Chapter 8: Core Advantage

Cherry Spring National Park is touted as New York’s best stargazing spot, but it’s not in Niuyuezhou—it’s in Bingcheng, and a round-trip drive takes about four hours.

On the way back, Lin Ran had already sorted out his thoughts clearly.

Whether in 1960 or 2020, his greatest advantage was information asymmetry.

All kinds of information asymmetry.

From global shocks like Kennedy’s assassination to technical details such as the Apollo spacecraft’s escape tower using solid-fuel rockets.

The Apollo spacecraft’s escape tower used bundled solid-fuel miniature rockets, somewhat like the firecracker rockets kids play with—igniting explosively to correct trajectory, simple and reliable but low in precision.

These Dadaxiaoxiaodexinxicha formed his core advantage.

Vast amounts of information that were once top-secret core secrets in their time are now declassified today in 2020, available as public library records for historians to study.

Yet in 1960, there was also a vast amount of information asymmetry relative to 2020.

For instance, America itself can no longer replicate manned lunar landing today—if he could fully participate in it, would that mean he’d master every technical detail, and could he replicate the manned lunar landing in the 2020 timeline?

But information asymmetry isn’t something you can simply exploit at will.

Especially the overt information asymmetry differs from what’s actually usable in practice—this gap is what’s called historical distortion.

Reasons for historical distortion are numerous: historians may be influenced by personal bias, emotion, political stance, or cultural background, leading to subjective or skewed accounts of events.

Or historical recorders may rely solely on limited sources—information that is incomplete, inaccurate, or already altered.

Historical recorders may also lack firsthand experience of events, relying instead on secondhand accounts or rumors that have been passed through multiple layers, causing information distortion.

Extracting history directly from those who lived it is the best way to leverage information asymmetry.

“Being a top scientist in 1960 and a historical courier in 2020—this isn’t a bad shortcut in the early stages,” Lin Ran thought.

The business he previously ran could now help him—and would help him in the future too.

In fact, among the top three hundred universities worldwide, he could find someone he knew in his WeChat contacts.

In Lin Ran’s view, all of these could become part of his information asymmetry, and if he ever started a business, he could draw talent from this network.

After his brain evolved, every trait each person displayed during conversations with him remained vividly clear.

“But if I return to 1960, the Fabian Society would be a good entry point,” Lin Ran thought. “Still, this needs careful planning—I’ll have to talk to Xiaoman Jie later. If possible, I’d best borrow her grandfather’s Fabian Society badge—but I don’t know if she’d lend it.”

The client on the video call was the daughter of his mother’s close friend—an utterly unavoidable client.

But acquaintance is acquaintance, business is business—the consultation fee still had to be paid.

When he had organized his thoughts, the Zoom video call screen showed a Word document:

“Basic info: female, Chinese PhD supervisor, U.S.NewsTop10 Assistant Professor

Graduated from a bottom-tier 211 university, PhD and postdoc from U.S.NewsTop10.

Academic homepage: 30+ publications.

Research focus: new materials, composite materials

Principal investigator of two NIH-funded projects.”

The basic info was sparse; Lin Ran scanned it in an instant—he already had his answer in mind.

U.S.NewsTop10 Assistant Professor means assistant professor at a top-ten U.S. university.

NIH refers to America’s National Institutes of Health, similar to China’s Medical Academy—extremely difficult for newcomers to secure funding, let alone two projects.

“Her resume is nearly perfect except for the bottom-tier 211 undergrad degree. A Chinese female PhD supervisor might indeed favor Chinese female applicants—shared background could make her more empathetic to your situation and needs.”

These few sentences instantly built initial trust with the client on the video call, because she herself had prioritized this supervisor for her PhD application and had just received an offer from her.

“But~” Lin Ran drew out the word. The client immediately bit: “But what?”

Having advised countless clients on studying abroad, Lin Ran had developed a mature script—clients falling for it was normal. Pursuing a PhD was a long-distance mental and physical marathon, a kind of gamble in its own right.

If it was a gamble, spending two thousand yuan on outside advice was cheap.

This price had risen from two hundred to two thousand, thanks both to information asymmetry and precise psychological manipulation.

“But she might be an academic succubus.

She earned her PhD and completed her postdoc at a top-ten U.S. university, then stayed on as faculty. To go straight from a bottom-tier 211 undergrad to a top-ten U.S. PhD program, there are only two possibilities: first, her academic ability is truly exceptional—GPA alone isn’t enough; she must have produced significant work as an undergraduate. Second, her advisor greatly admired her.

Looking at her publication record—over thirty papers—for a top-ten North American assistant professor in materials science, this number is clearly insufficient.

Only two explanations: either she’s very young, or her papers have extremely high value.

So she needed exceptional academic ability as an undergrad, demonstrating clear talent, then produced high-value work during her PhD and postdoc—both are indispensable.

Is it possible to have such talent yet attend only a 211 undergrad? Yes, but unlikely.

So I suspect she’s more likely an academic succubus.”

The beautiful client on the video blinked her big eyes, her eyelashes seeming to ask: What’s an academic succubus?

“Simply put: she uses her beauty to gain favor from top scholars who then propel her forward. Having a beautiful woman in the lab is nice to look at.

But if she’s like that, you’ll be sidelined and suppressed—you won’t gain access to her greatest resource: the senior scholar mentoring her.

If that senior scholar gives her resources because of her beauty, he might give you resources too because of your beauty. To prevent that possibility, she’ll deliberately suppress you.”

The client first blushed at being complimented on her looks, then grew anxious at Lin Ran’s possibility: “Then what should I do?”

She believed half of it because Lin Ran was already somewhat famous in the Jiaotong University or Shanghai academic circles for this work, and because she knew a hidden fact: this Chinese female professor’s appearance, at her age, was still undeniably alluring.

“Can you show me the professor’s full profile?” Lin Ran asked.

The client switched the screen to the professor’s academic homepage.

Looking at the professor’s personal page, Lin Ran’s suspicions were confirmed: “Hmm… this professor started recruiting students last year, with two students under her. If I recall correctly, one of the seniors I mentored went to her for his PhD.

Shall I call him for you?”

“Don’t even say it—she gave us one day off for New Year’s, total scam. This professor only cares about attending every academic conference, sees someone publish in a top journal, then thinks it’s a hot new direction and forces us to chase it.

She has only two students—me and another guy—and we’ve been assigned over ten hot topics to track. She doesn’t guide our core work at all, just dumps one hot topic after another. Now I don’t even browse Weibo anymore—I get headaches seeing trending topics.

Whenever I ask about my actual research, she says, ‘I’ll ask my advisor.’ Am I her student or is she my advisor’s student? If that’s the case, why don’t I just talk to her advisor directly?

Lin Ran, let me tell you: cherish your life, avoid Chinese female PhD supervisors—one and all are traps. Everyone I’ve met who followed a Chinese female supervisor has complained. When you apply for your PhD, be extremely careful. I had no choice—I was blinded by the ‘top ten North America’ title, walked straight into the tiger’s den…”

The complaints broadcast over the Pacific reached the distant shore—the client’s face turned pale. Thank goodness she paid for consultation; otherwise, she’d have fallen into the pit without even realizing it.

After the call ended, Lin Ran said: “So, junior, I’ll send you this senior’s WeChat later—you can chat with him directly.”

This eliminated her last hesitation.

If he hadn’t sent the WeChat, she might have suspected he fabricated the story—but sending the WeChat made falsification too costly.

“Two thousand yuan in hand—but now, how do I even approach Xiaoman Jie? What a headache,” Lin Ran sighed deeply after exiting the video call.