Alchemy Principles of Type-Moon World

"The Göttingen School in Germany has a long history and was once a world leader in mathematics. However, their research focus has shifted to number theory and functional analysis," he said, pausing for a moment, his eyes scanning the Parisian nightscape outside the window, as if contemplating something further. "With the shifting of talent and the adjustments in research, the name of Göttingen remains resounding, but its glory has begun to fade."

The senior sighed softly and continued, "As for the UK, you should have heard of it. In recent years, the influence of the school has gradually increased. In fact, in academic journals over the past two years, British mathematical achievements have even been on par with those of Germany." He paused, as if weighing how to express himself more accurately. "What about us? What about us, the Bourbaki School?"

"We once forged our way out of the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States and became the world's leading mathematical school," he said, his voice tinged with pride and resignation. "But ever since our Pope left office, nothing has been the same."

"After that, we've been in this stagnant state. The school lacked a leading figure, and gradually lost its momentum in leading the development of mathematics worldwide." He paused, then spoke slowly, "So we long for talent, for the next 'Pope' to lead us and Bourbaki out of this slump."

"And that kid, Flatt, has the potential to be the next Pope, the next Bourbaki Pope, the next Hierophant of algebraic geometry."

"But this is purely selfish..." Xing Qingfu retorted subconsciously, but he suddenly felt that he didn't seem to have much right to blame the other party.

"Selfish desires?" The senior student seemed to have anticipated Xing Qingfeng's reaction, and his voice became calm. "No, it's not selfish desires. If this child can join us and accept Bourbaki's support, the mathematical resources he will gain will be unparalleled in the world." He said in a steady tone, "We will make him successful, and he will lead us."

The senior student continued, "And, Xing," he took a breath, his tone becoming heavier, "If Flatt doesn't enter a school that sufficiently supports his talents, his achievements will be buried forever—"

"—Don't misunderstand," the senior student hastily added, "This isn't a threat, nor is it a cliché about the current state of academia. It's an unavoidable fact." He paused, as if to make Xing Qingfeng more clear, and continued, "The reason is very simple."

The senior's tone darkened. "The deeper we delve into our research, the fewer people will understand us. Mathematics is a subject like that. The deeper you delve into a branch, the fewer people you'll find with you. In the end, you might be the only one left."

"Then the question arises: if no one understands your research, who can determine its value?" The senior student looked at him, his tone gradually becoming graver. "Take those four journals in the Annals of Mathematics for example. If no one understands your article, how can the editors easily approve your submission?"

“But if you publish a paper within your school,” the senior student continued, “the situation is different. Even if your research direction is very unique or even isolated, your colleagues in the school have similar academic interests and research backgrounds as you. They will find it easier to understand your work and will be willing to spend time and energy to understand and support your results.”

"This is the true value of the school," the senior said, his tone becoming more resolute. "The school's influence will support you and help you gain recognition. Most importantly, the members of the school will stand up and speak out for your research, pushing you onto a broader academic stage."

"Also, Xing," the senior student said, his tone changing with a sigh of resignation, "the accumulation of influence is also a factor that cannot be ignored. How is it possible that just publishing an article can attract so much attention? People don't become famous right from the start. The name of the school, the prestige of the instructor, and even the reputation of the recommender can all become stepping stones for that child to become famous at a young age."

"The greater the influence of a school, the more scholars will flock to it," the senior concluded. "And the more people will be willing to speak out for your research. So, what with all the 'schools' and 'academic cliques'? We're just people forced to huddle together for warmth."

Xing Qingyu's senior sighed softly, as if his words had settled in. His gaze fell on Xing Qingyu again.

"Xing, you studied physics, or applied physics. Sometimes I really envy you guys." His tone gradually became calm, as if he was recounting a long-ago story. "You can easily verify your results. Even if you can't verify them, you can easily see whether they are feasible—"

"But mathematics is truly different. It may be offensive to say this, but the mathematical tools you use today were invented by our predecessors at least fifty, or even a hundred years ago. At the time, they had no idea whether their findings would be, so-called, 'useful,'" Xing Qingfeng's senior said. "The world of mathematics is always an island without shelter. No matter how gifted you are, if you don't have a school of thought that understands and supports you, the ultimate outcome is likely to be loneliness."

Hearing this, Pierre's lips trembled, as if he wanted to say something, but looking at Senior Xing Qingyu's expression, he swallowed the words back.

The senior stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the dazzling night view of Paris outside.

"At our stage, we're practically loners," the senior murmured. "If your research isn't understood by your peers, if no one else is on your side, then your achievements will be lost in the desert of time. If you're lucky, they might be discovered a hundred years after your death, but if you're unlucky, they'll likely lie forever buried in a heap of archival papers."

"So, it's actually a very happy thing to have a group of people around you who can support you," Xing Qingfeng's senior concluded. "Even if your research paths are fundamentally different upon closer examination, when you're heading in the same direction, you only need to turn your head and you'll see others who are just as lonely as you."

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This chapter roughly describes some of the embarrassing aspects of the mathematics community at present. Everyone says that mathematics is a field for geniuses. Indeed, only geniuses and super-talents are qualified to excel in this field.

But it is impossible that this field is populated only by geniuses and supermen. What about those researchers who are slightly less talented and have the ability to conduct research in a single direction, but whose research topics are not groundbreaking enough to shock the industry? How should they deal with themselves?

So, the emergence of schools and aristocrats is inevitable. And if you really want to see these aristocrats in mathematics, who cares about this field? Mathematics also has a nature: if you know how to do it, you know how to do it; if you have talent, you have talent. Imagine someone gaining status and profiting by exploiting other talented students...

There's no money to be made in this damn place of mathematics, so what's the point?

This is also one of the disciplines affected after the collapse of the Soviet Union. The support for mathematics during the Cold War disappeared after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Using the most intuitive data, for example, the United States still holds a leading position, but the number of speakers at the International Congress of Mathematicians has dropped from 49% to 33%, from almost half to one-third, and the share of publications in the four major mathematics journals has also dropped from 56% to 41%. Don't think that the decline in the United States' share means that other countries are about to rise.

Because Western European countries increased their investment in mathematics in response to the United States. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, these investments actually disappeared. Overall, it can be said that investment in mathematics has almost shrunk.

The above is a new book by a new author. Please vote and give me feedback. Thank you!

Volume 55: Xing Qingfeng's Perfect Arithmetic Classroom: . Minesweeper

Inside the conference room, soft lighting casts a shadow over the exquisite wooden conference table. Several paintings hang on the walls, adding a touch of artistic flair. Outside the window, the dazzling nightscape of Paris contrasts with the tranquility of the room.

The senior was looking out the window, lost in thought for a moment. Then, as if realizing he was still on topic, he turned and looked at Xing Qingjiu, breaking the silence in the meeting room again with a hint of lament in his tone:

"Can you understand this feeling? As a scholar, every step is taken in loneliness, and no one can truly empathize with you. All your efforts seem to be done only for yourself. Even if you achieve outstanding results, you may not get the recognition you deserve."

Xing Qingfeng nodded silently. As a physics researcher, he knew the feeling. Although the field of physics was relatively open, his current research topic was an intersection of magic and field theory. Xing Qingfeng couldn't find any other colleagues in this field, so he often felt isolated and helpless. However, he had never felt the academic "island" that he had in the mathematics community.

Even within the more closed-off realm of magic, Xing Qingfeng could find a wealth of literature and information to discuss with relevant individuals. Furthermore, the physics he had previously studied was even more practical, with many theories quickly transforming into technology or applications, which allowed for greater intersection and interaction.

Mathematics, especially pure mathematics, seems more abstract and lonely.

Xing Qingyu looked at the senior in front of him and suddenly remembered how high-spirited he was when he was in school.

He sighed silently in his heart.

The senior student continued, "The deeper I delve into my research, the more I realize that mathematics, in a sense, has built a self-contained world. With each step forward, the number of people traveling with you decreases, until you may end up being the only one left."

He turned and walked to the conference table, his fingers lightly brushing the texture of the surface.

"So, while schools and cliques may seem like constraints to outsiders, to us, they are the very foundation that supports our research. Whether it's spiritual support or material security, we cannot do without them."

"Do you know what happened to the Moscow School after the collapse of the Soviet Union?" The senior paused, a trace of sadness in his eyes. "Back then, the Moscow School, with its outstanding mathematical research, was able to single-handedly compete with Western schools like the Princeton School. The Soviets truly had an amazing intuition for mathematics."

"But after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the newly independent republics were unable to support the development of mathematics and technology as they had before, and a large number of scholars immigrated to the United States and Western Europe." He slowly sat down, folded his hands on the table, and his tone was full of resignation. "The Moscow School also failed to escape the fate of collapse. Russia is simply unable to inherit its legacy."

"Let alone continuing to advance the research of their predecessors, the current Moscow School cannot even fully inherit the legacy of the past. Each lost legacy could be the life of a scholar. I feel sad when I think of them being hidden like this."

He raised his head and looked at Xing Qingjiu with a determined gaze. "We're all working hard for that 'next genius,' Xing. That kid Flatt..."

"Alright," Pierre said, walking to the wine cabinet, pulling out a bottle of aged red wine. He expertly uncorked it and poured a glass for each person. Under the light, the wine glowed crimson, its aroma overflowing. He handed the glass to Xing Qing, a senior from the winery, and said with a smile, "Alright, let's have a drink first."

The senior took the glass, realizing he'd been a bit emotional. A faint, apologetic smile appeared on his face, and he nodded gently in thanks. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his inner turmoil, and slowly sipped the red wine, savoring the mellow aroma that spread throughout his mouth.

Pierre turned and poured another glass for Xing Qingjiu. He handed it over and said gently, "He's been nervous and a little emotional lately." Xing Qingjiu nodded slightly, took the glass, and gently swirled the wine, the aroma of the wine filling the air. He took a sip of the red wine, feeling its richness and slightly acidic taste, and his mood relaxed a little.

The three of them sipped their red wine in silence, the aroma of wine and books filling the air as the tense atmosphere gradually eased. The night outside the window deepened, the hustle and bustle of the city seemingly shutting out. The only sounds in the conference room were the soft sounds of breathing and the clink of wine glasses on the table.

The lights in the conference room illuminated the documents on the table, and the air was filled with the faint aroma of wine. The senior student put down his glass and crossed his hands on the table, his fingertips lightly gripping the edge. He lowered his head, his eyes unconsciously gazing at the delicate texture of the tabletop.

Silence stretched in the air. The senior finally raised his head and broke the silence with a soft voice: "We are all working hard for the 'next genius', Xing."

"Really..." Pierre sighed softly, put down the wine glass in his hand, and there was a hint of ridicule in his voice, "This is like some kind of torture technique, one person applying pressure and the other person smoothing things over." He raised his hand and tapped the table lightly with his fingertips, making a slight clicking sound, as if to give the topic some space and ease the atmosphere.

Pierre paused, then turned to the senior. The smile on his face gradually faded, replaced by a serious expression. "—University is a field that relies heavily on individual talent." He shrugged slightly, a hint of resignation in his tone. "No matter what we say to you, it's useless. That's why we sent Flatt away alone."

Pierre looked at the two of them, seemingly contemplating them for a moment. Then, in a calmer tone, he continued, "Don't let tonight's conversation affect Flat's judgment." He continued, "I'll take you to visit the teacher in a while. By then, I hope to leave the choice to the child himself."

"Okay." Xing Qingyu nodded slightly, his voice low and clear, "I'll let him judge for himself." He didn't say much, just looked out the window, quietly thinking about what the senior had just said.

Xing Qingyu glanced at his senior and was about to stand up and leave the meeting room, but was stopped by his senior.

Pierre smiled faintly, raised his glass, and drank gently, the wine flowing smoothly down his throat. Then he put the glass down, stood up, gently adjusted his collar, and nodded to the two of them with a hint of apology: "Then I'll take my leave. I have some business to take care of tomorrow morning, so I need to go to bed early."

Pierre's words were without much hesitation. He bowed his head slightly and said his goodbyes politely and briefly. He then turned and left the conference room, leaving the two of them still sitting at the table. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became somewhat quiet and empty after his departure.

"When Mr. Pierre said... visiting the teacher, he was referring to that teacher, right?" Xing Qingjiu's senior suddenly asked.

"Yes," Xing Qingfu nodded in confusion.

"That's wonderful," the senior exclaimed. "I've always wanted to be his student, but I didn't expect that by the time I finished my studies, he would have already retired from academia."

"Although I had a vague idea of Mr. Pierre's plan before," Xing Qingfeng's senior said with a complicated expression, "he probably... um... why don't I have such an opportunity?"

"It really is talent, haha," Xing Qingjiu's senior looked out the window at the night view of Paris, "Only a genius like this could arouse his desire to teach others—"

"——Xing, I really envy that kid Flatt."

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Xing Qingyu's senior also drank the wine in the glass, sat in silence for a moment, waved to Xing Qingyu, and then left the meeting room.

Xing Qingyu pushed open the door. The light in the room was soft, casting a warm hue. The curtains were slightly opened, revealing the quiet night outside the window.

He scanned the room and quickly locked onto Flatt, who was sitting at his computer. He was staring intently at the screen, his finger clicking the mouse sporadically, his face etched with excitement and concentration, as if completely absorbed in the logic of the game.

Xing Qingqiu's eyes fell on the computer and he raised an eyebrow. This room was actually equipped with a computer? In 2002, this was not a common feature in hotels, which was enough to show how much they valued Flat.

He walked closer, his tone carrying a casual smile: "What are you playing?"

Flatt looked up at the sound, his eyes sparkling, as if he had just discovered something interesting. He raised his hand excitedly and pointed at the screen: "This!"

Xing Qingfeng followed his finger and saw the classic Minesweeper game interface on the screen. The simple rules of the gray squares were filled with numbers.

"Minesweeper," Xing Qingfeng chuckled, his gaze shifting from the screen back to Flat's face. "How does it feel?"

Flatt frowned, scratched his slightly messy blond hair, and looked distressed: "It feels very interesting, but I always step on landmines and it's Game Over at any time."

Xing Qingqi leaned over slightly and took a look at the game progress on the screen. He happened to see Flat click the mouse on a blank area. The next second, the screen flashed, a small pixelated mine exploded, and the red words "Game Over" popped up.

"Ahh, I knew it was this!" Flatt smacked his lips unhappily, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face in frustration.

Xing Qingwu blinked, stared at the minefield on the screen, and then asked, "Do you understand the rules of the game?"

Flatt muttered, "I don't quite understand. It feels like I'm gambling. I just rely on my intuition when clicking the grid."

"Then how did you..." Xing Qingfeng's gaze lingered on the chessboard layout on the screen. He scanned it carefully and suddenly sensed a sense of dissonance. Although Flatt hadn't placed any flags, his moves clearly avoided certain squares in certain areas, and most of the numerical fields were relatively neatly laid out, suggesting he was following a certain logic—he wasn't clicking randomly, but rather intentionally avoiding potential pitfalls.

Xing Qingqiu narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, reached out to grab the mouse, and casually moved it around in the unopened area. Then he turned back and stared at Flatt: "...You really don't understand?"

Flatt felt a little uneasy under his stare, his eyes wandering for a moment, then he chuckled: "Well, how should I put it? Maybe it's instinct?"

"Instinct?" Xing Qingyu raised his eyebrows and looked at Flatt's expression carefully.

"Yeah!" Flatt nodded confidently, with his usual youthful smugness on his face. "I just think some places look dangerous, so I won't go to them."

"It looks like?" Xing Qingyu repeated the sentence, looked at him thoughtfully, and glanced at the grids on the screen that he deliberately avoided.

Xing Qingyu narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze moving between Flat and the screen, listening to his description thoughtfully.

"Intuition," Flatt tilted his head, as if trying to organize his thoughts. "My intuition tells me there's a mine under a grid, but every time I think it would be more fun to choose another option, I'll Game Over."

Xing Qingqiu tapped his fingers on the table, keenly aware of the contradiction: "...your intuition is inconsistent?"

"As soon as I saw the chessboard, the answer popped into my mind," Flatt frowned, crossed his arms over his chest, as if recalling his thought process, "but sometimes, I think another option might be more exciting or more interesting-"

"—And every time I couldn't help but click on that 'more interesting' option, it would explode." Flatt shrugged and spread his hands helplessly. "It feels like solving the math problems you assigned, Order Xing."

"Oh?" Xing Qingwu raised an eyebrow. This metaphor was quite novel. "What do you mean?"

"It's like that—when you first see the problem, you think, 'Ah, I know this,' and then, as you're working on it, you suddenly think, 'Hey, how about trying a cooler method?'" Flatt scratched his head and smiled sheepishly. "Then your solution goes in a weird direction, and in the end, you realize you made a mistake again."

Xing Qing nodded, half understanding. Honestly, he still found Forlart's way of thinking a bit puzzling—though not completely incomprehensible, it was truly... a bit too confusing.

"Then you now...?"

"I'm practicing!" Flatt said with his eyes shining, full of energy. "As long as I can suppress my instinct to choose other options, I can complete the homework assigned by Order Xing very well!"

Xing Qingfeng was a little confused for a moment. He didn't expect Flatt to use a game like Minesweeper for training.

——However, when he thought about it being Flat, Xing Qingyu seemed to accept this setting.

Otherwise, this setting sounds very flat.

However, since we are practicing...

"So, do you like math?" Xing Qingqiu was a little surprised when he blurted out this sentence.

He hadn't intended to ask this question, but Flatt's serious dedication just now made him curious.

Flatt was stunned for a moment when he heard this, then tilted his head and thought for a few seconds.

"It used to be so cumbersome," he said frankly. "There was always only one option, and I felt so restricted."

"But recently..." The corners of his mouth rose slightly, revealing a little proud smile, "I'm starting to like it."

At this moment, the mouse clicked, and a familiar red prompt popped up on the screen -

Game Over.

"-Ah, I lost again." Flatt blinked and looked at the small red flag on the screen, obviously feeling helpless about the outcome of stepping on a landmine again.

Xing Qingqu glanced at the chessboard, then looked at Flatt. After a moment's thought, he asked, "Do you want me to teach you some techniques?"

Flatt's eyes lit up, but then he showed a regretful expression and waved his hand to refuse: "I want to, but not now!"

Xing Qingqi raised his eyebrows slightly: "...Why?"

"Because it's practice time now, I need to explore on my own and gain experience to level up—" Flat explained seriously, "—otherwise, if I encounter a hidden boss later, it will be difficult to defeat it if my level is not high enough."

Xing Qingwu was slightly startled, then reacted.

——This guy is using Minesweeper to train his overly divergent thinking, making his intuition more inclined towards the correct answer at the beginning, rather than being led astray by his own wild imagination.

He suddenly felt a hint of interest, and the corners of his mouth curled up slightly: "Then let me see when you can win your first victory."

"Oh oh!" Flat clenched his fists excitedly, his face full of fighting spirit, "I will bring victory to Order Xing!"

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It's probably a transition chapter, and by the way, it further designs his "training" based on Flat's characteristics. How should I put it... it should be written in a quite "Flat" way.

The above is a new book by a new author. Please vote and give me feedback. Thank you!

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