My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 287 Ivy League Elites

A light fog rolled in over Boston that evening.

The streetlights cast dim, yellowish halos in the mist, and the air carried the dampness and chill of late autumn blowing in from the Atlantic.

Chen Zhuo walked along the street, holding a notebook in his hand, with the Montblanc pen that Su Wei had given him tucked into the edge of the notebook.

He stopped at an intersection and looked up at the flashing neon sign on the street corner.

Rusty nails.

The sign is quite old, and the letter N flashes occasionally, which surprisingly fits the name of the shop somewhat.

Chen Zhuo walked up the steps and pushed open the door.

The door hinges creaked softly, and a wave of heat, a mixture of fried onion rings, roasted meat, and tobacco, hit me.

There's no air of high-class scholars here.

The lighting in the lobby was dim, with several industrial-style chandeliers hanging above the bar.

The jukebox in the corner was playing soothing old rock music. The floor was covered with wide, old wooden planks, which had a slightly sticky feel underfoot, a result of years of absorbing spilled beer.

The pub was bustling with noise, mostly from nearby college students and young researchers, their various accents mingling with the clinking of glasses.

Chen Zhuo stood at the entrance, his gaze sweeping through the crowded throng towards the innermost part of the tavern.

In a secluded corner against the wall, there was a rectangular table.

On that somewhat mottled wall hung two blackboards, their edges stained with oil and bearing faint chalk marks that had been drawn on and then erased, clearly indicating that they hadn't been cleaned in a long time.

David was sitting at that table, holding a glass of dark beer, tilting his head and talking to the person next to him.

Chen Zhuo walked through the corridor and headed in that direction.

David, with his sharp eyes, turned his head and spotted Chen Zhuo walking over. He put down his beer glass, smiled, and raised his hand to greet him.

"This way, Chen."

The other two people at the table also stopped talking and turned to look at the young Asian man who was walking over.

David stood up and pulled out an empty chair opposite him.

"Was the journey smooth?" David asked.

"It's easy to find, not far from the subway station."

Chen Zhuo walked over and nodded.

He sat down in the chair and casually placed his notebook on the table.

David sat down again, pointed to the people around him, and began to introduce them.

"These are all regulars at the pub."

David pointed to the young man sitting to his left, who had curly hair and dark circles under his eyes.

"Alan, a postdoctoral researcher in high-energy physics at Harvard, you were both in the physics department building this afternoon, but he was probably sleeping in the lab at that time."

Allen smiled and raised his cup to Chen Zhuo as a greeting.

David then pointed to the two people sitting diagonally opposite Chen Zhuo.

"Sam studies computers at MIT."

David briefly touched on their background.

"When we have nothing to do, we like to argue and debate with each other here."

"Don't listen to David's nonsense, we were having a rigorous academic discussion."

Sam was a slightly overweight white man wearing a loose hoodie. He took a tissue, wiped his hands, and extended his hand to Chen Zhuo.

"Hello, Chen, David has been mentioning your name non-stop since he came back this afternoon."

"Hello there."

Chen Zhuo extended his hand and shook hands with Sam.

David turned to look at Chen Zhuo.

"What would you like to drink? The stout here is pretty good, but if you'd like something else, they also have juice."

"Soda water is fine."

Chen Zhuo smiled.

"Add some ice."

David snapped his fingers, calling over a passing waiter. He ordered a glass of iced soda and also added two servings of French fries and grilled onion rings to the table.

Even after the waiter left, the atmosphere at the table didn't become awkward because of the arrival of Chen Zhuo, a new face.

When David introduced Chen Zhuo, he mentioned that he came from Princeton and had made the research on the Chow group.

Allen and Sam, being people who operate in this circle, naturally know what that means.

They have a natural respect for pure intellectual ability and are very polite, but that politeness carries a casualness unique to Ivy League circles.

The soda water was served quickly.

A fine layer of water droplets condensed on the glass, and the ice cubes inside made a crisp clinking sound as Chen Zhuo picked up the glass.

Chen Zhuo took a sip of water, put down the cup, casually placed his hands on the table, and listened quietly to their conversation.

These twenty-seven or twenty-eight-year-old brains, having spent the day tormented by complex research topics in their respective labs, naturally drifted into conversation about the trivialities of life after sitting down for a few drinks.

"My father called me from New York last week."

Allen rubbed his temples and sighed deeply, his fatigue showing on his face.

David took a bite of a French fry.

"Is he pressuring you to go back to New York again?"

"It's even more annoying than that."

Allen picked up his beer, took a big gulp, and slammed the glass down on the table.

"He insisted on adding two additional clauses to the trust for the vacation home on Long Island, saying it was to circumvent the new tax law next year. As a result, the New York firm's legal partner charged me a 2.5% commission."

Allen shook his head, his tone full of displeasure.

"They're a bunch of bloodsucking robbers sitting in their Manhattan offices. The lawn maintenance fee for that villa is high enough for a year, and now the trust fees alone could buy another Porsche. I told him to switch law firms, but he insisted that the law firm has been working with the family for decades and can't be switched."

Sam leaned forward as he chewed on his hamburger, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"Lawyers are all like this, my uncle is one of them."

Sam swallowed the food in his mouth and crumpled the napkin in his hand into a ball, somewhat irritated.

"Last month, during the holiday, he insisted that I spend half a month on his private yacht, saying that he saw that I was staring at the computer all day and that my brain was too exhausted, so I needed to go to the bay in San Diego to sunbathe and relieve my fatigue."

David chuckled beside him.

"Is going on a yacht vacation too much of a hardship for you?"

"What do you know?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"The yacht rocked on the waves and made me dizzy. I had planned to take advantage of the holiday to go through Deligne's lecture notes on algebraic varieties, but I ended up at sea for half a month without even broadband internet and was completely cut off from the outside world."

Sam picked up his beer glass, looking utterly dejected.

"It was a complete waste of my vacation. When I got off the ship, I felt even more sluggish than before I boarded."

"Come on, Sam."

Allen leaned back in his chair, slowly sipping his drink.

"At least your uncle's yacht has a chef. I went skiing in Aspen last month, and that was a disaster. I booked a holiday cabin halfway up the mountain six months in advance, and even the hot water supply was intermittent."

Allen tapped the table with his fingers, his tone revealing a hint of dissatisfaction.

"After skiing all day, I couldn't even take a bath. The resort manager came over to apologize, acting like it was his right, saying that the pipes were old. I really wanted to call the industry association to complain about them, but my fiancée persuaded me to stay.

The music in the pub was changed to a soothing country ballad.

The dim light shone on the table, illuminating the few glasses of beer with white foam.

They spoke casually, with a hint of weariness and complaint.

Nobody is showing off.

They were just complaining about the trust fees for the Long Island villas, the lack of broadband on the private yacht, and the water supply system at the Aspen vacation cabins, just like ordinary people complain about yesterday's bad dinner.

This is the life they've been accustomed to since childhood.

The resources and wealth that ordinary people struggle their whole lives to achieve are, in their eyes, just some troublesome daily chores that need to be managed.

Chen Zhuo sat opposite him, listening quietly.

His face showed no sign of discomfort or disgust.

He didn't harbor much resentment towards the rich, nor did he feel neglected by this topic.

He was used to it long ago.

Especially in the past life.

David noticed Chen Zhuo's quietness and felt it was inappropriate to let a guest from Princeton listen to them complain about their vacation.

David coughed and steered the conversation toward Chen Zhuo.

"Speaking of Princeton."

David looked at Chen Zhuo.

"I remember you studied in the country before, when did you go to Princeton?"

"September."

Chen Zhuo answered naturally.

"It's only been a little over two months since the start of the school year."

Sam's eyes lit up when he heard "Princeton," and he put down his hamburger.

"Chen, are the squirrels on the Princeton campus still as fat as ever?"

Sam looked at Chen Zhuo's youthful face and chatted with him about anecdotes from the Ivy League circles.

"I heard from someone from Cornell who came to exchange ideas last week that Professor Nash sometimes eats bread on the bench in front of the math building, and the squirrels are so bold that they try to snatch the wrapper from his hand."

Everyone laughed, and all eyes were on Chen Zhuo.

This was a harmless joke, and also a way for them to test Chen Zhuo's personality.

Many prodigies who achieve fame at a young age often appear stiff in social situations and don't know how to respond to such down-to-earth remarks.

Chen Zhuo didn't let them fall into an awkward silence.

He picked up his soda and took a sip, his eyes curving into a perfect smile, which was very gentle and appropriate.

"It is indeed very fat."

Chen Zhuo put down his cup, his voice carrying a hint of easygoing laughter.

"The dogs in front of the math building have long been fed by students and are no longer afraid of people. They have even learned to line up for donuts at the cafeteria entrance."

He paused, then continued Sam's topic.

"But Professor Nash has now gained experience. He usually only goes out for a walk at three o'clock in the afternoon, and he breaks the bread into pieces in advance and hides it in the deep pocket of his coat. The squirrels can't find it and can only circle around him. Just avoid that time period, or don't eat on the bench."

Everyone at the table understood this dry humor, which carried a hint of expertise.

Allen couldn't help but burst into laughter, almost spilling the beer in his hand.

"A smart approach."

Sam smiled and shook his head.

"It seems that Professor Nash's expertise in game theory has been fully applied to dealing with squirrels."

The atmosphere immediately became relaxed and harmonious.

The waiter brought over another pitcher of beer.

After a few drinks, the conversation began to wander into all sorts of boundless topics.

"Alan, I heard you're going to Washington next week?"

David poured himself a full beer and casually asked a question.

Allen nodded, tore open a packet of ketchup, and squeezed it next to the fries.

"Yes, go to a private salon."

Allen picked up a fries and dipped them in sauce.

"It was arranged by my uncle. It was a gathering at home hosted by an old friend in the Senate. The main purpose was to discuss the funding direction for several new projects of the Department of Energy next year. He insisted that I go and make an appearance so that I could meet some people in Washington."

Allen sighed.

"Those kinds of occasions are incredibly boring. They're full of politicians in haute couture suits, champagne glasses, and fake smiles. If it weren't for the lab's budget for next year, I'd rather sleep in my Cambridge apartment."

"Stop complaining. At least you went once, and next year's funding will be secured."

Sam bumped David with his shoulder.

"David, what are your plans for Christmas this year? How about we go skiing in Aspen? The resort Allen booked isn't good enough. My family has a long-term rental cabin on the mountaintop. The facilities are much better, and we won't have to worry about running out of hot water for showers."

David smiled and picked up his glass.

"We'll see. If I can finish running the data I have, I'll go. If I can't, I guess I'll have to spend Christmas in the lab with the servers."

"Don't push yourself too hard," Sam advised.

"After skiing for a few days and relaxing, you'll be more efficient when you come back."

The music in the tavern was still playing, and the people at the surrounding tables would occasionally burst into laughter.

At the rectangular table, the conversation swirled between Washington political salons, Aspen ski resorts, and various family connections.

Chen Zhuo remained seated in his original position.

He didn't interrupt.

He listened with a smile, occasionally nodding slightly when they looked at him to show that he was listening.

He didn't show any embarrassment at not being able to get a word in edgewise.

Half of the ice in the glass had melted, and bubbles from the soda water kept rising from the bottom of the glass before bursting on the surface.

Chen Zhuo reached out and slowly rotated the cold glass.

Water stains drew overlapping circles on the table.

His gaze lowered slightly, landing on the notebook he had brought.

The cover has no extra decorations, only the Montblanc pen quietly clipped to the edge.

Under the dim light of the pub's wall lamps, the notebook cover reflected a cool and restrained halo.

The surrounding sounds were very chaotic.

Lawn maintenance at Long Island villas.

Yachts in San Diego Bay.

A private salon for Washington lawmakers.

These words seemed so natural and so self-assured on this table.

Chen Zhuo could understand every word they said.

But he and they are not in the same world at all.

That wealth, privileges, and readily available resources are like a huge, invisible net hanging over this table, keeping ordinary people completely out.

Chen Zhuo withdrew his hand from the cup and placed it back on his lap.

He doesn't need those things.

He doesn't need a private yacht to relieve mental exhaustion, nor does he need to seek inspiration in Washington salons.

All his wealth, all his confidence in confronting the world, resided in the mind before him.

On this piece of paper printed with light blue grid lines.

There, there are no villas on Long Island, nor lawyers in Manhattan.

There are only endless algebraic loops, only the break between continuous and discrete, only those abysses that need to be filled with absolute logic and computing power.

That was his only place.

"Cheers!"

At the other end of the table, Allen and Sam raised their beer glasses, which clinked together with a loud thud, and white beer foam overflowed from the sides of the glasses.

David smiled and raised his glass.

Chen Zhuo raised his head, his smile still polite. He reached out, picked up the glass of ice-cold soda water, and touched it to theirs in mid-air.

"Cheers."

Chen Zhuo said softly.

The cup touched his lips, and the cool liquid slid down his throat, keeping his mind clear.

The lights in the pub were still dim, and the drumbeats of rock music pounded on the floor.

This long Boston night has only just begun.