Chapter 12

Lin Ran’s words were half-truth and half-lie.

It’s true I’m looking for the Apollo moon landing puzzle pieces, but who says I have to ask those octogenarians in 2020? What I intend to do is go back to 1960 to find the pieces—and even assemble the Apollo moon landing puzzle myself.

Second, using Blue Origin to secure my first capital, the main risks have already been covered by Li Xiaoman.

But Lin Ran hadn’t yet decided whether to approach Blue Origin at all, or whether to return to Huaguo and replicate the Apollo moon landing using Huaguo’s resources.

Replicating the Apollo moon landing is the same cost—perhaps one hundred million—but in Huaguo, the unit is RMB; in Amerika, it’s dollars.

But no matter what he does, Lin Ran must return to 1960 as soon as possible.

“Of course not. Fine, I accept this collaboration. I’ll handle these issues for you,” Li Xiaoman said.

Lin Ran extended his hand: “The badge and the key.”

Li Xiaoman stared at him helplessly: “Now?”

Lin Ran rummaged through his backpack and handed over his passport: “Yes. Tomorrow morning, I’m heading straight to Columbia University. As a sign of good faith, I’ll leave my passport with you.”

Columbia University—the stronghold of the Frankfurt School.

Five seconds later, Li Xiaoman: “Alright. Keep me updated.”

Though this whole thing is utterly absurd, my gut tells me you can actually pull it off.”

The absurdity rivals buying an Amerikan military radar on Xianyu.

It’s absurd, yes—but it happened.

He placed his phone in 2020, carried some prepared supplies, wore the same clothes, and reappeared in the guest room Haines had prepared for him in his New York suburb villa.

He deliberately walked to the first-floor living room, pretending to drink water, then checked the time—his tense heart finally eased.

The time flow difference should be roughly sixty to one.

Eight hours had passed in 2020; here, only a few minutes had elapsed.

Early the next morning, Lin Ran rose to bid Haines farewell: “Haines, I plan to find my friend. I can’t keep imposing on you.”

Haines was surprised—he assumed Lin Ran intended to join NASA, and in his view, NASA needed top-tier talent like Lin Ran: “Aren’t you going to wait?

I’ve arranged an interview for you with NASA.

If you pass, you’ll become a member of NASA.”

Lin Ran shook his head: “Though I’m a space enthusiast, I have no intention of joining NASA.”

Lin Ran’s words were half-truth and half-lie.

More accurately, he had no intention of joining NASA—not yet.

A nobody like him joining NASA now—even if he played a crucial role in Apollo—might not earn him what he wanted, and he’d likely have his achievements buried due to his Chinese identity.

In 2020 Amerika, returning to the moon must be done with extreme discretion—he wanted money, not fame. But in 1960 Amerika, participating in NASA’s moon landing, Lin Ran wanted fame, not money.

And not just any fame.

He wanted it so that whenever lunar landing was mentioned, every newspaper would inevitably circle back to him.

“But…” Before Haines could finish, Lin Ran interrupted: “I think I’ll head to Columbia University. If you’re interested, you can find me there.”

Columbia University harbors countless Frankfurt School scholars, hailed as the Frankfurt School’s stronghold in Amerika.

The gift Lin Ran prepared for Columbia was the proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem.

Once he achieved fame in the mathematical world, wouldn’t joining NASA be effortless?

And that would be a far more suitable moment.

The Soviet cosmonaut Gagarin will orbit Earth for 40,000 kilometers in 108 minutes on April 12, 1961.

He would seek protection from Frankfurt School scholars for his academic achievements, use the proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem as his introduction to become an academic star, and then, once famous, leverage the Frankfurt School’s influence to pressure government officials into compelling NASA to come to him.

The entire plan was perfect.

That’s precisely why the Frankfurt Society badge was essential.

Without the Frankfurt Society as his backing, a Chinese man’s difficulty would rise by more than a single order of magnitude.

The reason he wasted eight hours in 2020 was because the final three hours were spent copying out the proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem.

Andrew Wiles’s paper proving Fermat’s Last Theorem was 130 pages long; later mathematicians condensed it to 50 pages.

That doesn’t mean he only needs 50 pages to prove it—because the later 50-page version rests on theorems already proven by generations of mathematicians.

Key theorems, like the Taniyama-Shimura conjecture—the core pillar of Wiles’s proof, establishing the link between all elliptic curves and modular forms—were proposed in 1955 and weren’t fully proven until 2001.

The Kolyvagin-Flach method wasn’t introduced until the 1980s; it constructed Euler systems to solve Selmer group calculations in “modular lifting.”

The bridge connecting number theory and automorphic forms—the local part of the Langlands program—wasn’t developed until the late 1970s.

So Lin Ran needed to copy more than Wiles’s original 130 pages.

“Professor Horkheimer, a young Chinese man is here to see you. He says he has something extremely important to discuss.”

Professor Horkheimer looked down from the diamond-shaped window beside his bed and saw a young man dressed in a suit unlike any current style, standing rigidly, staring straight ahead without moving.

“Show him in.”

Professor Horkheimer recalled his former colleague Li Junnan from the Social Science Center at Frankfurt University. When he first met Li Junnan, the Chinese man’s demeanor and age were nearly identical.

“Pity Li died so early. If he were still alive and saw his homeland now giving Amerika a taste of its own medicine in Korea, he’d surely be pleased.”

“Professor Horkheimer, hello. I’m Randolph Lin, son of Professor Larry Meyer. After many detours, I’ve finally reached New York and hope for your help.” Lin Ran walked with purpose.

Horkheimer fell silent: “Larry Meyer?”

Such a familiar name—after the Nazis rose to power, he chose not to follow them to Amerika but steadfastly remained in Frankfurt.

He wasn’t Jewish—he was Slavic.

After the war ended, when they went back to find him, they discovered Larry Meyer had died during the war.

More than a decade after the war’s end, a son of Larry Meyer suddenly appeared seeking his help.

Horkheimer found it baffling—he’d never heard Larry Meyer had a Chinese student.