My IQ has been increasing year by year.

The report set in Chapter 318

As the last visitor's figure disappeared outside the door, David gripped the doorknob and clicked the door shut, locking it securely.

With that soft sound, the living room regained its weekend relaxation.

On the coffee table, several joint letters of intent bearing the Cayman Islands Trust seal and the signatures of Richard, Kane, and Pierre lay quietly next to a pile of leftover takeout boxes.

David walked over, carefully gathered the papers, and placed them deep inside his briefcase.

After doing all this, he let out a long sigh of relief and rubbed his slightly tense brow.

Chen Zhuo was still leaning against the island counter, holding a bottle of mineral water in his hand. He unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and then turned his head to look at his two roommates who had been huddled in the corner of the living room, not daring to breathe loudly the whole time.

Sam's messy curly hair looked even more listless, and there was even a layer of cold sweat on his forehead. Allen, on the other hand, looked like he had just gone through an extremely intense marathon, leaning against the wall as if he were completely exhausted, his glasses slipping down to the tip of his nose.

Chen Zhuo looked at the two of them, who looked as if they had just come down from the execution ground, and broke the silence with a slight smile.

"Has your blood pressure gone down?"

Chen Zhuo's tone was casual, carrying a kind of banter unique to young people.

"Or, while the afternoon sun is still nice, do you need to go back to your rooms for a nap to soothe your fragile nerves that were tormented by your tutors this morning?"

Upon hearing this lighthearted joke, Sam and Allen's tense shoulders suddenly relaxed.

"Oh God..."

Sam let out a sigh of relief, his legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the carpet beside him.

"Chen, you have no idea how Richard glared at me outside the door just now. I swear, if you hadn't been here, he would have torn me to pieces."

Chen Zhuo looked at Sam sitting on the carpet and found it somewhat amusing.

"I don't know who said this morning, 'Just let yourself be scolded.'"

Upon hearing Chen Zhuo's precise retort, Sam, lying on the carpet, covered his face in despair.

"I was totally absorbed in coding last night!"

Sam shouted his defense at the top of his lungs.

"In a moment of impulsiveness, with my adrenaline surging, I even had the illusion that I could take on a Turing Award winner one-on-one. But then Richard glared at me just now, and wow, I've already started thinking about where I'll be buried in the future."

At this point, he suddenly sat up on the carpet, gesturing wildly as he denounced his mentor's lack of martial ethics.

"Besides, I thought the worst that would happen was him yelling at me on the phone for ten minutes! Who knew he'd actually bring a truckload of people to block the door? With so many core members, like a gang demanding debts, who could withstand that kind of thug?!"

To conceal his true feelings, Sam decisively turned around, pointed to Allen who was leaning against the wall and panting heavily, and used his roommate as a scapegoat.

"And Chen, you be the judge, at least I dared to peek a couple of times from behind David, but look at Allen!"

Sam relentlessly exposed his shortcomings.

"In the few minutes Professor Kane walked in, this guy was so scared he didn't dare breathe, and his face turned almost white! I was really afraid he wouldn't be able to catch his breath and would faint on the sofa right there!"

Suddenly pulled out to take the blame, Allen rolled his eyes helplessly and pushed up his glasses that had slipped down to the tip of his nose.

"Get lost."

"I was just playing dead, trying to make myself less noticeable. That's better than you, isn't it?"

Allen sneered and retorted without any politeness.

"When Richard was speaking just now, your legs were shaking like you were stepping on a sewing machine. I saw the whole sofa shaking along with you."

"I was just shaking my legs because my legs were getting tired from standing for so long!"

Do you even believe it yourself?

Watching the two of them hurting each other and sabotaging each other, Chen Zhuo couldn't help but shake his head with a smile.

"Alright, stop pointing fingers at each other."

Chen Zhuo pointed in the direction of the corridor and interrupted them with a smile.

"Go back and get some sleep. Give your tired legs and pale faces a good rest."

The two postdoctoral fellows who were just moments ago dominating the blackboard now looked like two unlucky college students who had just pulled an all-nighter and were being reprimanded by the headmaster.

They rolled their eyes at each other with disdain, then dragged themselves, swaying and staggering, toward the corridor.

The guest room door was closed.

The apartment fell completely silent.

Chen Zhuo took a bottle of mineral water, walked to the whiteboard covered with equations and code, looked at it quietly for a while, and then turned and walked towards his bedroom.

The door was closed tightly.

For the next few days, Chen Zhuo and his companions lived a normal, even somewhat monotonous, life in the apartment.

Reading, eating, and occasionally jogging along the Charles River.

But outside the apartment, the three papers posted on the ArXiv preprint website had, within a week, completed a terrifying academic nuclear explosion on a global scale.

On the first day, the impact was limited to a few top universities in the Boston area.

On the third day, supercomputers at the world's leading institutions, including CERN, the Max Planck Institute in Germany, and the Cavendish Laboratory in the UK, were all operating at full capacity.

On the fifth day, the tech giants of Silicon Valley, including the chief architects of Google, IBM, and Microsoft, collectively went into a frenzy.

But as time went on, when top scholars around the world tried to fully digest this triadic framework, they sadly discovered a fatal problem.

Reproductive isolation in academic disciplines.

Before this tower built by Chen Zhuo, Sam, and Allen, the traditional academic barriers have become an insurmountable wall.

At CERN, the gray-haired physicists, who were intimately familiar with the multidimensional universe, looked at the low-level concurrent scheduling code written by Sam as if they were reading gibberish.

They simply don't understand how that truncation instruction works at the compiler's pointer level.

Meanwhile, in Silicon Valley, top architects and algorithm engineers earning multi-million dollar salaries are scratching their heads over the eleven-dimensional topological manifold derived by Alan.

They could run the pseudocode perfectly, but they couldn't understand why the code could physically achieve a closed loop for the mass gap.

Everyone is like the blind men and the elephant.

Everyone knows this architecture is correct because the machine runs it and the equations are self-consistent.

But apart from the three people in this apartment, no single scholar or team in the world has been able to see the full picture of this structure.

The most tormented were the mathematicians at Princeton.

Princeton University, New Jersey, Vane House.

In Conference Room One, the room was filled with smoke, and dozens of empty coffee cups were scattered on the conference table.

Dean Cyril's eyes were sunken, and his once meticulously styled hair now stood on end like weeds. In front of him was a huge blackboard, covered with densely packed formulas for homology group mapping.

A full week has passed since Cyril issued the order to produce the white paper within 24 hours.

However, this official compliance certification white paper only goes up to page six.

Almost all the full-time and associate professors in the Princeton mathematics department were stuck on page seven of Chen Zhuo's fifteen-page manuscript.

Mathematicians are known for their fastidiousness.

They cannot adhere to the pragmatism of physicists and computer engineers, who believe that as long as something is easy to use and can be closed, it is true.

They need to know where that constant c comes from.

At the extreme point where the continuous manifold transitions to the discrete truncation, Chen Zhuo's derivation jumps too much.

It was like there should have been a sophisticated calculus bridge between two cliffs, but Chen Zhuo thought building a bridge was too troublesome, so he simply used his domineering algebraic intuition to leap across them.

Cyril and his colleagues knew that the truth lay on the other side, but they couldn't find the blueprints for building the bridge, nor could they deduce the smooth transition process.

"Dean, it still doesn't work."

A senior professor specializing in algebraic geometry threw the chalk on the table and rubbed his temples in anguish.

"The dimensional folding of that quotient space mapping is too bizarre. If it is forcibly converged in the homology group, the curvature will still diverge. There must be a crucial implicit transformation in Chen's mind that he hasn't written out yet."

Cyril looked at the blackboard and let out a long sigh.

Cyril picked up the phone on the table and dialed David Collin's number.

David's apartment in Boston.

Two o'clock in the afternoon.

David sat at the small desk on the side of the living room and hung up the long transoceanic phone call.

He pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, stood up, and walked to the center of the living room.

Chen Zhuo was sitting on the sofa, holding a yellowed topology monograph in his hand, and flipping through it intently.

On the other side of the island, Sam was typing away on a keyboard, revising a test log, while Allen was scribbling on several sheets of draft paper.

"List."

David's voice broke the silence of the apartment.

Chen Zhuo paused in his book-flipping motion, looked up, and Sam and Allen also subconsciously looked over.

"I just received a call from Dean Cyril of Princeton."

David spoke very professionally, summarizing the half-hour-long conversation in the most concise language.

"The academic community is stuck. The mathematicians at Princeton are stuck on the seventh page of your manuscript, the Harvard Center for High Dimensional Physics has encountered a singularity in engineering translation, and the joint tests at MIT have also found some underlying logical conflicts that they cannot understand."

David looked at Chen Zhuo and relayed Cyril's request.

"Princeton, Harvard, and MIT have jointly proposed to co-host an unprecedented joint workshop on multidimensional computing power and topology architecture in Boston in two weeks."

"They need you to stand up and give the world an explanation."

Upon hearing the news, Sam's fingers, which were typing on the keyboard, suddenly stopped, and Allen also put down his pen.

Joint seminar of three universities.

In academia, a symposium that can get these three top universities to put aside their prejudices and jointly host is no less significant in terms of scale and historical importance than a Nobel Prize award ceremony.

David walked to Chen Zhuo's side and analyzed the commercial and reputational value behind this report.

"Chen, as your agent, I must explain the stakes involved to you."

"This is not just an academic presentation; it's a fantastic opportunity to crown yourself in the history of human science. If you deliver this interdisciplinary presentation independently, you will thoroughly integrate the logic of these three fields on the podium."

'

David pushed up his glasses, and a glint of light flashed across the lenses.

"You will exclusively receive the highest honor for this groundbreaking achievement, and no one else can share your glory. This will have an immeasurable positive impact on your future academic influence and commercial licensing premium."

David's suggestion aligns with maximizing practical benefits.

In this Western world that worships individual heroism, wielding absolute power and standing at the top of the pyramid to receive the world's adoration is the ultimate dream of all scholars.

Sam and Allen's breathing became somewhat rapid involuntarily.

But they had no reason to refute it, because what David said was true.

Without Chen Zhuo's basic calculations, they wouldn't even be able to get started.

A brief and subtle silence fell over the apartment.

After listening to David's highly tempting suggestion to create a god, Chen Zhuo simply closed the topology monograph in his hand.

Chen Zhuo raised his head, glanced at David, and spoke naturally, as if stating an objective fact that 1+1=2.

"David, this doesn't make sense."

"I can certainly talk about the underlying algebraic logic and the transition to homology groups on page seven."

Chen Zhuo picked up the water glass next to him and took a sip.

"But what if a physicist in the audience stands up and asks me about the variational path of the string field equations at the extreme points, or an engineer from MIT asks me about the priority scheduling when the compiler's underlying pointer overflows?"

Chen Zhuo put down his water glass, speaking as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I can't answer that because I haven't written that line of code, nor have I built that physical model."

David was stunned.

He had assumed that Chen Zhuo would gladly accept the suggestion of being crowned, as it would be an immense honor.

Chen Zhuo ignored David's astonishment and turned to look at Sam and Allen, who seemed a little lost on the side of the island.

"Why can't this report be three sessions? I'm only responsible for finishing the logical deduction of the mathematical foundation at the end."

""

Chen Zhuo looked calmly at his two roommates.

"As for the underlying implementation of the code and the integration of the physical field equations."

"That's your achievement, go up and talk about it yourselves."

Chen Zhuo finished speaking.

There was no rousing background music, no tearful embraces.

Sam's fingers, which were typing on the keyboard, were still suspended in mid-air.

Alan's hand, which was adjusting his glasses, trembled slightly.

They were all geniuses who had reached the pinnacle of their respective fields, and they knew all too well just how incredibly valuable David's suggestion to monopolize the honor was.

Sam didn't say thank you; he simply pressed a shortcut key to save and close the test log that wasn't originally that important.

Allen didn't say anything; he pushed the messy draft papers on the table aside.

The two brilliant postdoctoral researchers exchanged a glance.

Then, Sam pushed back his chair, stood up, and strode to the huge whiteboard in the center of the living room, with Allen following closely behind.

Sam picked up a black marker, drew a vertical line on the left side of the whiteboard, and wrote the words "Compilation and Concurrency Scheduling".

Allen picked up a red marker and wrote "eleven-dimensional manifold chimerism" on the right side of the whiteboard.

They tacitly reserved the largest and most central area for Chen Zhuo.

T