This wasn’t some miracle born of divine inspiration. It was simply a person with extraordinary mathematical intuition who, upon seeing a dead end, casually reached into his toolbox, grabbed a handy wrench, and pried away the boulder blocking the path.
The Alchemist was silent for a long time.
He looked at the ten-year-old boy before him, a mix of complicated feelings stirring in his heart.
A problem that physicists had been wrestling with for half a year was casually bypassed by this child, all because he thought an equation wasn’t "pretty" and its denominator would become zero.
"Do you know," the Alchemist began, his voice a bit low, "why physicists insist on wrestling with continuous calculus?"
Chen Zhuo nodded.
"I do."
Chen Zhuo picked up his paper cup and took another small sip of water.
"Because in human intuition, and in Einstein’s theories, spacetime is inherently smooth and continuous. Physics needs to describe the real universe, and on a macroscopic scale, the universe appears to have no breaks."
Chen Zhuo put the cup down and looked at the Alchemist, his gaze frank.
"So, that discrete model of mine has a fatal flaw."
The Alchemist’s eyes lit up.
"Go on."
"It has no physical meaning."
Chen Zhuo’s answer was crisp and direct.
He sat on the chair, leaning his body forward just a little.
"On paper, in pure mathematics, I sliced spacetime into a discrete grid. It bypasses the zero denominator, and the logic is flawless."
Chen Zhuo looked at the two emails on the table.
"But in the real universe, what does discontinuous spacetime actually represent?"
Chen Zhuo spread his hands, his tone holding no trace of concealment or pride, only the self-awareness of one facing the unknown.
"Does it mean the foundation of the universe is like a grid of pixels? In a collapsing Singularity, what physical entity would this discrete state manifest as? How could we observe it in a lab?"
Chen Zhuo shook his head.
"I have absolutely no idea."
He looked at the Alchemist, his tone softening slightly.
"Dean Fang, I haven’t even fully grasped current physics yet, and there are so many courses I still haven’t reviewed. If you ask me to explain the practical significance of this discrete model in physics, I’m completely in the dark."
Chen Zhuo leaned back against the chair.
"I just solved a math problem and built a consistent framework. As for what physical laws that framework contains, that’s a problem for Professor Delian and his team to worry about."
The Alchemist watched Chen Zhuo quietly.
Chen Zhuo had spoken with complete candor.
This child knew his own strengths, and he was also keenly aware of his blind spots.
He didn’t see himself as the savior of physics just because he’d solved a difficult problem. He even refused to assign any physical meaning to his mathematical model that he couldn’t comprehend himself.
To see such extreme rationality and self-awareness in an eleven-year-old boy sent a strange sense of shock through the Alchemist.
"Since you don’t know the physical meaning,"
the Alchemist lifted his teacup and gently blew on the surface of the water.
"Then why not go to New Jersey and discuss it face-to-face with Delian and his group of top physicists? Listen to how they fit your mathematical model to physical entities. Isn’t that the best possible learning opportunity?"
The Alchemist looked at Chen Zhuo with the gentle smile of an elder.
"Countless people would kill for a chance to even sit in on a single lecture at Princeton, but can’t find a way in."
After listening, Chen Zhuo also smiled.
It was a gentle smile, showing none of the awkwardness of being cornered.
"Dean Fang, the team at Princeton is tackling a problem of the century. They’re aiming for a Nobel Prize."
Chen Zhuo’s tone was relaxed, as if he were chatting with an old acquaintance.
"I haven’t even finished the basic courses at Keda yet, and you want me to go to New Jersey now."
Chen Zhuo extended a finger and tapped lightly on the tabletop.
"If I really sat down at that conference table at Princeton, besides deriving a few lines of pure mathematical formulas in discrete algebra for them, I wouldn’t be able to say a single word about the physical applications."
Chen Zhuo tilted his head slightly, a perfectly measured note of helplessness in his voice.
"When the time comes, a group of the world’s top physicists will be staring at me, I’ll be staring at them, and we’ll all just be staring at each other blankly. Not only would I be holding up their project, but it would also be pretty awkward for me."
Standing in the corner, Fang Yuanming couldn’t hold back. He turned his head and let out a short laugh.
The Alchemist, also holding his teacup, shook his head with a helpless sigh.
"Not even for a few months, just to broaden your horizons?" the Alchemist asked.
"International travel is too draining," Chen Zhuo said. "With the time it would take to get over the jet lag and get used to Western food, I’d rather stay put in our old library and finish the remaining basic physics and Russian textbooks."
Chen Zhuo picked up the paper cup and drained the rest of the lukewarm water inside.
"After all, when final exams come around, Professor Delian isn’t going to fly over and take the test for me."
Hearty laughter filled the office.
The Alchemist set his teacup on the table, shaking his head as he laughed.
The last shred of doubt and insistence in his heart vanished into thin air amidst Chen Zhuo’s gentle, deadpan jokes.
A person who could weigh an invitation from Princeton against his final exams on the same scale—and ultimately choose the final exams—was not someone anyone needed to worry about for him.
"Alright."
The Alchemist’s smile faded as he sat up straight.
He picked up the two sheets of A4 paper from the table, folded them neatly, and placed them back inside the manila folder.
He took the white cotton string and wound it tightly around the closure, loop by loop.
"I understand your position now. You feel your foundation in physics is weak, you don’t want to just stare blankly at each other, and you want to stay here and prepare for your final exams."

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