Chapter 283

Chapter 283

Rupert didn't consult further with the two professors. Instead, he issued instructions to Julian behind him.

"Create an independent academic publishing platform, permanently open-source, with no copyright restrictions. Upload the paper immediately with simultaneous translation into Valerian, Valcourain, and other languages."

Julian bowed slightly.

"The platform domain is already registered—it's called 'Prometheus.'

Servers deployed with twelve mirror nodes globally, sufficient to handle any level of access traffic."

Half an hour later, a paper titled 'The Thermodynamic Essence of Information in Living Systems' appeared quietly on the internet.

Without any journal peer review, without lengthy introductions or acknowledgments, the full text, including notes, ran under three thousand words.

Author: DY.

At the end, two recommendation lines from Clayton and Leonard.

Their wording was restrained and rigorous, but between the lines lay a shock born of having their understanding overturned.

The world stayed quiet for twelve hours.

Then erupted.

The first detonation came from internal email systems of physics and biology departments at top global universities.

Countless doctoral students and professors were awakened by late-night calls from students. Links spread like wildfire.

Next came editorial offices of top journals like Nature and Science, their phones and inboxes buried under avalanches of inquiries, everyone asking the same question.

"Who is this 'DY'?"

Twenty-four hours later, the storm swept through public domains.

"God's Equation?"—Aquilonian Times front page headline, using a religiously charged term.

"From Newton to Einstein, now to DY? A specter haunts the physics community."—Valcouraine's Le Monde editorial.

"Arrogant philosophy or new-age physics? A great debate over the definition of 'life' has begun."—Valeria's Glassline Weekly.

The online world was even more chaotic.

Supporters hailed it as a divine revelation, believing it unified physics and biology's two great chasms with one elegant formula.

Opponents dismissed it as pseudo-science fantasy, mocking that it "cannot be falsified in laboratories" and sharply attacking the author's anonymity as evidence of a guilty conscience.

The 'Miracle Logistics Officers' highest security meeting had a brutal atmosphere.

Oscar's holographic image was nearly transparent, as if it might dissolve from a poor signal at any moment.

"Reporting to Mr. Russell, 'Athena' captured over three million related discussions across major global social media platforms in the past twenty-four hours."

"Twenty-one percent positive sentiment, thirty-nine percent negative, the remaining forty percent is... chaos. Some claim DY is a military-developed AI, and a Sanctumspire Dominion cardinal tweeted that this is 'Satan's whisper.'"

"PR is asking me how we should respond to the 'Satan's whisper' accusation."

Isabella fiddled with a new drone model, not looking up as she interjected.

"Tell them Satan's intellectual property lawyers are already en route—he's protesting our unauthorized use of his name for false advertising."

Oscar covered his face, feeling his hairline rapidly receding.

Julian's image remained stable as always. He projected a data report.

"Negative sentiment concentrates on three points: anonymous authorship, lack of experimental evidence, and a theory too revolutionary, shaking too many schools' foundations."

Among them, Celestial University theoretical physics professor Robert Miller is the most authoritative opposing voice. He's preparing a commentary article expected to be published in The Regal City Times."

Rupert sat in the study's main seat, quietly watching the real-time global sentiment heat map.

Red and green blocks interlocked like jagged teeth.

He ignored the fervent praise, gaze settling only on the deepest red zones.

"Julian," he spoke, voice flat and calm, "I recall we have people in Celestial University's largest endowment fund."

"Yes, Mr. Russell." Julian immediately understood. "The foundation just approved a new five-year funding plan specifically to 'support interdisciplinary exploration of non-traditional physics models.'"

"Prof. Miller's dean offered some 'constructive' suggestions about his future research direction."

"Good." Rupert's gaze moved to another red zone representing online conspiracy theories. "Oscar, those conspiracy theories about DY being AI—handle them."

"Understood! I'll delete posts immediately, ban accounts, and trace IPs..."

"No." Rupert interrupted. "Find people to write a hundred more outrageous versions.

Say DY is Atlantis's last survivor, the genius from Mayan prophecies, or simply Mephistopheles himself.

Muddy the waters. Make conspiracy theories themselves a joke."

Oscar froze for three seconds, then his eyes blazed with the excitement of finding his tribe.

Fighting magic with magic—this was his specialty.

Rupert's gaze finally fell on an inconspicuous point flickering with weak green light.

"Julian, Halberton University's Kenji Tanaka, that postdoc who proposed using 'macroscopic quantum tunneling effects' to design verification experiments—how's his background check?"

"Clean record, academic genius, but marginalized at school for overly niche research direction. Can't even secure project funding."

"Send him a 'Global Outstanding Young Scholar' invitation in Starlight Foundation's name. Position: Noah-01, Chief Experimental Designer. Salary—he names it."

Instructions issued one by one, cold and precise.

He didn't debate anyone or try to control everyone's thoughts.

He simply stood outside the chessboard, gently nudging a few pieces' fates.

He paved roads for supporters, let opponents trip over their own greed and shortsightedness, and turned pointless noise into self-destructing background static.

And at the storm's center, inside that 'ivory tower,' absolute tranquility reigned.

Diana locked herself in the laboratory.

She watched no news, logged into no social platforms.

External praise and condemnation were merely wind and rain sounds outside her window.

Before her floated internal structural diagrams of 'Hermes.'

That hundred-million-dollar cryo-transmission electron microscope 'borrowed' from Ravenholt School of Technology was undergoing adaptive modifications by an engineering team for installation in the vessel's most stable core.

She was designing an entirely new experimental protocol.

Her theory predicted that when a neuron performed high-intensity information compression, its energy consumption's 'entropy increase' would be released as a specific form of microscopic thermal radiation.

If this radiation could be captured, it would directly 'see' the physical process of thinking.

This was the most direct and rigorous proof of her theory.

When Rupert entered the lab, this was what he saw.

Diana, in a white lab coat, surrounded by light screens suspended in the air, densely packed with formulas and design diagrams.

Her figure reflected in data streams, focused like a craftsman creating worlds.

He didn't disturb her.