The Reincarnated Science Whiz

Chapter 44: Mason Primes

Ignoring the dazed girl, Qin Yuanqing went over to the bookshelf and borrowed a copy of *Diodore’s Fundamentals of Modern Analysis*. Although it was just a basic textbook, there were still some parts worth studying. While reading a book on prime numbers, Qin Yuanqing came across a mention of Mason primes and was immediately intrigued. When it comes to Mason primes, one cannot help but mention a great mathematician from Huaxia and his 1992 paper, *The Distribution Law of Mason Primes*, which transformed Mason primes into a formula expressible through mathematical symbols—commonly known internationally as Zhou’s Conjecture. Prior to this, although mathematicians such as Shanks from England, Torota from France, Berlihart from Germany, Ramanujan from India, and Gillis from the United States had each proposed their own conjectures, their conjectures shared a common feature: they were all presented as approximate expressions, and none came close enough to the actual results to be satisfactory. The exact formula for Zhou’s Conjecture is as follows: when 2^(2^n) < p < 2^(2^((n+1))), there are 2^((n+1)) − 1 prime numbers among the Mp. It looks simple, doesn’t it? Yet this single conjecture, which remains unproven and unrefuted to this day, has become a famous mathematical problem that has puzzled the entire mathematical community for more than twenty years. This year, Norwegian computer scientist Odder Strindemoe, through his participation in an international collaborative project called the “Great Internet Mason Prime Search” (GIMPS), discovered the 47th Mason prime, which is “2 to the 42,643,801st power minus 1.” It has 12,837,064 digits; if written out continuously in standard font size, this colossal number would stretch over 50 kilometers—though it is not as large as the Mason prime discovered in 2007. As for why people devote so much effort and resources to researching Mason primes—do they actually serve any purpose? In reality, they don’t really have any practical use? If we had to point to one, the RSA algorithm relies on them—every time you shop online, you should thank the large prime numbers hidden in your password that can’t be factored. At the same time, large prime numbers are used to test computer performance. For example, Intel uses the GIMPS program to test its chips, and a bug in the Skylake chip was once discovered this way. Furthermore, it’s actually pointless to dwell on whether mathematics is useful. Often, what drives mathematicians isn’t necessarily the economic gain from solving a problem, but simply the fact that it exists. On a broader scale, humanity cannot live solely for the immediate and mundane; we must also have poetry and distant horizons. As soon as Qin Yuanqing came across Mason primes, he became very interested. He jotted down Zhou’s Conjecture on a scrap of paper and then began searching for relevant research findings. Qin Yuanqing’s roommates had no idea he was trying to prove the Zhou Conjecture regarding Mason primes; after all, they were all busy preparing for tomorrow’s military training. Sunscreen, thick socks... and the legendary military training “must-have”: sanitary pads! Qin Yuanqing didn’t return to the dorm until 11:00 p. m. , when the chubby guy shyly handed him a pack of sanitary pads. “Chubby, you’ve lost your mind. I’m not a woman, and I don’t get my period—why the hell are you giving me sanitary pads?” Qin Yuanqing snapped at him. This chubby guy—how sleazy can he be? A guy actually went out and bought sanitary pads, and then gave them to him—wasn’t he just asking to be laughed at? The chubby guy hurriedly explained, “Bro, these are for padding my feet. I checked with the upperclassmen—if you use these, you won’t get blisters.” Qin Yuanqing rolled his eyes and snapped, “I’m a country boy. It’s just military training—I’m not that delicate. I’m not going to get blisters on my feet.” Qin Yuanqing wouldn’t be caught dead using that thing—it would just make him a laughingstock. Besides, with his physical condition, he didn’t need it anyway. Early the next morning, the freshmen all took off their jeans, put on their green military uniforms, and began their military training. “Attention, everyone! Stand at attention! At ease! Sit down!” The drill instructor began asserting his authority on the very first day, starting with standing at attention—a drill that left everyone in agony and even punished a few who tried to cut corners. The three classes of boys trained together; there weren’t many of them—just seventy or eighty, making up a single formation. I don’t know if the drill instructors did it on purpose, but right next to the boys’ drill formation was a girls’ drill formation. Whenever the boys were scolded by the drill instructors, the girls next door would burst into laughter. This stung the boys’ pride, spurring them on to give it their all. Standing at attention, turning left, right, forward, and backward, marching in unison, marching in step… Under the drill instructors’ guidance, the freshmen’s discipline and posture increasingly resembled those of soldiers, and with the daily bed-making—making the beds as square as blocks of tofu—it felt more and more like a military barracks. Of course, military songs were a staple: “Green Flower in the Army,” “We Who Serve in the Army”... They filled the campus every day, and even when returning to their classrooms after training, the students marched in perfect formation. In the evenings, there were occasional freshman social events, or drill instructors would inspect dormitory cleanliness and assign scores. Qin Yuanqing spent his days in military training and his nights in the library. As for the guys turning into “gentlemen” by buying breakfast and water for the girls—sorry, that wasn’t his style. It was only the fifth day of military training, and the chubby guy had actually managed to hook up with a girl from the Finance Department. When Qin Yuanqing found out, he had to give the chubby guy a thumbs-up—impressive! Between military training and spending time in the library, Qin Yuanqing’s life was monotonous and simple. Sometimes, when he turned off his phone while reading, he’d have to make all sorts of excuses for not answering calls from his girlfriend. As for his role as class president, he wasn’t exactly doing a great job—he basically left everything to the vice president and the other class officers. On weekends, the intensity of military training eased, and in the evenings they had national defense education classes. His girlfriend had returned to Beijing and called him, so Qin Yuanqing slipped out right after class—he definitely wouldn’t be spending the night in the dorm that evening. Seeing that Jing Tian was driving a gorgeous-looking red sports car, Qin Yuanqing was absolutely envious. A sports car like that starts at ten million. I can’t afford it! After grabbing a late-night snack together, they returned to Jing Tian’s place. Qin Yuanqing, overcome with impatience, scooped Jing Tian up, kicked the bedroom door open, tossed him onto the bed, and pounced on him. Having not seen each other for over ten days, he’d been so pent up he’d have jumped on a sow if he’d seen one. After three rounds in a row, he felt refreshed and invigorated. Holding his beauty close, he chatted softly with her. Qin Yuanqing talked about military training—like how a certain girl had fallen for an instructor and was aggressively pursuing him, or how another instructor had written a love letter to a female counselor. Jing Tian, on the other hand, talked about the entertainment industry—like how her starring role in *The Great General of the Northern Wei* aired on Zhejiang TV, but the ratings were dismal. Everything from the plot to the actors was panned; the only thing that received any praise was the closing theme song, “Fireworks Fade Easily.” “Haha, that’s normal, totally normal. Do bad movies ever produce hit songs?” Qin Yuanqing said with a smug grin. “You, you don’t even care. Your ‘Fireworks Fade Easily’ has already hit number one, with downloads more than double that of the runner-up. They’ve been trying to contact you, but you haven’t even replied—they’ve even been calling me,” Jing Tian said irritably when she brought this up. “It’s doing that well!?” Qin Yuanqing was actually a bit surprised. Ever since Jing Tian had uploaded it to Kugou, he hadn’t paid it any attention—since starting school, it’s been nothing but military training or hanging out in the library. Who has time to keep track of that? “Does that mean I’ll make a lot of money?” Qin Yuanqing got excited just thinking about it. If the young lady hadn’t been so weak and limp right now, he would’ve been thinking about doing it again. “It’s your own account—don’t you know that yet?” Jing Tian rolled her eyes. What a spendthrift! Qin Yuanqing picked up Jing Tian’s laptop from the bedside table—a pink ultrathin model. Jing Tian entered the password to unlock it, and Qin Yuanqing silently rolled his eyes. “With a password this simple, why even bother setting one?” He’d memorized it at a glance. Qin Yuanqing logged into his account and discovered that the balance had already reached 15. 2 million. In other words, in less than a month, *Fireworks Fade Easily* had earned him over 14 million. “That much money? Is making money as a celebrity really that easy?” “No way. It’s because your song is so popular—lots of people are downloading the lossless version and ringtones—that’s why you’re making so much. Last year, I only made 300,000, and I still had to pay taxes!” Jing Tian said irritably. It sounded as if making money were a piece of cake. She’d worked so hard all year, yet her earnings didn’t even amount to a fraction of what Qin Yuanqing had made. Keep in mind she was considered the most promising artist of the Class of ’07—and even she had ended up like this. One could only imagine how the others were faring. “You, huh? I kept telling you to register a production studio, but you wouldn’t listen. Now that you have to pay taxes… it’s really stinging, isn’t it?” Jing Tian said. Qin Yuanqing was stunned the moment he realized he’d have to pay a 40% personal income tax. “Oh my god,” he thought. “Before, everything I got was in bonuses—either tax-free or after taxes—so I didn’t have to pay anything. But now…” Qin Yuanqing instantly felt the deal wasn’t so sweet anymore. He hurriedly hugged the beauty and discussed various options with her. Finally, they decided to set up “Qing Tian Entertainment”—taking one character each from their names. From now on, if anything came up, they’d do it under the name of Qing Tian Entertainment. That way, they wouldn’t have to pay such a high personal income tax rate; instead, it would be Company income tax. As for value-added tax? They could manipulate the books to show minimal profits or even a loss—how could they possibly end up paying VAT? As for day-to-day expenses, they could be reimbursed by the Company—perfect! Jing Tian said enviously that he wanted to sing too, but unfortunately, he didn’t have any good songs. Qin Yuanqing had just resolved the tax avoidance issue and was in a great mood. Hearing Jing Tian say this, he immediately grabbed a few sheets of paper and jotted down the titles of three songs: “Wrong, Wrong, Wrong,” “Perfume Is Poison,” and “The Wind Is Rising”! None of these three songs required particularly advanced vocal skills, making them perfect for Jing Tian. As an added bonus, Qin Yuanqing credited himself as the composer on all three, ensuring he’d be credited as both lyricist and composer. Listening to Qin Yuanqing hum these three songs, the young lady was overjoyed.