My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 208 is coming.

Now, let's rewind to two days ago.

When the green train pulled into the platform at Huizhou Station, it was just getting light.

As the train doors opened, a surge of people, accompanied by the cacophony of various dialects, rushed along the platform toward the exit.

Pierre carried the small brown leather suitcase and slowly walked forward with the flow of people.

He changed into a plain light gray jacket, unbuttoned, with a sweater underneath.

If you ignore his striking foreign features, he looks no different from an ordinary old man who has just retired and is traveling.

He exited the station and hailed a red Xiali taxi at the edge of the square.

The driver, a man in his thirties, glanced at Pierre and asked in somewhat broken Mandarin.

"Foreigner? Where are you going?"

Pierre doesn't understand Chinese.

He took a slip of paper out of his pocket, which had the name and address of an ordinary hotel not too far from the University of Science and Technology of China that Arthur had previously helped him find out. He handed the slip of paper over.

The driver glanced at it, nodded, and stepped on the gas.

With the car window half-open, the cold October morning wind blew against his face. Pierre leaned back in his seat, watching the street scene recede outside the window.

It doesn't have the towering glass curtain walls of Shanghai, nor the wide, straight ten-lane roads.

The streets here are lined with tall plane trees, some of whose leaves are turning yellow.

There were many vendors selling breakfast from tricycles along the roadside, with steaming white smoke rising straight up in the cold air. Commuters on bicycles weaved through the gaps between cars, and the crisp sound of bicycle bells rose and fell.

Pierre looked at these things and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

He liked this feeling.

Authentic and vivid.

This is the place where that old guy, who could cleave through topological space with a rusty iron saw in the engineering ruins at the bottom, should live.

We arrived at the hotel.

Pierre checked in at the front desk using his passport.

The young woman at the front desk spoke haltingly in English, but Pierre patiently slowed down his speech, even gesturing to indicate her name, all while maintaining a gentle smile.

After taking the room key, he went upstairs, took a hot shower, and changed into clean clothes.

He lay in bed for a while, but couldn't fall asleep.

He's in good spirits.

He glanced at his watch; it was 9:30 a.m.

He took the room key and left the hotel.

After walking two intersections along the street, the old gate of Huaguo University of Science and Technology came into view.

There was no grand gatehouse, just a few old cement pillars with school signs hanging on them. Students came and went in twos and threes, some carrying books and others carrying thermos flasks.

Pierre put his hands behind his back and slowly walked in.

The camphor trees on campus are very thick, their canopies covering most of the sky, and various handwritten posters and lecture notices are posted on the bulletin boards along the roadside.

He walked along the main road, looking at the roadside signs along the way. Although he couldn't understand the Chinese characters, they were accompanied by English translations.

Department of Mathematics

Following the signs, Pierre turned into a side road and arrived at a somewhat old-fashioned red brick building.

The building doors were open, and students carrying textbooks hurried past from time to time.

Pierre walked up the steps and into the building.

There is a large blackboard in the lobby on the first floor, which displays some recent academic notices. Next to it is a glass display case with photos and brief introductions of the professors and associate professors of the School of Mathematical Sciences.

Pierre stood in front of the shop window, his gaze sweeping over the photographs one by one.

He was looking for that name.

Jianming Li.

Soon, he saw it in the middle of the second row; the man in the photo was wearing a white shirt and had his hair neatly combed.

Pierre glanced at the office number below the photo: 302.

He went up the stairs to the third floor. The corridor was dimly lit, and most of the doors on both sides were closed. Occasionally, one or two offices were open, and the sound of discussions could be heard.

I walked to the door of office 302.

The door was locked.

Pierre didn't knock. He turned around and saw a boy carrying several heavy textbooks walking from the other end of the corridor.

Pierre went to greet him with a smile.

"Excuse me, child."

Pierre spoke in English, slowly and gently.

The boy stopped, paused for a moment, and then replied in somewhat broken English.

"Hello, is there anything I can help you with?"

"I'm looking for Professor Li Jianming in this office. Is he not here today?"

Pierre pointed to the door number 302.

The boy glanced at the door.

"Professor Li is not here; he is on leave."

"Did you take leave?"

Pierre was somewhat surprised.

"Where did he go? I came to talk to him about some academic issues."

The boy thought for a moment, seemingly organizing his vocabulary.

"Professor Li went to Shanghai to attend a major international topology conference. He hasn't been at the university for the past two days, and his classes have been taught by teaching assistants."

Pierre's expression froze for a moment upon hearing this.

Then, he couldn't help but chuckle softly.

Laughter echoed down the corridor.

The boy looked at the foreign old man, whose shoulders were shaking with laughter, with a puzzled expression.

"Thank you, child, I understand."

Pierre waved his hand and walked towards the stairwell.

As he walked downstairs, he shook his head inwardly.

It's ridiculous.

He disliked the circus, which was filled with commercialism and boring reports, and didn't hesitate to tear off his name tag and run away.

As a result, this old guy who can be listed as the corresponding author in an article and avoid those shady cutoffs actually went to join the fun in that kind of place?

It seems that even the most accomplished scholars cannot escape being entangled in these worldly pursuits of fame and fortune.

Pierre walked out of the mathematics building and looked up at the sunlight overhead.

It's okay.

Li Jianming wasn't there; there were two other people present.

According to academic conventions, the first author is usually the one who proposes the core idea, while the second author is usually the one who does the actual calculations and organizes the data.

He decided to walk around the campus first and look slowly. He had five days and wasn't in a hurry.

the next day.

Pierre got up early and bought a cup of soy milk and a steamed bun from a breakfast stall near the hotel. He ate as he walked, imitating the people around him.

Today he plans to go and take a look at the physics department.

He remembered that Derian had said that the suggestions for improvement on that physics preprint came from USTC, and that person might usually be active in the physics department.

The campus of USTC is not large. He wandered around for more than half an hour and found the building of the School of Physics.

He stood under a tree outside the building, watching the students come and go.

A young man walked out of the building.

The boy was wearing an ordinary gray jacket, and his hair was messy.

He had two obvious dark circles under his eyes, a roll of blueprints in his hand, and his steps were unsteady, as if he had just stayed up all night and was about to be exhausted.

The boy walked to the trash can under the tree, threw a piece of scrap paper into it, and then let out a long yawn.

Pierre looked at him, and his intuition told him that this was a graduate student who spent a lot of time in the lab or obsessively working with data.

He stepped forward.

"Hello there."

Pierre greeted him with a smile.

The boy turned his head, rubbed his eyes, looked at the foreign old man in front of him, and forced himself to cheer up.

"Hello, are you looking for someone?"

"Yes, I'm looking for someone."

"6

This time, Pierre used an absolutely safe excuse.

"I am a teacher who conducts interdisciplinary research abroad. Some time ago, I saw a physics preprint online about the problem of divergence in continuous calculus, which used a very ingenious mathematical model."

Pierre looked into the boy's eyes.

"The preprint is authored by C. Zhuo. I happen to be traveling in China and am very interested in this model. I'd like to visit the professor while I'm here. Do you know where he works?"

Upon hearing the words "physics preprint" and "C. Zhuo," the boy's previously unfocused gaze sharpened slightly.

He is Wu Tao.

Wu Tao had just stayed up all night helping a friend organize some data, and his brain was in a semi-shutdown state.

He looked at the old foreign man in front of him without giving it much thought.

Chen Zhuo published a preprint at the Institute of Physics, which later attracted discussions from foreign scholars via email. He had also overheard this in Li Jianming's office, so it's perfectly normal for a foreigner to come over here.

Wu Tao shook his head.

He doesn't have an office.

Pierre raised an eyebrow slightly.

No office?

"Where does he usually conduct his research?"

Wu Tao raised his hand and pointed to the east side of the campus.

"The old library, just keep walking along this road, and you'll see a red brick building covered in ivy. He doesn't usually stay in the courtyard; he likes to read and study in a corner on the third floor of the old library. Go there and find him; he should be there around this time."

After Wu Tao finished speaking, he yawned again.

"You can go find him yourself, I need to go back to sleep."

Thank you, sweet dreams.

Pierre nodded gently.

Wu Tao wrapped his jacket tighter around himself and trudged toward the dormitory area.

Pierre stood still, looking in the direction Wu Tao had just pointed.

The image of that old man in his mind became clearer and more complete.

There is no office.

They disdain spending time in those bureaucratic department buildings.

He usually hides in a corner of the old library to study and read.

This is practically a model academic hermit who sees fame and fortune as worthless.

Only those with this mindset can remain undisturbed by external influences, cleave through the complexities of appearances, and strike directly at the essence of mathematics.

Pierre put his hands behind his back, started walking, and headed towards the old library.

The late autumn sun shone on the road, and there was no sound when you stepped on it.

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