My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 275 Going to Boston

Matilda turned around, still holding the small wooden spoon she used to scoop coffee beans, and listened quietly to Pierre's words.

The rain outside showed no signs of letting up; dense raindrops pounded against the window and washed over the street outside.

Chen Zhuo sat at the dining table, looking out the window at the courtyard blurred by the rain.

He reached for the glass on the table, drank the remaining water, and then put the glass back on the table.

"More than 300 pages of detailed proof."

Chen Zhuo looked at Pierre, his tone somewhat wistful.

"A series of lectures spanning six months—that's no easy task."

Pierre leaned back in his chair, his fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of his teacup.

"It's not easy. In the past three years, the discussions about Perelman's three preprints have caused a huge uproar in the entire topology community."

"Now, finally someone has filled all the logical gaps. Harvard is ready. In the next six months, it will be the center of modern geometry and topology."

Pierre paused for a moment, then looked past the dining table at Chen Zhuo.

"The department's official invitation letters were distributed half an hour ago."

"There should be one in your inbox right now too."

Pierre stated it in a declarative tone.

Chen Zhuo nodded, showing no surprise.

After his breakthrough in the tortuous part of the whole Hodge conjecture, his name was already in the same email group as those senior professors in the Princeton mathematics department's internal system.

He was naturally among those who received such a high-level academic invitation from the Harvard Mathematics Department.

"It seems like we can't escape the fall in Boston."

Chen Zhuo smiled and pointed to the teacup Pierre was holding.

"To cope with those 300-plus pages of details, I estimate you'll need to pack extra black tea before you go to Harvard, as there probably won't be enough there."

Matilda chuckled softly by the pool.

"You can bring your thermos too, Xiao Zhuo."

Matilda turned around and put the small wooden spoon back in the drawer.

"The sea breeze in Boston is much colder than in Princeton."

"Yes, madam, I will definitely remember to put it in my bag."

Chen Zhuo stood up, picked up the cup, walked to the sink, rinsed it clean, and placed it upside down on the drainer.

He washed his hands and dried them with a tissue.

"I'll go to my room first."

Chen Zhuo threw the tissue into the trash can.

"Check the emails and tidy up those drafts on my desk."

"Go ahead," Pierre said, picking up his teacup. "See you at dinner."

Chen Zhuo walked out of the kitchen and up the corridor to the second floor.

On the desk sat a brand-new IBM ThinkPad X41T laptop that Pierre had prepared for him before he arrived.

Chen Zhuo pulled out a chair and sat down, then double-clicked to open the email on his desktop.

A few seconds after the network connection was established, a new email popped up in my inbox.

The sender appears to be from the Department of Mathematics at Harvard University.

The email subject is very short:

Invitation to a special series of lectures on the details of the proof of the Poincaré conjecture.

Chen Zhuo opened the email and quickly glanced at the text.

The content was exactly the same as what Pierre had said, inviting him to Harvard University to participate in a six-month series of lectures, where they would witness and discuss Zhu Xiping and Cao Huaidong's complete proof of the Poincaré conjecture.

The attachment contains a 328-page PDF document.

Chen Zhuo didn't open the document immediately; he clicked "Reply" first.

He typed a line in the blank reply box.

"Confirmed participation, thank you for the invitation."

After typing the last letter, he pressed the send button.

The progress bar flashed by quickly; the email had been sent successfully.

Chen Zhuo closed the laptop screen.

He turned his head and looked at a stack of draft papers next to the computer.

This is a problem he has been dealing with recently.

He reached out and gathered the few pieces of paper scattered on the corner of the table, tapping them lightly on the surface to align the edges.

Then, he opened the drawer, took out a folder, and neatly placed the stack of draft papers inside.

After doing all this, Chen Zhuo leaned back in his chair and turned to look out the window.

The rain was still falling, and the sky had completely darkened. The streetlights in the courtyard cast an orange halo in the rain.

The next day.

The Princeton Mathematics Department building, Vane Building.

The rain outside has stopped, but the temperature in the air has dropped noticeably by a few degrees.

There was an unusual restlessness in the common lounge.

Chen Zhuo held a paper cup in his hand and stood in front of the coffee machine against the wall, waiting for the drip filter to work.

Several professors and postdoctoral fellows specializing in topology were seated around a few round tables in the center of the lounge.

The table in front of them was piled high with freshly printed A4 papers, the same three-hundred-page attachment that Harvard had sent the night before.

Not far away, in front of the blackboard, two middle-aged professors were writing something quickly with chalk in their hands.

"Hamilton used a surgical approach to handle the singularity of the Ricci flow, but Perelman took a step further on this inequality..."

2

The professor on the left pointed heavily at an item on the blackboard with chalk.

"Cao and Zhu completed this step in these three hundred pages."

The professor on the right flipped through the paper in his hand.

"Look at the lemma on page 112; they reconstructed a metric..."

1

The sound of chalk scraping against the blackboard echoed continuously in the break room.

Chen Zhuo listened quietly without interrupting. He picked up the paper cup that had contained coffee and put the plastic lid on it.

Just as I turned around, the door to the common room was pushed open.

Professor Arthur strode in, holding a mug in his left hand and a stack of bound A4 papers in his right.

Arthur glanced around the lounge and his gaze settled on Chen Zhuo, who was standing next to the coffee machine.

He walked straight over.

"Chen, did you see the email?"

Arthur walked up to Chen Zhuo, stopped, and casually took a sip of the coffee in his mug.

"I saw it."

Chen Zhuo nodded, his tone casual.

"They replied last night. I thought the department would email us today to tell us to go to Trenton train station to grab Amtrak tickets."

Upon hearing this, Arthur put down his mug, smiled, and shook his head.

"That was indeed the original plan."

Arthur placed the stack of bound papers he was holding on the bar counter next to him.

"Anna from the administration office even checked the timetable on Amtrak's website yesterday afternoon."

"Are the tickets sold out?"

Chen Zhuo took a sip of coffee from the paper cup.

"Worse than that."

Arthur sighed.

"Yesterday afternoon, the department head discovered that it wasn't just us from Princeton, Columbia University, NYU, and even MIT, but all of them were rushing to Boston. People all over the East Coast who do topology and geometric analysis were like sharks that had smelled blood."

Arthur pointed to the professors in the lounge who were arguing around the blackboard.

"You can imagine what it would be like if you made all these people squeeze onto the same train."

Arthur pursed his lips.

"From what I know of those old guys, it was a disaster."

Chen Zhuo couldn't help but laugh when he saw Arthur's exaggerated expression.

"That does sound really scary."

"So, for the sake of Amtrak's safety, and for the sake of our own ears."

Arthur picked up the stack of papers from the bar and handed them to Chen Zhuo.

"The department made a very wise decision."

Chen Zhuo took the stack of papers and glanced at them.

That was an itinerary and a list of people.

"The department head contacted Tetboro Airport in New Jersey directly." Arthur's tone carried a rare hint of relief.

"We chartered a Gulfstream aircraft; all the professors and invited scholars from the department who were going to Harvard were on this plane."

Chen Zhu flipped through the list in his hand.

The names were very long; Pierre, Arthur, and several top experts in geometric analysis from the department were all listed. Chen Zhuo's name was placed in the middle of the second page.

Charter flight.

Chen Zhuo closed the list and looked up at Arthur.

"This looks perfect."

"Not just perfect."

Arthur leaned against the edge of the bar.

"Putting all these guys into one plane and landing directly in Boston saves a lot of unnecessary trouble. Besides, it's also a show of respect for the Princeton math department. After all, we're not going to Harvard as ordinary listeners."

Arthur's gaze became slightly more serious.

"The proof details are 300 pages long, and there are so many things that need to be verified. We are there to find fault and to witness history."

Arthur patted Chen Zhuo on the shoulder.

"Your algebraic intuition is very sharp. Although the Poincaré conjecture is a matter of topology and geometric analysis, algebraic tools are equally indispensable in dealing with some high-dimensional manifolds. You'll have to be prepared to go to the blackboard at any time."

"I'm fine with it."

Chen Zhuo answered calmly.

"However, I'm only responsible for the parts that I can understand."

"That's enough."

Arthur smiled and picked up his mug.

"By the way, the trip is scheduled for the morning of September 28th. See you at Teterboro Airport."

"See you, Tetpolo."

"9

Chen Zhuo raised the paper cup in his hand and gently tapped it against Arthur's mug.

Arthur turned and walked toward the group of professors who were arguing, and soon joined the fray.

Chen Zhuo stood there, glanced at the itinerary in his hand, then folded it up and put it in his pocket.

He carried his coffee, walked out of the common room, and headed down the corridor toward his office.

September 28th, early morning.

After several autumn rains, the temperature in Princeton dropped significantly.

The morning air was noticeably cool.

In Pierre's second-floor bedroom.

Chen Zhuo opened the wardrobe door and took out a thick black windproof jacket.

He threw his jacket on the bed and turned to walk toward his desk.

Chen Zhuo unplugged the power cord from his IBM laptop, neatly wrapped the heavy black power adapter, and stuffed it into the bottom compartment of his backpack.

Next, he closed the laptop, put it in its special protective case, and placed it in the main compartment of his backpack.

Finally, he picked up the folder.

Inside were the draft papers he had been working on for the past few days.

Chen Zhuo placed the folder next to the computer and zipped up his backpack.

He put on the windproof jacket from the bed, zipped it up, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked out of the room.

The entrance hall on the first floor.

Pierre wore a dark gray wool cardigan over a dark autumn trench coat.

A small black suitcase sat at his feet.

Matilda stood in front of Pierre, adjusting the collar of his trench coat.

"It's windier in Boston than here, so remember to wear a scarf when you go out at night."

Matilda took a dark blue wool scarf from the clothes rack next to her and handed it to Pierre.

"I will, my dear Matilda."

Pierre took the scarf, draped it over the handle of the suitcase, and gently kissed Matilda's cheek.

Chen Zhuo walked down the stairs.

"Have you packed your luggage, Xiao Zhuo?"

Matilda turned her head and looked at the backpack on Chen Zhuo's back.

"Is that all you brought?"

"These are all lightweight clothes; the temperature in Boston right now is just right for this jacket."

Chen Zhuo walked to the entrance hall.

"Moreover, the heaviest things in the bag were the laptop and draft paper."

"I really don't understand you mathematicians."

Matilda smiled helplessly.

"Can't you bring more essential items when you go out?"

"For us, mathematics is a necessity of life."

Pierre gripped the handle of his suitcase and turned to look out the door.

A faint sound came from outside the yard: the sound of car tires crushing fallen leaves.

A black Lincoln sedan slowly pulled up in the driveway in front of Pierre's house.

This was a shuttle bus arranged by the Princeton Mathematics Department to take them to Tetporo Airport.

The driver's side door opened, the driver got out, walked around to the back of the car, and opened the trunk.

"The car is here," Chen Zhuo said.

Pierre nodded, turned around, and gave Matilda a hug.

"Give me a call when you get to Boston."

Matilda patted Pierre on the back.

"Shoot as soon as you land."

Pierre gently patted his wife on the back.

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