My IQ has been increasing year by year.

Chapter 323 Dumplings

Chen Zhuo strolled aimlessly along the Charles River promenade, bathed in the bright autumn sunshine of Boston.

Several slender kayaks from the Harvard rowing team were training on the river. The young team members shouted in unison, and the paddles left shimmering white streaks on the water.

This is Cambridge, the city with the highest density of academic institutions in the world.

MIT and Harvard University, these two top universities, are like two giants living side by side, separated only by a few streets.

After walking through a few blocks, the architectural style of the surrounding area began to change noticeably.

If MIT's architectural style is a modern steel behemoth full of deconstructivism, rugged industrial style and geeky flair, then Harvard University's campus is a completely classical, quiet, and centuries-old British academic landscape.

Ancient brick walls, ivy climbing all over them, and students sitting quietly reading on the lawn everywhere.

Chen Zhuo followed the main road of Harvard's campus and turned into a quiet building with practiced ease.

This is an office building shared by the Department of Mathematics at Harvard University and the Yau Center for Mathematical Sciences.

The thick carpet in the corridor absorbed all footsteps. Occasionally, one or two elderly white professors carrying lecture notes would hurry by, but they would just be thinking about something with their heads down, and no one would notice the young Asian man in an ordinary jacket.

Chen Zhuo arrived at the door of an office at the end of the third-floor corridor.

The sign on the door reads "Visiting Scholar's Office" in English.

He reached out and knocked lightly on the door three times.

"Come in, the door's unlocked."

Chen Zhuo pressed the doorknob and pushed the door open to enter.

The moment the door was pushed open, Chen Zhuo even had a disorienting illusion, as if he had crossed the Pacific Ocean in one step and returned directly from the late autumn of Boston to the family quarters of an old professor at a university in China.

The office heating was on full blast.

There was no overly sweet Starbucks caramel macchiato smell common on the Harvard campus, nor the aroma of coffee brewed for those staying up all night.

Instead, it has a subtle fragrance of green tea.

The aroma of this tea also subtly carries a faint hint of roasted tobacco, the kind of tobacco flavor found only in established domestic cigarette brands.

The office is quite spacious, with a huge bookshelf against the wall, filled with all kinds of foreign language classics.

Professor Zhu Xiping was sitting on the fabric sofa near the window.

There were no academic journals on the coffee table in front of me, but rather a set of exquisite purple clay teaware. On a small electric ceramic stove, the water in the glass kettle was bubbling away.

On a single sofa on the other side, Professor Cao Huaidong was sitting with his legs crossed, holding a half-lit cigarette in his hand.

He wore reading glasses and was engrossed in reading an overseas edition of the Reference News, which had been sent from China a few days earlier.

Hearing the door open, both professors looked up at the same time.

Upon seeing Chen Zhuo standing at the door, the two professors, both renowned in the international mathematics community, were initially taken aback, but then their faces immediately lit up with the smiles of elders seeing their successful juniors.

"Hey! Old Cao, look who's here!"

Professor Zhu immediately put down the purple clay tea pet in his hand, smiled and waved to Chen Zhuo.

"Isn't this our great C. Zhuo, who's been making waves in the quiet, turning MIT and Silicon Valley upside down? Come in, come in, close the door behind you, it's windy outside."

Professor Cao chuckled. He casually folded the newspaper in his hand and tossed it onto the coffee table, stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, and pointed at Chen Zhuo with a smile.

"You little rascal, are you like Cao Cao? I was just reading the newspaper with Old Zhu, talking about the commotion you've caused this time, and then you showed up at our door. Come on in and sit down."

Chen Zhuo casually closed the door, took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack behind the door, then walked to the sofa and sat down.

"Hello Professor Zhu, hello Professor Cao."

Chen Zhuo greeted him with a smile, his posture relaxed, showing none of the restraint one would expect when facing an academic giant.

"Here, have a taste."

Professor Zhu picked up the kettle on the electric ceramic stove, skillfully rinsed the tea in the purple clay teapot, and then filled a small porcelain cup in front of Chen Zhuo with tea.

"An old friend of mine in China just had someone bring me some pre-Qingming Longjing tea. It's from the core production area, and you can't find this authentic taste in a godforsaken place like Boston."

Professor Zhu smiled and gestured.

Chen Zhuo picked up the small teacup, brought it to his nose, and smelled it.

"Good tea."

Chen Zhuo let out a long sigh of relief and exclaimed in admiration.

Although I can't really tell the difference between good and bad, I'm sure it's true that it's good.

"The tea here is so much better than the tea in those Chinese restaurants in Princeton."

Upon hearing Chen Zhuo mention food, Professor Cao immediately came over with concern.

"What's wrong? Not enjoying the food at Princeton?"

Professor Cao frowned and looked Chen Zhuo up and down.

"That's true, you're at the age where you're still growing. Foreigners eat those hamburgers, sandwiches, and cold milk every day, how can our stomachs handle it?"

Professor Zhu nodded in agreement, his tone full of a reproachful tone from an elder.

"That old man Pierre, he's a workaholic himself, doesn't he care about your meals? You look rather thin."

"It's alright, I usually just make do with what I eat at the school cafeteria."

Chen Zhuo smiled and put down his teacup.

"There's really not much to look forward to in the food here in America."

"You can't just make do!"

Professor Cao slapped his thigh.

"Doing research is mentally and physically demanding, so you have to keep up with your nutrition! Luckily, the other day we bought a few pounds of fresh chives and pork at the Chinese supermarket here, and last night we made two large trays of dumplings by hand in our apartment, and they're freezing in the office fridge right now."

Professor Cao pointed to a small refrigerator in the corner.

"Don't leave at noon, eat here! I'll cook you two plates of chive and pork dumplings on an induction cooker, along with some minced garlic and aged vinegar. I guarantee it'll be more comfortable than eating at any of those Michelin-starred Western restaurants!"

Chen Zhuo's eyes lit up when he heard the words "chive and pork dumplings" and "aged vinegar".

(I really love eating this, I highly recommend it)

"Thank you in advance, I'm really in for a treat today."

Chen Zhuo accepted it without hesitation.

"Don't mention it, feel right at home here."

Professor Zhu smiled and poured Chen Zhuo another cup of tea.

The three people sat in the warm office, drinking hot tea.

"Seriously, Xiao Chen."

Professor Cao picked up his thermos and blew on the tea leaves floating on top.

"You've really made us Chinese people proud this time."

A full week had passed since the three preprint papers were published.

Over the past week, the North American academic community has gone through a process from initial skepticism to shock, and then to frenzy.

The outside world's fervor has already gone through several twists and turns, but for Professor Cao and Professor Zhu, it has all settled into a perfect topic of conversation to enjoy over tea.

"You have no idea, these foreigners outside have been going crazy this past week."

Professor Cao pointed out the window, his tone revealing a hint of schadenfreude.

"A couple of days ago, several hedge funds on Wall Street, I don't know where they got the information, drove up to the gates of Harvard and MIT with reporters and architects, asking around to find out who this C. Zhuo really is."

Professor Zhu was beaming with joy, patting the armrest of the sofa as he spoke.

"That's right! The funniest thing was the morning before yesterday, a few foreign professors from Harvard who usually look down on us and don't even bother to acknowledge us when we greet them actually knocked on our door and came to our office for the first time ever."

Professor Zhu imitated the awkward tone of those foreign professors.

"They rubbed their hands together and asked me about you indirectly."

"So what did you say?"

Chen Zhuo asked with a smile, toying with the small purple clay cup in his hand.

"What could I say? I just played along with them, of course!"

Professor Zhu laughed heartily, a sly glint in his eyes.

"I told them, 'Oh dear, there are so many people named Chen Zhuo in China, over a billion people! As for that genius boy, I heard he's studying algebraic geometry to death at Princeton.'"

Professor Cao listened with amusement.

"Old Zhu's spiel completely fooled those foreigners. They left with disappointed looks on their faces, muttering 'God, could it really be the code name of some secret laboratory?'"

Upon hearing this, Chen Zhuo couldn't help but laugh out loud.

In this Western academic world full of prejudice and arrogance, seeing these usually high-and-mighty European and American scholars get their comeuppance was undoubtedly a gratifying thing for these older generation Chinese scientists.

It was 11:30 a.m.

Professor Cao took out a large plate of frozen, handmade chive and pork dumplings from the refrigerator.

Professor Zhu skillfully found a small induction cooker and a stainless steel pot, filled it with water, and started boiling.

Professor Cao then took out two heads of garlic from his drawer, handed one to Chen Zhuo and told him to peel it himself. He then took out a glass bottle and poured in a small bowl of authentic aged vinegar.

When the steaming plate of dumplings was placed on the coffee table, the rich aroma of chives and pork instantly overpowered the tea fragrance in the office.

Chen Zhuo picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks, dipped it in a little aged vinegar, and took a bite.

Thin skin, generous filling, and bursting with juice.

Ah, that feels good.

The three of them sat around the coffee table, enjoying hot tea and aged vinegar, and devoured two large plates of dumplings.

After eating and drinking his fill, Chen Zhuo looked at the clock on the wall.

It was already past 1 or 2 pm.

"Are you full?"

Professor Cao watched as Chen Zhuo put down his chopsticks and asked with a smile.

"I'm too full."

Chen Zhuo leaned back on the sofa with satisfaction.

"This meal of dumplings is better than anything else."

"Okay, take a nap here after you've eaten."

Professor Zhu pointed to the cot next to him.

"No, I have to go back."

Chen Zhuo sat up straight and scratched his hair with a hint of helplessness.

"When I left this morning, I promised my two roommates that I would bring them pizza back for lunch. If I don't go back soon, I'm worried that they will starve to death in front of the whiteboard today."

Upon hearing that Chen Zhuo was going back to serve his two foreign roommates, the two professors burst into laughter again.

Chen Zhuo stood up, walked to the coat rack, and put on his coat.

Just as he was about to take his leave, Professor Zhu suddenly remembered something, quickly stood up, and walked to a large cabinet in the corner.

He rummaged through the cabinet for a while, then took out a bright red plastic bag with the logo of a domestic supermarket printed on it.

Professor Zhu took several items out of the cabinet, stuffed them all into the red plastic bag, then walked up to Chen Zhuo and handed him the bag.

Winter is coming soon, and it's very cold here in the US. I imagine it will be even harder to get through in Princeton.

Professor Zhu pointed to the contents of the bag and gave instructions like an elder bidding farewell to a traveler on a long journey.

"There are two bottles of Lao Gan Ma chili sauce that I specially asked someone to bring from China, a few packets of hot pot base from Chongqing, and two cans of black tea that I often drink."

Professor Zhu patted the heavy plastic bag.

"Take this back to Princeton. When you can't get used to the raw and cold food in the cafeteria, just buy some noodles or vegetables, cook them with hot pot broth, and Lao Gan Ma chili sauce is also great for mixing with rice. Don't eat those Western fast foods every day and ruin your stomach."

Professor Cao also came over, patted Chen Zhuo on the shoulder, and his tone became serious and gentle.

"Xiao Chen, it's not easy studying away from home all by yourself."

Professor Cao looked into Chen Zhuo's eyes.

"No matter how highly others praise you, you're still just a kid. If you encounter any problems, troubles, or injustices, don't bear them all by yourself."

Professor Cao pointed to the landline phone in the office.

"Although we're not in the same school, and Boston is quite a distance from New Jersey, we Chinese people here should always look out for each other. Remember, if anything happens, call us anytime. Even if the sky falls, we, as your elders, will always be there to help you."

He didn't say any sentimental words of thanks; he simply lowered his head slightly and solemnly accepted the bright red plastic bag.

"Thank you, Professor Zhu. Thank you, Professor Cao. I'll remember that."

Chen Zhuo smiled and nodded.

"When the two professors have time to go to Princeton, I'll treat you to the best steak in New Jersey."

"Get lost! Who wants to eat foreigners' steak? Just make us some hot pot broth and noodles instead!"

Professor Cao laughed and cursed.

Chen Zhuo smiled and waved, then turned and pushed open the office door.

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