Onstage.
The seventh whiteboard had already been filled!
When the eighth whiteboard was wheeled onto the stage, the outcome was basically beyond doubt.
The fluent equations, the clear train of thought, and the breathtaking command and understanding of mathematical tools had already won over nearly everyone in attendance.
So a proposition in Complex Analysis could be this intricate and bizarre.
So the complex plane and Differential Manifolds, two concepts that seemingly did not even exist in the same dimension, could achieve such a high degree of unity in questions concerning the Riemann zeta function.
The pen hovering over the whiteboard was like Beethoven's conductor's baton. Beneath its tip, the chaotic prime numbers became notes imbued with life, striking the heartstrings of every listener present.
Just as Scholze had said, it all seemed to have come from the void, like a performance that did not belong to this world.
The audience seated below wished this lecture would never end, that the music washing over their souls would never stop.
Better yet, let it continue like this until the entire universe had been patiently unraveled by that magical pen, revealing every secret of the language of God before their eyes...
Staring at the stage from her seat below, Molina lightly bit her lip. Her fists resting on her knees clenched and loosened repeatedly, and her stubborn eyes were filled with unwillingness.
The shackles that had trapped her through countless days and nights were casually severed one after another beneath that flowing penmanship. He had not even paused for a second, much less furrowed his brow.
That sense of powerlessness left her utterly defeated.
Even if she was not qualified to determine whether a proposition had been proven, she could clearly sense from the atmosphere hanging over the venue that there was no