The mornings in Huizhou always carried a lingering chill in the air.
When Alchemist pushed open his office window, the fog outside was so thick it obscured the Science Department’s academic building, leaving only a hazy silhouette.
He turned around, placed the cup he’d used for years back on his desk, and pinched a small handful of jasmine tea into it.
The water in the kettle had just boiled, BUBBLING and steaming.
Alchemist picked up the kettle and poured the hot water into the cup, watching the curled, dry leaves tumble and unfurl in the water.
He had a habit of checking his emails before officially starting his day.
It was 2004, and Keda’s campus network would occasionally bog down under heavy traffic, slowing to an infuriating crawl.
Alchemist sat down and pressed the power button on the computer tower. The screen flickered a few times before displaying the stark white desktop background.
He had just picked up his teacup, not yet having taken a sip, when the landline on his desk rang.
?"Old Fang! Your university is blowing up!"
?On the other end of the line was his old classmate from the Max Planck Institute, his voice brimming with an excitement you could hear all the way across the Atlantic Ocean.
?Alchemist froze for a moment, clutching the receiver.
"What are you on about so early in the morning? If something happened at Keda, how would I not know? Blowing up? What’s blowing up?"
?"You really have no idea, do you!"
His old friend yelled over the phone.
"Did you know Pierre published an open letter? The Princeton listservs are exploding! Gray, Durand, and those old geezers are getting flamed so hard they don’t dare show their faces."
"Pierre said that a C. Zhuo is his one and only legacy disciple, and he’s just a 13-year-old kid. I remember you were just bragging to me the other day about a 13-year-old Special Assistant in your lab, surname Chen?"
?CLACK.
?The phone in Alchemist’s hand dropped onto the desk.
?He stiffly moved the mouse and clicked open the network-wide announcement that had been forwarded a dozen times before landing in his inbox.
He clicked open the announcement.
The light from the screen reflected off his glasses, showing line after line of minimalist, almost chillingly austere English text.
[Statement Regarding Manuscript #211, "Discrete Mapping and Singularity Convergence in Large-Scale Network Topology."]
Alchemist’s eyelid twitched.
He knew this paper.
Two months ago, he had seen the unfinished draft in Li Jianming’s office.
Back then, he had only felt that the boy, Chen Zhuo, had an almost preternatural intuition for mathematics and was certain to achieve great things in the field one day.
But he never thought it would be so soon.
Alchemist read on.
[...Today, I take back that statement.]
[...It is because I have found the one who was born holding this axe.]
[...Chen Zhuo is the last and only legacy disciple of my academic career.]
The cup in Alchemist’s hand made a noise.
The lid, not placed securely, slid off the rim of the cup, clattered onto the solid wood desk, and spun several times.
A few drops of tea splashed onto the back of Alchemist’s hand.
It was a little hot.
But he didn’t feel the pain. He just stared intently at two things on the screen: the word "only" and the number "13."
Alchemist leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.
He had supervised doctoral students at the School of Physics for many years and had seen his fair share of geniuses.
Some of those kids had astounding computational abilities, others had sharp intuition, but in his eyes, they were all still just students.
But this letter from Pierre had plucked Chen Zhuo from the position of a student and cast him onto a pedestal.
It wasn’t praise.
It was a crown.
Alchemist turned his head, looking at the thick, impenetrable fog outside the window.
He suddenly recalled a while back, when Chen Zhuo had helped them solve the foundational fluid dynamics algorithm model in the wind tunnel lab.
At the time, Alchemist had thought of Chen Zhuo as an incredibly useful secret weapon.
Now, he felt a chill run down his spine.
’I might have been using a generational master, someone capable of pioneering a new era, to do a tinkerer’s job in the lab.’
"This is bad."
Alchemist shot to his feet.
His movement was so abrupt that he knocked over a folder beside him, sending a stack of lab reports scattering across the floor.
Alchemist paid no mind to the papers. The first thought that flashed through his mind wasn’t about Pierre, nor was it about discrete algebra.
It was Zhou Qiping.
He was the vice-president of Keda, a man of action with a keen nose for administrative metrics, and an old fox who could squeeze the maximum KPI out of any honor.
Alchemist knew Zhou Qiping all too well.
’If Zhou Qiping saw this letter, if the people in the administration building realized that Chen Zhuo was now Pierre’s hand-picked, sole successor in the entire world, then there wouldn’t be a single quiet desk left on the Keda campus.’
That was deification.
It was roasting Chen Zhuo over an open flame.
Alchemist snatched the old jacket draped over his chair, threw it on haphazardly—mismatching a button but not caring—grabbed the keys from his desk, and rushed out.
He had to block that administrative floodgate before Zhou Qiping could summon the propaganda department to his office.
Alchemist walked quickly, his leather shoes CRUNCHING on the dry leaves.
The damp, cold fog hit his face, slightly clearing his head, which had grown hot from the shock.
He strode quickly up the steps of the administration building. At the end of the third-floor hall was the large door to Zhou Qiping’s office.
Before he even reached the door, Alchemist saw a familiar figure.
Li Jianming was standing there.
He looked even more disheveled than Alchemist.
The wind had tousled Li Jianming’s already sparse hair into a mess. He was clutching a file folder to his chest as if his life depended on it, his other hand hesitating, unsure whether to push the door open.
Alchemist stopped, caught his breath, and called out in a low voice.
"Old Li!"
Li Jianming jumped, whirling around.
His eyes were completely bloodshot. It looked like he had either just dragged himself away from his computer screen or hadn’t slept at all.
"You didn’t sleep either?"
Li Jianming looked at Alchemist, his tone carrying the urgency of someone who had just survived a catastrophe.
"Sleep my ass."
Alchemist walked up to him and glanced down at the folder in Li Jianming’s arms. Through the opening, he could just make out the English title of a photocopy: Mathematical Annals.
"You know everything?" Alchemist asked.
"The whole world knows."
Li Jianming gave a bitter laugh and pointed at the closed door.
"That madman, Pierre... he’s not just taking on a disciple, he’s making things difficult for us. With that one shout of his, every mathematician in the United States of America and all of Europe is now staring at this spot in Huizhou."
Alchemist stared into Li Jianming’s eyes and immediately let loose a torrent of blame.
"You’ve got some nerve, Old Li. Chen Zhuo causes such a huge stir at Princeton, Pierre basically issues a declaration of war, and you didn’t breathe a word of it to me?"
Alchemist lowered his voice, his tone laced with anger:
"Does the friendship between our departments mean nothing to you? You know he’s still listed as a Special Assistant with me. For something this big, you’re going to let him face it all alone?"
Li Jianming was taken aback. He opened his mouth to speak, the bitter expression on his face deepening.
"Old Fang, don’t you start pinning labels on me."
Li Jianming hugged the file folder even tighter.
"When Pierre came to Huizhou, I only exchanged a few words with him. How was I supposed to know that after he went back, he’d detonate an atomic bomb at Princeton?"
He paused, his gaze turning to the window at the end of the corridor with a complicated look.
"He even chewed out Gray, called the man blind. Do you think a regular math professor like me can control that tyrant?"
"Then what are you doing here now?" Alchemist asked.
"Same as you."
Li Jianming sighed and jutted his chin toward the door.
"You know what Zhou Qiping is like. The phone on his desk has never been quiet for more than three minutes."
"I bet his blood pressure is already at one-eighty."
Li Jianming lowered his voice, his tone growing serious:
"Chen Zhuo is only thirteen. That slap Pierre delivered to the face of the Western mathematics community might have been satisfying, but what about the consequences? How will those old geezers look at Chen Zhuo now?"
Alchemist fell silent.
He looked at Li Jianming’s anxiety-ridden face, and the anger in his heart gradually subsided.
They had both been navigating the world of academia for most of their lives; they knew all too well the shadows that lurked behind such pedestals.
If Chen Zhuo were just a talented student, he could have quietly honed his skills at Keda for a few years.
But now, he had become the "only one."
This meant he would have to face the world’s most critical, most vicious, and even most prejudiced scrutiny.
Even with Pierre shielding him from the front.
"With the resources our Science Department has, can we protect him?" Alchemist asked softly.
Li Jianming didn’t answer.
He reached out and patted the stiff file folder.
"We have to protect him, whether we can or not."
Li Jianming stared at the large door.
"Zhou Qiping will definitely use this as an excuse to turn Chen Zhuo into Keda’s living poster child. Publicity, interviews, guaranteed admission slots, maybe even send him to the Capital City to receive some kind of youth award."
"If we let him get that started, Chen Zhuo will be ruined."
Alchemist nodded. The two men exchanged a look in the corridor.
In that instant, any lingering resentment between the School of Physics and the Math Department over poaching students vanished completely.
They were now facing a common enemy.
Or rather, a kind of extremely fanatical and misguided protectiveness from the administrative system.
"Let’s get our story straight."
Alchemist took a step forward.
"When we go in, you play the good cop, I’ll play the bad cop."
"Deal."
Li Jianming gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his messy hair.
"You handle your side of things. I’ll talk about academic pacing and that old man’s temper."
"In any case, no order that comes out of that room today can be allowed to move Chen Zhuo one step out of that old library before the break starts."
Alchemist nodded and reached for the doorknob.
The knob was cold.
Through the door, he could already faintly hear Zhou Qiping’s slightly hoarse but extremely excited voice.
"Yes, yes, it has to be the front page... no, a special feature would be better..."
Alchemist and Li Jianming exchanged a look.
Li Jianming took a deep breath and nodded at Alchemist.
With a sudden push, Alchemist threw the door open.

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