Chapter 33: The Gates of the New World Come Crashing Down

Chen Jingrun had always felt that his days in Hong Kong were a profound blessing, granting him access to the most cutting-edge mathematical knowledge.

In the past, his work had been confined to number theory. He had long assumed that number theory was a solitary discipline, and that the various sub-fields of mathematics were like different footpaths carved through a mountain range. Though these branches all extended from the same great tree of mathematics, he believed they had little to do with one another once they diverged.

However, after studying Lin Ran’s proof of the Fermat Conjecture, he realized that a deep, intrinsic connection existed between mathematics and analysis. This led him to wonder, through the lens of the Langlands Program, whether similar profound linkages might exist between other sub-fields. Perhaps the branches of this great mathematical tree would one day converge. It was not a tree at all, he realized, but a mighty river, where diverse tributaries eventually merge and flow into the vast ocean.

During his studies in Lin Ran’s seminars, even though the professor taught harmonic analysis rather than his own specialty, the content contained within—and the organic integration of analysis and number theory it hinted at—was like a divine revelation that left those capable of understanding it utterly intoxicated. Having received his training on the mainland, where he had been starved of real-time access to the frontiers of mathematics, this was like rain after a long drought. His soul felt replenished, and he had never felt more driven.

Because of this, he could not comprehend how his classmates could simply stop attending. How could anyone pass up such a rare opportunity to learn from one of the world’s top mathematical masters?

While access to this knowledge was a joy, it came with its own frustrations: he could never find the right moment to ask Professor Lin the questions he had been tasked with posing before his departure. He had known of Professor Lin’s fame before arriving, and his handlers had repeatedly warned him that countless eyes were watching the professor in Hong Kong, and that he must be clever in finding his opportunity.

Only after arriving did he realize he had underestimated the extent of the professor’s popularity. It wasn’t just the local newspapers clamoring to report on him; even the students were pursued for interviews and photos, hailed as "future stars of mathematics." As the number of students who stuck with the course dwindled, those who remained became even more conspicuous. Despite Chen’s best efforts to avoid the cameras, he had been snapped by a tabloid, which dubbed him one of the most gifted students in Professor Lin’s seminar. Under these circumstances, finding a private moment to speak with the professor had become nearly impossible.

Yet, as he recorded today’s lecture in his notebook, the pieces of everything Lin had previously taught suddenly clicked into place in his mind, forming a single, coherent line. A door to a new world had been flung wide open.

He sat in his seat in the Hong Kong University lecture hall, staring at the oak desk in front of him, where a slender, exceptionally fair index finger rested. Chen Jingrun gazed at Professor Lin’s hand.

"These are actually related to the optimization of intercontinental missiles."

The sentence echoed in his mind, and he felt as if struck by lightning. The content of these past few lectures had never been clearer. Five minutes passed, yet they felt as long as five centuries.

"In fact, everything we’ve discussed today can be linked to the Langlands Program, as it encompasses the relationship between symmetry and functionals, which is consistent with the abstract nature of the Langlands Program..."

Chen Jingrun mechanically scribbled Lin Ran’s words into his notebook, his mind racing with the urge to return home and organize everything he had learned. His beloved number theory, the frontiers of mathematics, and the new path toward proving the Goldbach Conjecture—faced with the optimization of missile trajectories for his country, these things suddenly seemed less significant.

"Alright, that concludes today’s lecture. We will continue here tomorrow morning at nine. One, two... fourteen. Good, that’s even more than I expected." Standing at the podium, Lin Ran smiled as he drank some water. He had assumed that given the difficulty of the material, the attendance would have dropped to single digits by now. To drive away as many students as possible, Lin had even refused to hold Q&A sessions, promising to set aside time only after the foundations were fully laid. The problem, of course, was that without those answers, most students found the material incomprehensible.

That was why they had left one by one; sitting through a lecture they couldn't understand was like listening to a sermon in a foreign tongue. Chen Jingrun, who usually waited until Lin Ran left the room before departing, bolted out the door the moment the class ended. He needed to verify the content as quickly as possible and then find a way to pass the information to someone truly reliable.

During his training, Section Chief Zhang had emphasized three distinct channels for communication in Hong Kong. Routine information went through Channel 1, urgent matters through Channel 2, and highly classified intelligence through Channel 3. In Chen’s estimation, if what Lin Ran was teaching was truly related to missile trajectory optimization, it undoubtedly fell under the category of high-level secrets.

Confidentiality was far more important than mere urgency, though the situation was indeed pressing. Professor Lin was only staying in Hong Kong for two months, and a single day’s delay could mean losing invaluable information.

His urgency was also practical: he had to catch the 5:30 tram to the Windsor House in Causeway Bay, the site designated for tomorrow’s information handover. Yes, the process for Channel 3 involved two steps, and the first was to go to the Windsor House—not in the New Territories, nor in Kowloon, but in the bustling heart of Causeway Bay. The Windsor House was the first strata-titled residential building in Hong Kong, a landmark project for the Fok Hing-yip Tong Real Estate Company.

On his way to the tram, Chen bought a copy of the day’s *Daily News* and a *put chai ko* (rice pudding) served in a blue-and-white porcelain chicken cup—an imitation, of course. He sat in the lobby of the Windsor House, pretending to read the paper while finishing the pudding, then left the cup on the coffee table.

Glancing at his watch, he waited until an elderly janitor finally approached him half an hour later. "Is there still a boat to North Point at 7:30 tonight?"

"Take the number 6 tram to Shau Kei Wan. There’s one seat left on the last bus."

The exchange was effortless. Anyone who knew Chen Jingrun would never have imagined that the man they viewed as a bookish nerd could so naturally and fluidly play the role of a local Hong Kong resident. After the man left, Chen sat for a while longer, his heart pounding violently in his chest.

Finally, he returned to his residence, feigning indifference. He had no intention of resting. He immediately pulled out all his notes from Lin Ran’s lectures and searched them meticulously until he found the key information he needed to verify:

"As I thought—the constant here is not a meaningless figure; it represents the Earth’s gravity."