In late October in Shanghai, the wind carried a damp chill.
Li Jianming got out of the taxi and looked up at the glittering glass facade of the international conference center before him. Right next to it was a five-star hotel designated for foreign dignitaries and important guests.
A red carpet was rolled out at the entrance, flanked by waist-high flower baskets. A long, bright red welcome banner was stretched across the top.
He reached into the inner pocket of his suit. The envelope containing the two-page manuscript fragment was still resting securely against his chest.
Li Jianming walked to the check-in desk at the main entrance.
Behind the desk stood several young women in professional attire, with two male conference staffers wearing credentials standing beside them.
Li Jianming reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark red, gilt-stamped invitation card. He had smoothed it out, but it was still covered in creases. He handed it over.
The young woman at the reception desk took it with both hands, glanced at the name on it, then looked up at Li Jianming.
Li Jianming was wearing a worn, faded trench coat. The edges of the gray knit vest underneath were pilling, and on his feet was a pair of old-fashioned black leather shoes.
His attire was a stark contrast to the well-dressed scholars in tailored suits and the sharply dressed businessmen coming and going today.
But the young woman was very professional and immediately checked the guest list.
"Professor Li Jianming, Hua Country Science and Technology University."
The woman looked up, offering a standard, polite smile.
"Your seat is in the fifth row of the main hall. However, Professor Li, this morning’s presentations have already concluded. It’s now the lunch break. The afternoon session begins at two-thirty."
"I’m not here for the conference."
Li Jianming took the invitation back and asked directly,
"I’m looking for someone. Where is Professor Pierre from Princeton?"
The smile on the woman’s face froze for a moment.
The male staffer with the credentials walked over. He looked Li Jianming up and down, his tone polite but with a rigid, business-like edge.
"Professor Li, you’re looking for Mr. Pierre?"
"Yes. I’m stuck on a few problems and wanted to ask for his guidance in person."
Li Jianming said it frankly.
The staffer sighed and lowered his voice slightly.
"Professor Li, I’m very sorry, but you won’t be able to see Mr. Pierre."
Li Jianming’s brow furrowed.
"What do you mean? He didn’t come?"
"He came, but he’s fallen ill."
The staffer pointed to the hotel building next door.
"Mr. Pierre has been exhausted from his travels, and he may not have adjusted to the local environment. He experienced a sudden, severe cardiovascular event last night. The conference organizing committee has already issued an emergency notice."
Li Jianming’s heart sank.
"Where is he now? Which hospital?"
"He didn’t go to a hospital."
the staffer explained.
"The situation with foreign guests is rather delicate. His personal assistant refused our offer to call an ambulance, saying Mr. Pierre has his own medical team and emergency protocols. He’s currently in the presidential suite on the top floor of the hotel, under strict medical quarantine and observation."
Li Jianming stood frozen, speechless for a long moment.
He’d traveled all the way from Huizhou, taking an overnight train, and hadn’t even gotten a decent night’s sleep. His mind was completely preoccupied with how he was going to get information out of that old madman. ’And now they tell me he’s sick? Quarantined?’
"I’ll just go up and take a look. Just a glance from a distance. I won’t say a word."
Li Jianming hadn’t given up.
"That’s really not possible, Professor Li."
The staffer blocked his path with a strained smile.
"Even regular hotel staff aren’t allowed on the top floor right now. The foreign assistant, a man named Arthur, threw a fit. He said Mr. Pierre needs absolute quiet and is refusing all visitors and media. Even the leaders of the organizing committee were turned away when they tried to visit. Please don’t make things difficult for us."
Li Jianming pressed his lips together.
He turned his head and glanced at the towering hotel next door that seemed to pierce the clouds.
’Of all the times to get sick, it had to be now.’
’But I’ve come all this way.’
Chen Zhuo’s derivation was like a fire burning in his chest. If he couldn’t clear this path, he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink even after returning to Keda.
"Fine. I won’t make things difficult for you."
Li Jianming stuffed the invitation back into his pocket, turned, and walked out of the conference center. He went straight through the entrance of the five-star hotel next door.
The hotel lobby was magnificent. A huge crystal chandelier cast a warm, yellow glow, the marble floor was polished to a mirror shine, and the air held the faint scent of aromatherapy.
Li Jianming walked a circle around the lobby, his eyes locking onto the elevator bank on the left.
There were four elevators. The one at the very end had a small sign next to it that read "VIP Exclusive."
He found a seat at the lobby coffee bar, diagonally across from the elevators.
The view was excellent from here; he would be able to see anyone who entered or exited the VIP elevator.
A waiter in a vest came over and handed him a menu.
Li Jianming didn’t even look at it, merely glancing at the tea section at the very back.
"A pot of Longjing tea."
The waiter nodded with a smile and retreated.
Soon, a pot of tea and a delicate white porcelain cup were brought to his table.
Li Jianming poured a cup of tea and wrapped his hands around it.
He began the long wait.
He had no other choice.
Banging on the door of the presidential suite was out of the question. All he could do was wait.
Wait for Pierre’s assistant to come down, wait for the private doctor to come down, or wait for someone from the organizing committee to deliver something.
As long as an opportunity presented itself—even if it meant paying a janitor—he had to slip the envelope in his pocket under Pierre’s door.
The afternoon slowly slipped by.
The water in his teapot was refilled three times. By the end, it had lost all its flavor, tasting no different from plain, boiled water.
During that time, the elevator went up and down, and a few foreign scholars with badges emerged, but none were Pierre’s assistant, and no one looked like a doctor.
Night fell.
The lights in the lobby grew brighter, and soft piano music began to play in the coffee bar.
Li Jianming’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day.
But he didn’t dare leave, afraid that if he went to eat, he would miss a key person.
He flagged down a passing waiter and ordered a plate of soda crackers.
He chewed the dry crackers, washing them down with the slightly cooled tea, his eyes never leaving the elevator entrance.
「Eleven o’clock at night.」
The coffee bar was about to close.
Li Jianming didn’t leave the lobby. Instead, he walked over to a sofa in a quiet corner and sat down.
He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes to doze for a bit, but he would snap his eyes open at the sound of the revolving door turning or the elevator’s DING.
Getting through the night was exceptionally difficult.
An old man’s body tires easily, and after two consecutive days of high-intensity travel, Li Jianming felt an ache that seemed to seep from the marrow of his bones.
Dawn broke.
The next morning, the lobby was bustling once again.
Li Jianming went to the restroom on the first floor to wash his face, splashing cold water on his somewhat swollen eyes. He looked in the mirror at the old man with the stubbled chin and bloodshot eyes and gave a self-deprecating tug at the corner of his mouth.
’I’m really regressing in my old age.’
’I’ve never done anything so humiliating in my entire life, and now here I am, staked out in a hotel lobby like some common thief.’
He walked out of the restroom and returned to his seat on the sofa.
「Twelve-thirty in the afternoon.」
The VIP elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open.
Li Jianming’s gaze immediately shot over.
A white man in his early thirties stepped out, wearing a well-tailored dark blue suit. He wore no tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone.
Li Jianming had seen his photo in the opening ceremony’s program the day before.
This was Pierre’s personal academic assistant, Arthur.
Li Jianming instinctively sat up straight, his hand moving toward the envelope at his chest, preparing to strike up a conversation when Arthur walked by.
But.
Arthur didn’t head toward the conference center, nor did he go outside to greet any medical team.
He walked directly to the bar on the other side of the lobby, pulled out a high-backed stool, and sat down.
From a dozen meters away, Li Jianming watched Arthur’s back.
Arthur waved to the bartender.
The bartender walked over, and they exchanged a few words. Soon, the bartender slid over a glass of amber liquid with ice.
Arthur picked up the glass, took a sip, then pulled a copy of that day’s English-language newspaper from a nearby rack and began to read it at a leisurely pace.
Li Jianming froze.
His brow slowly furrowed into a tight knot.
’Something’s not right.’
Having spent a lifetime on mathematical derivations, Li Jianming had an almost animalistic instinct for logical inconsistencies.
’A sixty-five-year-old man has a sudden heart attack and is under strict medical quarantine in the presidential suite upstairs. As his personal assistant, this should be the most chaotic and stressful time of his career. He should be monitoring medical equipment around the clock, communicating with the primary physician back home, fending off visits from the event organizers, and even preparing contingency plans for the worst-case scenario. But here he is, sitting at the bar. Drinking whiskey on the rocks and reading the newspaper. There isn’t the slightest trace of anxiety, exhaustion, or panic in his posture. On the contrary, he radiates a sense of complete relaxation and contentment, as if he had just accomplished a major task.’
Li Jianming’s hand slowly drew back from his chest.
He sat on the sofa, the gears in his mind turning rapidly.
Just then, the door to the hotel’s service corridor was pushed open.
A room service attendant in a white shirt and bow tie emerged, pushing a silver food cart. The cart was covered with a stainless-steel warming cloche, and next to it sat a decanter and a wine glass.
The attendant pushed the cart straight toward the VIP-exclusive elevator.
Li Jianming stood up and, pretending to go to the restroom, followed the cart from a discreet distance.
As the attendant waited for the elevator, Li Jianming walked past him, his gaze sweeping over the room service order slip clipped to the side of the cart, feigning nonchalance.
The writing on the slip was a bit small, but Li Jianming still managed to make out the two lines of English and the room number that followed.
The room number was for the presidential suite on the top floor.
The order was: two Tomahawk steaks (medium-rare), a serving of French foie gras, and a bottle of 1996 Bordeaux red wine.
Li Jianming walked past the elevator bank and turned into the hallway leading to the restrooms.
He leaned his back against the cool, tiled wall and suddenly found the situation almost laughable.
’Medium-rare steak.’
’Red wine.’
’Serving this to an old man who supposedly just had a severe cardiovascular event and is in quarantine? Are they trying to kill him faster?’
’Taking a huge step back, even if that food was for the doctor, not a single person in a white coat has shown up.’
’Doctor not found.’
’An assistant completely devoid of anxiety.’
’A meal for a critically ill patient with no dietary restrictions whatsoever.’
’When you plug in these variables, there is only one possible conclusion—one and only one.’

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