Following Zhou Shenzhi’s question, the lecture hall grew even quieter.
Zhou Shenzhi had voiced the one topic that every computational mathematician and computer science titan in the room was desperate to ask about but didn’t dare to.
They were all sharp people. Who among them didn’t know that the zero-point dataset on the order of 10^23 that Li Dong had casually dropped on arXiv a few days ago was definitely the result of another iteration of his underlying algorithm?
However, the academic world has its own unwritten rules.
The man had already open-sourced version 1.0 of his algorithm, which was a huge boon to the academic community.
Now, it was obvious he didn’t want to release the core of version 2.0. To publicly pressure him at a juncture like this was a highly offensive move.
But since someone from Capital University was willing to stick their neck out, the rest of the audience was happy to sit back and watch.
Everyone assumed that, faced with a question designed to force his hand, Li Dong would most likely find a polite excuse to be evasive.
Something along the lines of the new algorithm still having many bugs, that it was currently being refined, and that he would definitely share it with everyone when the time was right.
However, Li Dong, standing at the lectern, had no intention of being evasive.
He narrowed his eyes and looked at Zhou Shenzhi. Thanks to his [Light and Shadow Insight (Basic Edition)], his vision was a little better than an ordinary person’s.
So he could clearly read the name tag hanging on Zhou Shenzhi’s chest.
[Capital University Mathematics Science College — Zhou Shenzhi]
Li Dong spoke into the microphone.
"No."
An uproar swept through the hall. Countless scholars looked at each other in disbelief.
No one had expected this Li Dong to refuse so bluntly, without even bothering to offer a single polite platitude.
"This... This shows a complete lack of academic spirit of sharing, doesn’t it?"
"Scientific progress depends on the crystallization of all humanity’s wisdom. How can he claim an algorithm that could advance the entire field of mathematics as his own?"
In the traditional moral view of many scholars, purely academic achievements should belong to all of humanity.
But anyone with a little knowledge of scientific history knows that such so-called noble principles are often just used to morally blackmail others.
Hasn’t history seen enough of this?
After the Wright Brothers invented the airplane and mastered the most critical aerodynamic data,
the aviation world and countless media outlets of the time accused them of being selfish. Waving grandiose banners like "flight technology should belong to all humanity" and "for the great cause of human flight," they vehemently pressured the brothers to release their aircraft blueprints.
Then there was the famous British watchmaker John Harrison.
He spent the better part of his life’s work inventing the marine chronometer (the H4), which could accurately measure longitude at sea.
The British Board of Longitude and a group of self-righteously superior scientists used the noble causes of "the safety of the British Royal Navy" and "scientific sharing" to force Harrison’s hand. They compelled him to surrender his design schematics and demanded he dismantle the machine for his rival craftsmen to inspect, threatening to withhold his full prize money otherwise.
Wasn’t this just blatant moral blackmail and daylight robbery?
Zhou Shenzhi clearly hadn’t expected such a blunt refusal from Li Dong. He stood there, stunned, his face darkening. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.
Just then, another middle-aged male professor standing next to Zhou Shenzhi rose to his feet.
"Li Dong, I’m Wang Zhiqiang from Capital University."
Wang Zhiqiang’s tone was that of an elder lecturing a junior.
"Do you realize that if an algorithm of this level remains solely in your hands, its utility will be extremely limited?"
"But if you release it, we can pool our resources to optimize the algorithm even further! We can push it into deeper, extremely High Tier domains to verify more unsolved mathematical conjectures!"
Wang Zhiqiang said, speaking from the moral high ground.
"Academia isn’t about reinventing the wheel in isolation. Only through sharing can we maximize the value of this algorithm and benefit the entire field of mathematics, wouldn’t you agree?"
A sudden snort of laughter came from the stage.
Li Dong hadn’t been able to hold it in.
"Ah, my apologies. Excuse me."
Li Dong waved his hand dismissively, looking down at Wang Zhiqiang.
"Professor Wang, is it?"
"This ’optimization’ you speak of—what exactly is it based on?"
"My first-generation dimensionality reduction algorithm has been open-source for quite some time now, hasn’t it? I imagine the Supercomputing Centers represented here have all run it until their machines were smoking."
Li Dong spread his hands and retorted.
"And yet, I haven’t seen a single expert step forward and optimize my version 1.0 algorithm, have I?"
"In the end, wasn’t I the one who boosted its performance by four orders of magnitude and iterated it to version 2.0?"
Li Dong asked earnestly.
"So, Professor Wang, where exactly do you get the confidence to think... that this algorithm would be more useful in your hands than in mine?"
Li Dong’s words were like a resounding slap, landing squarely across the faces of the Capital University team.
Wang Zhiqiang opened his mouth, but he couldn’t force out a single word of rebuttal.
CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!
Amidst the awkward atmosphere, a burst of applause suddenly erupted from the front row.
Liu Ruochuan, the dean of Yan University’s School of Mathematics, was clapping so hard his hands were turning red.
He looked at Li Dong on the stage, inwardly gloating.
’Yes, that’s a student of my Yan University! That’s the drive a young person should have. I’m the best in the world, and I won’t put up with anyone’s crap!’
Liu Ruochuan turned his head and shot a cold glance in Zhou Shenzhi’s direction.
He was also a mathematician, so of course he knew that some fundamental theories belong to all humanity.
But something like an algorithm, in this day and age—is it really just a purely academic matter?
Look around the world. Which core algorithm capable of subverting an entire industry’s foundation isn’t a closely guarded secret?
Has the thermal-fluid coupling control algorithm in a top-tier photolithography machine been made public? Have the high-dimensional matrix operations of modern asymmetric encryption been revealed?
An algorithm of this caliber doesn’t just involve the academic world; it’s directly related to the efficiency of national-level Supercomputing Centers, information security, and even the iteration of engineering technology!
And you think you can just get it for free with a few empty words about the good of all humanity?
Besides, Liu Ruochuan knew very well.
Jiang Yubai’s research project on the grand unification of the Langlands Program currently needed Li Dong’s algorithm.
Any discerning person could see whether this group truly believed the results belonged to all humanity or if they were acting purely out of self-interest.
With Liu Ruochuan taking the lead, several professors on good terms with him also spoke up.
"Intellectual property must be respected! Why should he be morally blackmailed over an algorithm he iterated independently?"
"If you want to know the core logic, just wait for him to write a paper and formally publish it, right? What’s the meaning of trying to force his hand here?"
Of course, there were also a few conservative, old-school scholars who frowned, feeling that Li Dong was too arrogant and lacked the humility proper for a scholar.
For a moment, the conference hall split into two factions, arguing ceaselessly in low voices.
Sitting in the front row, Terence Tao and Zhang Yitang glanced at each other, both sharing helpless, wry smiles.
Sometimes, this kind of factional academic squabbling, this moral blackmail cloaked in noble principles, was precisely what many pure mathematicians detested most.
Professor Penrose from Princeton watched Li Dong on the stage, his eyes filled with fervor.
Of course, he also hoped to learn the underlying logic of this algorithm immediately, but he was a man of decorum.
He felt that such a core academic secret could be discussed later through private academic exchanges and collaborations. There was no need to resort to such low-level pressure tactics in a public setting.
Just as the scene descended into chaos,
the phone of the assistant next to the eighty-year-old Enrico Bombieri suddenly vibrated.
The assistant glanced at the caller ID.
Then he said in a low voice,
"Professor, it’s an academic editor from the *Mathematical Annals*."
Bombieri frowned.
It was the middle of the night in the United States right now.
However, considering his long-standing role as an invited reviewer and editorial board member for the *Mathematical Annals*, he took the phone.
"Hello, this is Bombieri."
The voice on the other end of the line sounded excited.
"Professor Bombieri, I’m so sorry to disturb you!"
"But we just received a paper in our submission system that we’d like you to review personally."
Bombieri asked.
"What paper?"
The academic editor on the other end of the line said,
"A Proof of Montgomery’s Conjecture on Association on the Interval |α|∈[0, 4]."
Hearing this title, the old Professor Bombieri was stunned for a second, then a trace of anger appeared on his face.
"You’re bringing this kind of sensationalist paper to me?"
"The theoretical barrier for Montgomery’s Conjecture has been stuck at |α|
"Pushed to 4? This is just trash sent in by some academic fraud to grab attention! Why don’t you just reject it outright?"
The academic editor on the other end of the line was silent for two seconds, then replied in a complicated tone,
"Professor, we thought so too."
"But..."
"The author of this paper is... Li Dong."

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