Perelman's room was not far from the stairs; after going up, they only had to turn sideways to see it.
"The room's a little small. Please don't mind it."
After saying that, Perelman set the plastic bag in his right hand on the floor and took out his keys.
Although Lu Zhou had mentally prepared himself for the state of the room, he was still startled when Perelman opened the door.
Unwashed clothes and everyday items were piled messily over the sofa's armrests, while assorted clutter covered the floor so thoroughly that there was nowhere to step.
Lu Zhou admitted that he occasionally tossed clothes around himself, but usually either he remembered to clean up, or Xiao Ai obediently tidied everything for him.
But clearly—
Perelman, who had devoted his entire life to Mathematics, not only had no one to clean up after him, but also had an exceedingly casual attitude toward daily life.
No wonder so many scholars Lu Zhou knew wore strange expressions whenever they mentioned this man's name.
Walking beside Lu Zhou, Albert—the physicist Krugman had mocked as being more famous for his novels than his scholarship—muttered softly.
"I thought mathematicians were all the orderly type."
Not knowing how to answer, Lu Zhou chose silence.
As for Scholze, who stood on Lu Zhou's other side, he awkwardly explained.
"Generally speaking, they are... but there are exceptions. Some people choose not to fuss over everyday details and use the time they save on more meaningful things."
"That kind of life is truly enviable, but it isn't mine. Ever since I started down the path of Mathematics, I've wasted most of my time on pointless work with little meaning..." Perelman paid no attention to the stranger's quiet remarks. As he put this week's "supplies" into the refrigerator, he refuted