My IQ has been increasing year by year.

April 2000, the rainy season in the south.

Rainwater streamed down the rusty iron bars of the security grille outside the window, accumulating into a murky puddle on the cement windowsill.

Because of the humid weather, the wall plaster felt slippery to the touch, as if it had oozed a layer of cold oil.

The room was very quiet.

The only sound is the "click, click" of the clock moving.

Chen Zhuo sat at his desk, holding a mechanical pencil in his hand.

No one is home.

Chen Jianguo was called away early in the morning by an urgent call from the factory, saying that the newly arrived equipment had broken down, which made the workshop director so anxious that he cursed on the phone.

Liu Xiuying then took her vegetable basket to the South Gate Market. According to her, vegetable vendors close up shop early on rainy days, so she could negotiate a lower price.

A book titled "Elementary School Math Olympiad: Learning by Analogy" was open in front of Chen Zhuo.

He stared at a variation of the "chicken and rabbit in the same cage" problem on the page.

Below the title are several simple line drawings of rabbits and a cage.

He did not write anything.

That feeling is back again.

feeling bad.

It's not a physical discomfort.

In the morning, to cooperate with that damned fitness plan, he forced down two oily salted duck eggs and drank a large enamel mug of hot milk.

My stomach is full now, and it feels warm and cozy.

It's a feeling of discomfort in my head.

It's like a large-displacement diesel engine that's just been broken in, with the fuel tank full and the spark plugs hot, but it's in neutral and someone's slamming on the brakes.

The piston was spinning wildly in the cylinder, while the crankshaft was spinning aimlessly.

The vibration traveled up the spine, making one's teeth ache and temples throb.

These math olympiad problems are so boring.

At a glance, the numbers seem to come alive, automatically disassembling and recombining in the mind.

No need to set up equations or draw auxiliary lines; the answer appears directly on your retina.

There was no resistance.

This lack of damping made him feel physically irritable.

It's like punching a pile of cotton; you exert force but don't hear a sound.

"Tsk."

Chen Zhuo frowned and loosened his grip.

The mechanical pencil fell on the table, rolled twice, and a piece of graphite core broke off from the tip.

He didn't pick it up.

He stood up and walked to the window.

The gray sky hung low, and the rain was still falling, drizzling down.

This feeling of having nothing to do made him feel very uncomfortable.

My head feels uncomfortable.

If you don't put something hard inside to grind it down, this machine will eventually overheat due to excessive speed.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

1:30 PM.

Chen Zhuo turned around and walked to the shoe rack by the door.

He changed into those dark green high-top rain boots.

Chen Jianguo got these shoes from the factory's labor protection store. They had a strong rubber smell, the soles were as hard as bricks, and they made a clanging sound when you walked on them.

Then he picked up the long umbrella with the black handle behind the door.

The umbrella was large, with bamboo ribs and a thick black cloth canopy.

When it's opened up, it looks like a giant black mushroom, completely covering his small, 1.2-meter frame.

Pushing open the iron gate of the apartment building, a damp, cold wind mixed with rain rushed towards me.

Chen Zhuo shrank his neck, buried his chin in his school uniform collar, and stepped into the rain through the puddles.

The streets were flooded with deep water mixed with yellow mud.

Chen Zhuoshen walked with uneven steps.

As I passed the newsstand on the street corner, the owner was huddled inside listening to the radio, which was playing Shan Tianfang's storytelling.

The most prominently displayed magazines were "Zhiyin" and "Story Club," which were the spiritual fast food of this era.

A damp copy of "Computer Weekly" was tucked in the corner.

The headline on the front page was printed in bold:

"Windows 2000 was released, ushering in a new era for the NT kernel."

The accompanying image is a blue window logo; the resolution isn't high, but it stands out starkly against the gloomy, rainy backdrop.

Chen Zhuo paused for a moment.

He stared at the line of text for a few seconds.

The city library is in the center of the old town, about two kilometers from his home.

It was a Soviet-style building constructed in the 1950s.

The walls are gray and white bricks, the columns are tall Roman and white, and a faded red five-pointed star is still preserved on the lintel.

It was raining, and there weren't many people in the library.

A familiar scent filled the hall.

It was the sour smell of fermented old paper, mixed with the damp wooden floor, mothballs, and a musty smell wafting from who-knows-where.

Chen Zhuo closed the umbrella, placed it in the rusty tin can by the door, and then climbed the wooden staircase in the middle, which had been worn smooth and shiny, directly to the third floor.

The third floor is the Natural Sciences Reading Room.

It's very quiet here.

Several old-fashioned fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, occasionally emitting a "buzzing" sound due to unstable voltage.

Rows of green metal bookshelves towered into the sky, like a steel forest.

Chen Zhuo walked among the bookshelves.

He was too short; his head barely reached the second shelf, so he had to crane his neck to see the category labels.

O1 Mathematics.

O3 mechanics.

O4 Physics.

His fingers traced the spines of the books.

Advanced Mathematics, Electrical Engineering, Mechanical Drawing...

The touch from my fingertips was rough, and some of the spines even had a thin layer of dust on them.

Chen Zhuo did not take those books.

He opened a book and glanced at it. A large amount of the derivation process had been omitted, leaving only the bare conclusions and formulas.

It's too dry.

This stuff is not chewy.

He continued walking in, until he reached a corner, the darkest spot.

Intuitively, things that are truly heavy usually sink to the bottom.

At the very bottom of the O1 category bookshelf, he saw a row of black spines.

There were no fancy decorations; it had a black hardcover with lettering printed in gold foil on the spine. The gold powder had all worn off, leaving only uneven indentations.

Chen Zhuo squatted down and laboriously pulled out a book.

It feels extremely heavy.

It weighed at least three pounds, the paper was very thick, and it had a strong musty smell.

He brushed the dust off the cover and squinted to make out the words:

A Course in Calculus.

Author: G.M. Fichtenholz.

Volume One.

This is a photocopy from the 50s.

Opening the cover reveals a layout that is bilingual (Chinese and Russian).

Due to its age, the ink on the Chinese translation has bled out, making some characters blurry.

On the contrary, the original Russian texts, being photocopies of the negatives, remain as clear as rows of black nails.

The entire page is filled with Cyrillic letters.

Д, Ж, Я, Щ...

Chen Zhuo stared at the letters.

He doesn't understand.

These symbols with barbs and angular edges are practically indistinguishable from gibberish.

However, his gaze froze when it fell on the long section of formula derivation in the middle of the page.

Although he couldn't understand the text descriptions next to him, he understood the structure.

The first step is to define variables.

The second step is to introduce a very small amount.

The third step is to shrink and get closer.

The fourth step is convergence.

Perfectly fitted.

Not a single wasted word, not a single leap.

Those formulas are like a perfectly meshed set of gears, silently rotating on the paper, conveying a cold, unquestionable logical force.

Chen Zhuo's fingers gently stroked the rough page of paper.

A strange tactile sensation travels from the fingertips to the cerebral cortex.

It's tough enough.

This is what fills the gaps in your mind.

Although he couldn't read the words, he could sense the vast and intricate structure hidden within the book.

That sense of precision aroused in him an instinctive possessiveness.

It's like a craftsman who sees a magnificent blueprint and wants to put it in his pocket even if he can't understand the markings.

He did not put the book back.

He stood up again and walked to the physics area.

Since we're going to move, let's move everything at once.

On the other side of the bookshelf, he found the legendary red book.

"The Feynman Lectures on Physics"

Feynman's Lectures on Physics.

An English reprint introduced in the 80s.

A black book in his left hand, a red book in his right.

A seven-year-old boy wearing a baggy school uniform was sandwiched in the middle.

He then went to the reference book section and brought back two more large-format books:

A dark blue Russian-Chinese science and technology dictionary.

A red Oxford Advanced Learner's English-Chinese Dictionary.

He carried the four books, which weighed a total of ten pounds, to a large oak table in the corner of the reading room.

He slammed the book onto the table with a bang.

Then, using both hands and feet, he climbed onto the tall wooden chair, his feet dangling in the air, unable to reach the ground.