Just inside the door, a whole row of green wooden mailboxes stood against the wall. Each slot had a label with a department and class name. The room was filled with the smell of newspapers, paste, and ink.
The man in charge of distributing mail was an old man with graying hair. He was wearing reading glasses and peering at a stamp on a letter through a magnifying glass.
"Sir."
Chen Zhuo walked over and handed him his student ID.
"I’d like to check if I have any packages or letters."
The old man looked up and took the student ID, glancing at it.
"Special Class, Chen Zhuo."
The old man put down the student ID, turned around, and walked to a large cardboard box behind him to rummage through it.
After a moment, the old man turned back around with a thick envelope in his hand and gave it to Chen Zhuo.
"Here, this is for you. It’s international mail, even has a foreign stamp on it."
The old man pushed a logbook over and pointed to a blank space.
"Sign here."
Chen Zhuo took the pen and wrote his name neatly.
He picked up the envelope. It felt substantial in his hand.
In the top-left corner, the return address field was printed with the English abbreviation for Rutgers University, New Jersey.
Leaving the mailroom, Chen Zhuo walked to a tree in the small courtyard. There was no one around, only the occasional chirp of a bird.
Chen Zhuo pulled a brand-new journal from the envelope.
The glossy paper cover had a slight sheen. Printed on it were the words *Discrete Mathematics*, with "Autumn Issue" noted next to it.
He held the journal in one hand and casually flipped to the table of contents with the other.
His eyes scanned the dense list of English titles, and he quickly found the name of his own paper near the middle.
Following it was the author’s credit: C. Zhuo.
He flipped directly to that page.
The layout was very neat. A short abstract at the beginning was immediately followed by long sections of matrix derivations. There was no filler, just page after page of calculations on node connectivity and algebraic deductions of fault-tolerant logic.
Five pages. Clean and concise.
He looked at it for a moment, then closed the journal, holding it casually in his hand as he turned and walked back.
On his way past the campus store, he went in and bought a mung bean popsicle, and also grabbed a bottle of chilled orange soda for himself.
Back at dorm room 215, he pushed open the door and was once again enveloped by the stuffy heat.
Wang Dayong had almost finished packing his things and was wiping sweat with a towel.
Chen Zhuo walked over and handed him the frosty mung bean popsicle.
"Oh, thanks, Xiaozhuo!"
Wang Dayong’s eyes lit up. He quickly took it, tore open the wrapper in a couple of quick motions, and took a big bite.
Chen Zhuo walked to his own desk and set down the cold soda.
He casually placed the copy of *Discrete Mathematics* on his desk.
"By the way, Xiaozhuo."
Wang Dayong said indistinctly, chewing on his popsicle.
"Not long after you left, the dorm manager was yelling his head off in the hallway, saying that Vice Director Fang from the School of Physics is looking for you. He said you should go to his office as soon as you get back."
Chen Zhuo’s hand, which had just started to pull out his chair, paused.
He glanced at the still-chilled bottle of soda on his desk.
"Got it."
Chen Zhuo sighed.
Empty-handed, he turned and left the dorm room again.
「Physics Building.」
Chen Zhuo walked up to the door of the Vice Director’s office on the third floor and raised his hand, knocking twice—not too lightly, not too heavily.
"Come in."
The voice of Alchemist came from inside.
Chen Zhuo pushed the door open and walked in.
Inside the office, Alchemist was sitting by the coffee table, a teacup in his hand. Fang Yuanming was sitting across from him.
The two old men both looked quite relaxed.
When he saw Chen Zhuo walk in, Fang Yuanming’s gaze swept over him, finally settling on his empty hands.
On the coffee table between them sat a newly unwrapped copy of *Discrete Mathematics*, shining under the light.
"Xiaozhuo is here. Have a seat."
Fang Yuanming spoke with a smile, pointing to the journal on the coffee table.
"You got your author’s copy, right? The department just received this autumn issue in the last couple of days as well."
Fang Yuanming looked at Chen Zhuo’s empty hands and couldn’t help but tease him.
"This is your first time publishing in a top international journal, and as the sole author, no less. You just got the author’s copy, why aren’t you holding onto it to admire it for a while?"
Chen Zhuo walked over to a nearby armchair and sat down.
Chen Zhuo put on a straight face and smiled shyly at Alchemist.
"It was just something I did on a whim over the summer break. I had a few ideas about that topic, so I wrote them down. It’s not a big deal, so I just left it on my desk in the dorm."
The office suddenly fell silent.
Fang Yuanming’s hand, holding his teacup, froze mid-air.
Alchemist, who had been about to take a sip of water, also froze.
On a whim.
Casually wrote it down.
Not a big deal...
The two professors, both over fifty, exchanged a look.
Just ten minutes earlier, Old Li, a senior professor from the School of Mathematics, had been treating this set of matrix algorithms like a groundbreaking axe, a life-saving key, desperately searching for someone with sweat beading on his forehead.
And now, coming from the original author’s mouth, it was something he’d "casually written down."
Fang Yuanming lowered his head and took a strategic sip of tea to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
’This is what you call a master-level flex.’
Alchemist set down his teacup and cleared his throat.
He was an old fox; of course he knew he couldn’t mention Old Li’s visit just now.
If this kid really did get another "whim" and decided it would be interesting to go discuss graph theory with Old Li at the School of Mathematics, then all his earlier maneuvering would have been for nothing.
’I have to strike first.’
"As long as the paper is published, that’s what matters."
Alchemist wiped the smile from his face, adopting the serious tone of an elder.
"Xiaozhuo, the basic courses for your sophomore year are probably a piece of cake for you. Sitting in a classroom listening to that stuff every day, you won’t learn anything new."

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