Song He woke up, yawned, and sat up.
In the distance, Chu Long and Qiu Lingshan were also lying on the tabletop asleep. Several meters apart, they breathed heavily, clearly exhausted.
Song He turned his head toward the whiteboards on the stage and silently tossed a few Mental Arithmetic Capsules into his mouth.
His brain cells began accelerating. Perhaps because he had just woken up, his thoughts were exceptionally clear, and countless deduction steps emerged in his mind.
He jumped off the table, jogged onto the stage, picked up a marker, and began writing furiously!
Line after line of equations followed without pause. In the blink of an eye, he finished writing on the third whiteboard, then moved to the fourth and continued. The auditorium was utterly silent, with only the bang-bang sound of the marker striking the whiteboard. Within the long, sustained noise came occasional pauses and, from time to time, the faint sound of a cloth wiping things away.
The more Song He wrote, the more excited he became!
After waking from his sleep, the Woolf-Gong Conjecture seemed to have taken on an entirely different appearance!
Before going to sleep, he had looked up at the conjecture as though gazing up at a mountain, trying to carve a path up from its foot. But now he viewed it from the clouds, looking down and taking in the entire mountain range. He was using the white clouds as a ladder, trying to slide along the cloudy steps from the sky to the summit.
The whiteboards were large. To write in the uppermost areas, Song He had to rise onto his toes and stretch out his arm. To write in the lowest areas, he had to squat down hard, nearly sprawling on the floor.
He smoothly finished the fourth whiteboard,