Chapter 57
Translator: Dreamscribe
It had been an enjoyable time.
For Yu Seo-ha, the gathering of mathematicians in one place was also a fascinating experience.
After the dean’s speech concluded, the first session followed.
Under the title “Unsolved Problems and Young Researchers”, the panelists each candidly shared their stories of failure.
An elderly professor spoke.
“I wasted four years clinging to Fermat’s Last Theorem. When Andrew Wiles proved it, I felt both relieved and hollow at the same time.
It took another three years before I could move on to another research. I simply couldn’t find the motivation to do anything.
So, everyone, choose an open problem, but don’t let it consume your life.”
Clap clap clap!
Applause burst out.
As the noise subsided, a middle-aged professor slowly took the microphone.
Adrian Keller.
It was a name Seo-ha also knew well.
“When I was young, I once challenged the Riemann Hypothesis. At the time, I believed it was my destiny. But even after several years, I had no results to show.
At home, I was a ghost. My wife grew exhausted raising our child alone, and I spent sleepless nights in the lab, wasting away. I felt that if I just pushed a little more, something would come out.”
He opened a bottle and took a sip of water.
“For most researchers tackling unsolved problems, a special moment arrives. A moment when they must decide when to stop.
In the end, I chose my family, and I still believe that decision was the right one.
But it is painful. Because I still think about the Riemann zeta function every single day. Even when I walk into the lecture hall to teach calculus, even while eating dinner with my family.”
He looked around at the participants with deep eyes.
“This is what I believe to be the most miserable form of failure. I’ll end here, hoping that all of you become better researchers than I was.”
A brief silence passed. Then a quiet but heavy applause slowly spread throughout the hall.
“Do you regret challenging the Riemann Hypothesis?”
Someone asked.
The professor, walking back to his seat, turned around.
“The pain I feel isn’t because of the Riemann Hypothesis. It’s because I came face to face with it and realized my own limits.
Sometimes, even knowing you’ll break, you still want to dive into the problem. Many mathematicians of the past went through that same process and left us clues like ‘dying messages.’
But what torments me is the cowardice of not even having that courage.”
The intent of the session was clear.
Don’t pursue unsolved problems solely for honor or reward.
Even so, someone would inevitably choose that path.
Because that is the essence of the field of mathematics, and it has advanced powered by the relentless curiosity of humankind.
That is why the professors were throwing questions at the young researchers gathered in this room.
“How far are you prepared to go?”
It was a session that made Seo-ha reflect deeply.
Break time.
The participants scattered in small groups into the lobby and hallways.
A long line formed in front of the coffee machine, and at each small table, researchers with snacks and cups gathered and murmured.
Seo-ha filled a paper cup with water, took a sip, and walked toward the end of the hallway. He wanted to get away from the crowded people.
After walking for some time, he saw the professor who had just come down from the stage sitting on a bench in the corner at the end of the hallway.
He was bending over with both hands holding his head, as if deep in thought or struggling with something.
‘Is he unwell?’
Just as Seo-ha was about to pass by without much thought, the professor’s voice called out.
“Yu Seo-ha?”
Seo-ha turned around.
“Elijah Cronen called me. He said you’re working on the Riemann Hypothesis and asked me to offer some helpful advice.”
“You know Professor Elijah?”
“We once shared the same lab.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be of much help. Still, thanks to Cronen, I was able to confess my true feelings in front of people for the first time.”
Seo-ha felt sorry seeing him in such pain.
Despite being a researcher who had achieved enough accomplishments, he couldn’t acknowledge them himself and instead considered himself a failure.
“Professor Adrian.”
He looked embarrassed.
“I’ve read all your papers. Your attempt to approach the distribution of the zeros of the Riemann zeta function from a statistical and analytical perspective was incredibly fresh.
There were achievements in that process, but at the same time, I realized I had hit a dead end. That’s why I became convinced that probabilistic and physical language must absolutely be brought in together.”
Adrian seemed stunned, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to have read his papers. He lifted his head and blankly looked at Seo-ha.
“Your research helped me greatly in determining the direction I should take. You’ve already left behind valuable work for future generations. At least I definitely received that message.”
Adrian's eyes reddened.
“I see. So that’s how it is... My research wasn’t entirely meaningless after all.”
Seo-ha stepped aside to give him some time alone.
No mathematician can stand alone.
Even the great Newton once confessed that his achievements were thanks to the mathematicians who came before him.
Even if they don’t reach the summit, mathematicians desperately leave behind traces of their existence. And those traces become stepping stones for the next generation.
In the papers Seo-ha had read over time, the pain and despair of countless authors were embedded.
With that thought, Seo-ha was able to steady his mind once again.
‘No matter how long it takes, I will solve it someday.’
The desire in his heart was growing stronger.
***
An old residential area on the outskirts of Boston.
Tap.
“Thank you.”
Seo-ha got out of the taxi and looked around.
The cold winter wind slipped through the gaps between the bricks, making a whistling sound. Holding a small map in his hand, Seo-ha walked along a narrow alley.
A neighborhood where even the faded street signs had been painted over multiple times. In a corner of that area, Seo-ha found his destination.
Beep-
When he pressed the doorbell, a creaking sound came from inside. A moment later, heavy footsteps approached.
Clunk.
As the old door opened, a chilly scent flowed out. The smell of paper, dust, and old books. It felt like entering a secondhand bookstore.
“Come in. You’re much younger than I expected.”
Deep wrinkles and graying hair,
Mikhail Orsen looked at Seo-ha with a surprised expression.
“Hello, Professor.”
As Seo-ha bowed, Orsen gave a faint smile and opened the door wide.
“Come on in. To think you came all the way to a shabby place like this, youth truly is reckless.”
The inside of the house resembled a small library. Piles of books, notebooks, and faded stacks of papers nearly reaching the ceiling covered the tables and floors.
“Have a seat.”
As Seo-ha sat down carefully, the old sofa let out a creaking sound.
Whirrr.
Orsen brought out a cheap coffee pot from the kitchen and offered instant coffee.
“Now, tell me. How did you come to know about me and find this place?”
Orsen’s voice was low and rough. He sounded like someone who hadn’t spoken with another person in a long time.
Seo-ha opened his bag and began to take out one paper at a time.
[Study on the Zeros of the Riemann Zeta Function and Spectral Statistics]
[Research on the Correlation Between Quantum Chaos and Prime Number Distribution]
[Chaotic Eigenvalues and the Critical Line Hypothesis]
[On the Mathematical Interpretation of the Hilbert–Pólya Operator]
As Seo-ha laid each paper on the table, Orsen’s expression grew more and more pale. In the end, he closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.
“These were the studies that I found particularly intriguing. All of these authors cited your papers, Professor Orsen.”
With stiff hands, he picked up a paper and turned over the cover.
“These people are my old colleagues and students. There were also others who left out citations out of fear their papers might be rejected in peer review. I don’t blame them. Everyone has to make a living.”
Orsen had been researching the connection between quantum chaos and the Riemann Hypothesis for a very long time.
But now, that theory was on the verge of being discarded.
No further funding would be granted.
As his words trailed off, Orsen went into the room and brought back a small cardboard box. On the side of the box, written in marker, were the words:
「R - Flow / Discarded」
It was probably a collection of ideas discarded from a theory interpreting the Riemann zeta function as a flow.
When the lid was opened, it revealed yellowed calculation papers, graph printouts, and worn notebooks. Scrawled notes were attached in every margin.
“What do you think about the Riemann Hypothesis?”
He stared at Seo-ha with eyes that seemed to pierce through him. Seo-ha felt like he understood what the professor wanted to confirm from him.
“Professor, I don’t see the zeros of the Riemann zeta function as a static structure. They are moving waves.”
Seo-ha thought.
The reason why even the greatest mathematicians hadn’t been able to prove it for nearly two hundred years.
It must be because the zeros of the Riemann zeta function are not “fixed points” but fleeting moments where the oscillations stop on the complex plane.
At Seo-ha’s words, Orsen’s body trembled.
The theory he had longed to assert his entire life.
Though he had given a few preliminary presentations and received some private support, major academic journals had repeatedly rejected it, citing “lack of reproducibility and insufficient grounds”. He had quietly stored all of those works in the cardboard box.
Bang!
Orsen slammed his palm on the table.
“Yes! That’s exactly what I’ve been saying! How can you explain a flowing river by looking at a still picture?”
Orsen then began explaining to Seo-ha why he had come to believe such an idea.
From the hint he got when he heard that the distribution of prime numbers is like music, to the episode in graduate school when he helped with a resonance experiment.
He was a chatterbox.
Once he started talking, he didn’t stop, as if finally venting years of frustration. Seo-ha quietly listened to all his anger and regrets.
Orsen took out an old printout from the box and spread it on the floor.
On each page were small circles and arrows. Covering them were handwritten notes like “spacing”, “repulsion”, “GUE (Gaussian Unitary Ensemble - a statistical model from random matrix theory)?”
“But there’s no evidence.”
He let out a deep sigh.
“That wasn’t a realm I could handle. With my ability, I couldn’t predict its movement, let alone quantify it.
My life’s research ends with that. This is as far as I could go.”
Seo-ha felt joy knowing that a researcher existed who had thought the same as him. The goal he had come here for was already fulfilled.
“I had a great time today. It was really helpful.”
He needed to return to the hotel before the steakhouse closed. Seo-ha stood up.
“Hm?”
Orsen blinked at him as he was about to leave.
“Yes?”
“Didn’t you come because you needed my research materials?”
His voice carried both surprise and a touch of disappointment.
“Your papers already helped me greatly. I just wanted to know what kind of person you were.”
A smile spread across Orsen’s lips.
He pulled a notebook from his bookshelf. The worn leather cover bore the weight of time.
“This is the last notebook I ever wrote in. I never got to publish it in a paper. I was diagnosed with cancer.”
“Ah...”
Seo-ha was flustered, trying to find words of comfort, but Orsen shook his head.
“I spent my whole life envying geniuses. Thinking, ‘If only I had their brains, I could have solved this.’
But now I’m just grateful that a genius like you is interested in my theory. I don’t know if it will be helpful, but please don’t refuse it.”
He placed the notebook into the cardboard box and handed it to Seo-ha.
Seo-ha hesitated for a moment before accepting the box. Then he bowed deeply to the old professor.
“Thank you.”
That night, Orsen quietly prayed to a god he had never sought in his life.
He asked only to live long enough to witness the growth of that boy.