the elevator, Li Jianming walked past him, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over the room order form tucked into the side of the food cart.

The print on the form was a bit small, but Li Jianming could still make out the two lines of English text and the room number.

The room number was the presidential suite on the top floor.

The menu consists of two tomahawk steaks (medium-rare), one serving of foie gras, and a bottle of 1996 Bordeaux red wine.

Li Jianming walked past the elevator and turned into the restroom corridor.

He leaned against the cold tile wall and suddenly found it somewhat amusing.

A medium-rare steak.

wine.

Feeding this to an elderly man who is suffering from a severe cardiovascular event and is currently in isolation and recuperating? Are they trying to hasten his death?

Even if we assume it was for doctors, not a single person in a white coat ever showed up.

No such doctor was found.

An assistant who showed no signs of anxiety.

Meals for critically ill patients with no dietary restrictions.

Substituting these conditions into the equation, we arrive at only one conclusion, and it is absolutely unique.

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