Chapter 47

To prove himself, the old white-haired man took Zheng Fa and the others to another room.

This room’s door was always tightly shut; Zheng Fa and the others had never entered before.

The room was small, about ten to twelve square meters, with tall bookshelves lining the walls, their books piled in chaotic disorder; books half-open lay scattered across the floor and chairs.

It was clear at a glance that this messy study belonged to the lazy old man.

The only thing that stood out was the desk by the window corner, which held nothing but a thick stack of paper and a pen holder filled with pens.

The strangest thing was that the stack of draft paper was neatly piled, like a block of smoothly cut tofu.

“Is this your new book?” Tang Lingwumin also noticed the unusual stack of drafts.

The old white-haired man, surprisingly, became humble: “It’s just a personal idea of mine—I’ve been writing it for years.”

He turned to Zheng Fa and said: “I really don’t have that much time. Before I retired, I’d already promised someone I’d write this book, but five or six years after retirement, I still haven’t finished it.”

“The publisher really called to chase me—I’m not bragging…” Under Zheng Fa and Tang Lingwumin’s skeptical stares, he mumbled: “Maybe I exaggerated a bit… six or seven times.”

Zheng Fa looked at the clearly different desk and nodded: “You really do value this book.”

“Valuing it isn’t quite the right word. As I said before, where do I rank in mathematics?” The old man touched the draft papers on the desk, thought for a moment, then asked Zheng Fa: “Do you know why I’ve never wanted to teach you?”

“Because I learn slowly?”

“Well, being slow is one reason.” The old man had always been blunt about belittling Zheng Fa’s intelligence.

“Because I’m about to take the college entrance exam?” Zheng Fa guessed again.

“That’s part of it, but the main reason is—you’re not the kind of person suited for mathematics.”

Zheng Fa froze, not understanding why the old man said that.

“I’m not saying you have a bad character—I’m saying doing mathematics shouldn’t be driven by ulterior motives. And you…” The old man glanced at Zheng Fa: “Do you want to learn topology for topology itself—or for those strange patterns?”

Zheng Fa frowned.

“Isn’t practicality better?” Tang Lingwumin muttered.

“What is mathematics?” the old man suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“The fundamental subject of mathematics is things that don’t exist.” The old man told the two: “Do imaginary numbers exist? Do natural numbers exist in nature? Can you find points, lines, and planes from geometry in the real world?”

Zheng Fa said nothing—he still didn’t grasp what the old man meant—but the old man seemed to have found the feeling of being a university professor again:

“Mathematics is essentially an abstract, non-existent axiomatic system. In some sense, you can view it as humanity’s invented set of purposeless rules—except that, by coincidence, these rules happen to explain certain things about our world.” He spoke at length.

“That’s why many pure mathematicians look down on applied mathematicians—they say we’re all mothers of science, so how come you’re bending over like a…” Seeing Zheng Fa and Tang Lingwumin’s youthful faces, the excited old man forcibly swallowed the vulgar word on his tongue and replaced it: “A fallen woman.”

Seeing Zheng Fa still didn’t understand, the old man explained more clearly: “If you’re learning topology just for those patterns, I ask you—have you ever considered whether topology can truly decode all these patterns?”

Zheng Fa nodded.

“That’s the paradox of science: you can be right ten thousand times and still not be certain you’re right; one mistake, and you’re truly wrong. At that point, would you still want to learn topology from me?”

Zheng Fa understood his meaning—the old man had been circling around, still trying to dissuade him from chasing the tail instead of the head.

“I still want to learn—even if I learn slowly,” Zheng Fa said slowly. Even without these symbols, he was deeply interested in the knowledge of this world.

“Then I suggest you learn properly from me,” the old man said, seeing Zheng Fa’s determined expression and sensing he wasn’t lying; his expression softened slightly, and he offered rare reassurance: “It’s fine to go slow. You haven’t even fully mastered your high school knowledge yet. Topology is a second-year undergraduate course at Beijing University—you need at least first-year undergraduate-level preparation to truly begin. Right now, going slow is perfectly normal.”

The old man meant well, but Zheng Fa still refused:

“But I still want you to help me decode those patterns.”

Zheng Fa thought clearly—he was interested in mathematics, but only as a tool.

Just like the old man’s mind.

“I really don’t have the time!”

Zheng Fa turned to Tang Lingwumin beside him and pointed at her: “I remember you said she’s already studied university-level material?”

“Huh?”

“If I have to start from high school, why not learn from her?”

No problem is unsolvable by borrowing brains—if one isn’t enough, borrow another.

Tang Lingwumin stood there stunned, pointing at herself: “Me?”

“I’ll teach you martial arts; you teach me mathematics. Deal?”

Tang Lingwumin hesitated, glancing at the old white-haired man.

The old man frowned but didn’t deny Tang Lingwumin’s ability: “That’s actually a viable solution. If you can’t teach him something, bring it to me. In fact, teaching him will greatly deepen your own understanding of those concepts—though it will waste your time…”

“I’ll teach! I want to learn martial arts!”

“Didn’t you say you didn’t want to?” the old man grumbled.

Tang Lingwumin said nothing, only smiled with pursed lips.

Zheng Fa smiled and pulled out the draft notebooks: “So today, which one do we start with?”

The old man froze.

He pointed at Tang Lingwumin: “She’s become your teacher—and still gets to practice martial arts?”

“Yes.”

“From now on, she won’t scold you, I can’t scold you—you won’t get scolded at all, and you’ve gained a pretty girl as your teacher, while I’m just your servant.”

Zheng Fa smiled: “Seems so.”

“And I, not only have to serve you, but I’ve lost the joy of scolding you?”

The logic was so flawless that the old man’s expression turned despairing.

“At least you’ve learned a lesson,” Zheng Fa patted the old man on the shoulder: “Next time, don’t randomly threaten to drop out.”

…

Because he needed to teach Tang Lingwumin martial arts, the old man’s home was too cramped.

They went to the small open area where the old man had previously watched Zheng Fa practice the Songhe Stance.

The old man continued practicing the Songhe Stance nearby, his expression noticeably more serious than before.

Zheng Fa stood in front of Tang Lingwumin, guiding her stance; they stood very close, their hair occasionally brushing each other’s noses, a faint, sweet fragrance drifting from the girl.

He wasn’t distracted—he quickly calmed his mind, then noticed something different about this world: after mastering the Linghe Body, whenever he activated his internal qi, he felt a force in the Xuanwei Realm responding to him.

But here—there was nothing.

This difference led Zheng Fa to form some theories.

“Zheng Fa… you smell really good!”

Huh?

Tang Lingwumin realized how lewd her words sounded; her eyes darted around nervously.

Zheng Fa’s gaze fell seriously on her, probing, as if trying to see another familiar face on her features:

…Gao Yuan—is that you?

…

“Zheng Fa! I noticed something strange!” Gao Yuan spotted Zheng Fa and ran over, leaning his head close as if whispering a secret.

“Stop. Keep your distance.” Zheng Fa closed his eyes.

“?”

“I haven’t gotten used to you suddenly becoming this ugly.”

Gao Yuan touched his confused face, then dropped his bewilderment and whispered: “I haven’t changed—Young Master Qi has!”

“Changed? How?” Zheng Fa felt a flicker of curiosity.

“He’s become…” Gao Yuan seemed unable to describe it, scratching his head: “He’s become… a bit like me.”

…Funny—I know someone else who’s become a bit like you too.