Chapter 34: The Door to a New World Crashed Open

Chen Jingrun had always felt his days in Xiangjiang were happy, able to access the most cutting-edge mathematical knowledge.

He had previously worked in number theory, believing number theory was just number theory, and that different subfields of mathematics were like separate footpaths formed along mountain trails.

Though these branches all extended from the great tree of mathematics, once diverged, they had little connection to one another.

But after reading Lin Ran’s proof of Fermat’s Conjecture, he realized there was a deep connection between mathematics and analysis, and from the Langlands Program, he wondered: could similar deep connections exist between other subfields?

Would the branches extending from the great tree of mathematics eventually merge again in the future?

It was not a tree, but a great river—different tributaries converging into a single flow that emptied into the sea.

During his studies in Lin Ran’s tutoring class, though the instructor taught harmonic analysis rather than the number theory he excelled in, the underlying content, subtly pointing toward an organic fusion of analysis and number theory, was like a divine glance that intoxicated those who could understand it.

For Chen Jingrun, who had received all his mathematical training on the mainland and could not access the latest mathematical developments in real time, this was like rain after a long drought—he felt his soul had been replenished, brimming with motivation unlike ever before.

Thus, he could not understand why his classmates kept dropping out one after another; such a rare opportunity—lectures by one of the world’s greatest mathematicians—and still they chose not to attend.

Being able to access cutting-edge mathematical knowledge was a blessing, but it also brought frustration: the questions he had been given before arriving had no suitable moment to be asked of Professor Lin.

Before coming, he knew Professor Lin’s immense reputation; those who trained him had repeatedly warned him that countless eyes would be watching Professor Lin in Xiangjiang, and he must learn how to seize the right opportunity.

Only after arriving did he realize he had underestimated the extent of Professor Lin’s popularity: Xiangjiang newspapers competed to report on him, and even their group of students were chased for interviews and photos, called future stars of mathematical fields.

As fewer and fewer people remained, those who stayed became especially conspicuous.

Even though Chen Jingrun took great care to avoid being photographed, a tabloid still captured his picture, calling him one of Professor Lin’s most gifted students in the math seminar.

Under these circumstances, it became even harder for him to find an opportunity to ask Professor Lin the questions he wanted to pose.

As he recorded today’s lecture content and Professor Lin’s insights in his notebook, he felt every word Professor Lin had spoken before now rose clearly in his mind, forming a single thread—the door to a new world crashed open before him.

He still sat in his seat in the lecture hall of Xiangjiang University, and before him on the oak desk appeared an unusually pale index finger—Chen Jingrun stared at Professor Lin’s index finger:

“All of this is related to intercontinental missile optimization.”

These words echoed endlessly in his mind; he felt as if struck by lightning—never before had the lecture content been so crystal clear.

Five minutes felt as long as five centuries.

“The content just discussed can all be linked to the Langlands Program, because it encompasses the connection between symmetry and functionals, consistent with the abstract nature of the Langlands Program...”

At that moment, Chen Jingrun mechanically wrote down every word Lin Ran spoke, his mind consumed by the urgency to return home and organize all of Lin Ran’s previous lectures.

His beloved number theory, the frontiers of mathematics, new paths toward proving the Goldbach Conjecture—all these had become insignificant before the backdrop of China’s missile trajectory optimization.

“That concludes today’s lesson. We’ll resume tomorrow at nine a.m. One, two... fourteen—good, even more than I expected.” Lin Ran smiled, sipping water from the podium.

He had assumed, given the lecture’s content and difficulty, that only a handful of students would remain.

To drive away as many students as possible, Lin Ran had not even scheduled post-class Q&A.

His explanation was that once the foundational material was covered, he would set aside dedicated time for questions.

But the problem was: without Q&A, most students couldn’t even grasp the basics—the lectures were like reading celestial texts.

That was precisely why students kept leaving; if you couldn’t understand, sitting there was just listening to heavenly gibberish.

Chen Jingrun, who had always waited until Lin Ran left the classroom before departing, now rushed out the moment class ended.

He needed to verify Lin Ran’s content as quickly as possible, then find a way to pass the information to someone truly trustworthy.

Before arriving, Section Chief Zhang had repeatedly emphasized there were three channels in Xiangjiang.

Routine information went through Channel 1, urgent information through Channel 2, and highly classified material through Channel 3.

In his view, if what Lin Ran taught truly related to missile trajectory optimization, it was unquestionably highly classified material.

Compared to urgency, confidentiality mattered far more.

But it was also urgent: Professor Lin would only stay in Xiangjiang for two months; delaying even a day risked missing invaluable content.

His haste stemmed from needing to catch the 5:30 p.m. tram to Tung Lo Wan’s Chan Palace Building, the agreed-upon location for tomorrow’s information handover.

Correct: Channel 3 had two steps—the first was going to Chan Palace Building, not in Yuen Long or Sheung Shui in the New Territories, nor in Yau Ma Tei or Sham Shui Po in Kowloon, but in bustling Tung Lo Wan.

Chan Palace Building was also Xiangjiang’s first stratified-sale residential complex, one of the landmark projects after Ho Hing Yip Tong Real Estate entered the property market.

On his way to catch the tram, Chen Jingrun bought a copy of today’s “Tian Tian Daily” and a bowl cake served in a doucai blue-and-white chicken-cup.

Of course, the doucai blue-and-white chicken-cup was a replica.

Sitting in the lobby of Chan Palace Building, pretending to read the newspaper while finishing the bowl cake, he placed the doucai blue-and-white chicken-cup on the coffee table.

Glancing at his watch, half an hour later, the cleaning old man finally walked over to him: “Tonight, is there still a boat to North Point?”

“Take Tram No. 6 to Shau Kei Wan—the last tram will wait one extra passenger.”

The entire exchange was utterly natural; anyone who knew Chen Jingrun would never have imagined the bookish man they knew could so effortlessly and fluently play a local Xiangjiang resident.

After speaking, Chen Jingrun sat a while longer, his heart pounding violently—thump, thump.

Finally, pretending to return home casually, he had no time to rest—he immediately pulled out all of Lin Ran’s lecture notes, reviewed them carefully, and finally found the key information he needed to verify:

“So this constant isn’t meaningless—it refers to Earth’s gravity.”