"It’s hard to say about the Fields Medal."
Pierre smiled and set his teacup on the table.
"But today, I received one hell of a challenge."
"A challenge?"
Delian’s interest was piqued.
"A manuscript from Hua Country."
Pierre leaned back, folding his hands over his knees.
"It’s a paper that uses algebraic topology to deconstruct divergence problems in continuous calculus. That in itself isn’t a big deal—people have applied cross-disciplinary solutions before."
Pierre paused.
"The interesting part is his method. He used a Discrete Matrix to hack continuous topology to pieces. There’s not a shred of mathematical elegance to it. It’s like he’s building a bridge or paving a road—crude and direct, but it still managed to brutally smash open that intractable mathematical problem."
Delian froze when he heard that.
"Using a Discrete Matrix to slice a continuous domain?"
Delian’s tone changed slightly.
"That’s right."
Pierre didn’t notice the change in Delian’s expression and continued speaking.
"What’s even more interesting is his introduction. For a paper with forty full pages of mathematical derivations, his introduction as the first author is only three sentences long. He couldn’t even be bothered to justify his logic in the abstract. He just flat-out declared that algebraic invariants hold absolute dominion over divergence problems."
Pierre shook his head.
"I’ve been in this field for forty years, and I’ve seen plenty of young, cocky geniuses. But this is the first time I’ve ever seen someone just drop a conclusion and dump all the follow-up work and reviewer communications on their colleague to handle."
"He’s not the corresponding author?" Delian asked.
"No, the first author is listed as C. Zhuo, from Keda. The corresponding author is named Li."
Pierre chuckled.
"This C. Zhuo is completely hands-off."
The lounge fell silent for a few seconds.
The only sound was the low hum of the coffee machine.
Delian’s hand remained frozen on the edge of the magazine.
"What did you just say the first author’s name was?"
Delian looked up at Pierre, his gaze suddenly intense.
"Zhuo Chen."
Pierre recalled the pinyin on the first page.
"From Hua Country Science and Technology University."
Delian said nothing.
He looked at Pierre and slowly stood up from the sofa.
"Pierre, wait here for me. I’ll be back in five minutes."
Delian said this, then turned and strode quickly out of the lounge.
Pierre watched Delian’s retreating figure, baffled. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.
Five minutes later, the door to the lounge was pushed open again.
Delian strode back in, holding two printed documents.
He slapped the documents on the coffee table in front of Pierre, then sat back down on the sofa.
"Take a look at this."
Delian pointed to the document on top.
Pierre put down his coffee cup and picked up the document.
It was a two-page PDF printout.
Pierre put on his glasses and glanced at it.
It opened with a massive singularity equation, a problem of physical boundaries.
Then, he saw it: that familiar discrete algebraic model that forcibly severed a continuous integral.
Pierre’s pupils contracted slightly.
He looked up at Delian.
"This shares the same underlying logic as the homology group mapping in that other manuscript."
Pierre placed the document on the table.
"Did he write this too?"
"Last winter,"
Delian said.
"David and I were stuck on a renormalization problem for six months. We received an email from this person—it was just two pages, a preprint he’d posted online—and he used discrete algebra to completely flatten that dead end."
Pierre looked at the two pages on the table.
"So, he dropped a bombshell on you physicists first." Pierre laughed. "No wonder that manuscript felt like it came from the world of physics."
"There’s more to it than that."
Delian pulled out the document underneath and handed it to Pierre.
"After receiving that solution, I sent him a formal academic visit invitation on behalf of the Advanced Research Institute."
Pierre took the document.
It was a printout of an official reply from Keda’s foreign affairs department.
Pierre quickly scanned the English on it.
It was filled with diplomatic platitudes.
Thanking Princeton for its recognition, speaking highly of the prospects for academic exchange between the two institutions.
Then it got to the point.
"Professor Chen is not currently on campus."
"The relevant invitation has been relayed."
"A transnational academic visit is not convenient at this time."
Airtight.
Like a soft wall, it deflected Princeton’s invitation entirely.
After Pierre finished reading, he placed the letter on the coffee table.
"So you were stonewalled by Keda’s bureaucracy,"
Pierre said.
"That’s not surprising. A lot of universities are wrapped up in red tape like that. They probably figure an official invitation has to go through a lengthy approval process."
"I thought so too at first."
Delian took a deep breath.
"At the time, David even checked Keda’s faculty directory. We figured he had to be some big shot they had recently recruited, or maybe some reclusive, once-in-a-generation academician. But his name was nowhere to be found on the list."
Delian looked at Pierre.
"Then, just when I thought it was a lost cause, I received a personal reply from him."
Delian took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Pierre.
This was the third document.
Pierre unfolded the paper.
There were no official letterhead or polite formalities.
Pierre began to read intently.
"Dear Professor Delian... Thank you for your praise..."
That was normal enough.
He read on.
"Regarding your invitation... I am unable to travel to the United States for an academic visit in the near future. This is not a polite refusal; my current circumstances genuinely do not permit it."
Pierre paused.
’My current circumstances genuinely do not permit it.’
Combined with the evasive rejection letter from Keda, an image naturally formed in Pierre’s mind: someone being kept under strict protection.

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