Chapter Fifty-Nine: Everyone Desires Their Name Recorded in History

“What’s a hot air balloon?” Zu Mingjun and Li Gaoming entered together, curiosity written all over their faces as they walked in.

“Hahaha, let me tell you some good news—Motun has come up with another idea for us! We’re going to make history again!” With excitement, Yuchi Baolin danced with joy.

Thinking of their grand plans, all three couldn’t help but break into silly grins. After learning what Qin Huaiyu and the others were up to, Li Gaoming looked calm, but Zu Mingjun was full of envy. After all, few could resist the temptation to have their names recorded in history.

“It’s a pity that our ancestors already pushed π to its limits. No matter how hard we descendants try, we can never surpass them,” Zu Mingjun said with regret.

“Why should that stop you? Since your forebears perfected the circle, why not look for new patterns instead? Why tie yourself to a single tree?” Motun replied.

“If only it were that easy. The most common patterns in the world have already been thoroughly studied by mathematical sages before us. Even the Pythagorean theorem was established by Zhao Shuang. We were truly born in the wrong era,” Zu Mingjun lamented.

“Is that so? Then you’re truly unlucky! All the easy achievements have been discovered. Here, let me comfort your wounded heart with a walnut,” Motun said, picking up a walnut from a plate and tossing it lightly to Zu Mingjun.

But he hadn’t realized how hard he’d thrown it; Zu Mingjun missed the catch, and it hit him squarely on the head. Motun tossed a second walnut, which Zu Mingjun managed to catch this time.

Yet Motun didn’t stop there. Instead, he began tossing walnuts at Zu Mingjun one after another, and Zu Mingjun’s eyes grew brighter and brighter. He let them fall onto his body, his head, his arms.

“What’s happening with you two?” Yuchi Baolin was utterly confused and moved to investigate, but Li Gaoming grabbed his arm.

Yuchi Baolin looked at Li Gaoming in surprise, but Li Gaoming shook his head. He had discerned that Zu Mingjun was in a moment of sudden enlightenment, and the source was none other than Motun’s endless stream of walnuts.

The plate of walnuts was soon nearly empty. When only four remained, Motun suddenly changed direction and tossed one to each of the other four.

The four walnuts arced gracefully before Zu Mingjun’s eyes. In a flash of inspiration, Zu Mingjun hurriedly grabbed a goose quill and an advertisement leaflet, and began to draw.

Motun smiled faintly, setting the empty plate aside. The four others stared in bewilderment at the walnuts in their hands, glancing in amazement at Motun and the entranced Zu Mingjun.

At that moment, Zu Mingjun seemed possessed by the spirit of his ancestors. Inspiration flowed freely—he saw the walnuts’ paths before his eyes, each replaced by a single point, their trajectories transforming into lines one after another.

Zu Mingjun drew those lines on the leaflet, discarding what displeased him, until soon the room was littered with discarded sheets.

Then, unconsciously, he drew a semicircle. Suddenly, realization dawned, and he leapt up, waving his arms in excitement.

“Hahaha! So that’s how it is! That’s how it is!” Zu Mingjun was in a frenzy of delight.

He grabbed a fresh sheet of rice paper and drew a precise parabola, clearly marking the starting point, the highest point, and the landing point, as if the cross-section of a bowl was set upon the ground.

“What’s this?” Cheng Chumo squeezed over to see what had possessed Zu Mingjun.

“This is the path a walnut takes when thrown into the air,” Zu Mingjun explained.

“And what use is that?” The four looked at each other in confusion.

“Haha, of course it’s useful! With this, I too will have a place in history,” Zu Mingjun said smugly, basking in their attention.

The others, irritated by his self-satisfaction, responded with a volley of walnuts.

After the commotion, Zu Mingjun triumphantly explained his discovery. “When an object is thrown high from the ground, after it reaches the highest point, its landing spot is already determined. This is an unprecedented pattern, discovered first by me, Zu Mingjun. I call it the ‘parabola.’” He explained the principle to them one by one.

Motun couldn’t help but be speechless—history’s inertia was truly powerful, even the name was unchanged.

“This is much like how bows and arrows work. If you use this well, you could predict where an arrow will land,” Cheng Chumo, hailing from a military family, quickly grasped its value.

Motun nodded; indeed, this was the most important use for a parabola at present. But in the future, the parabola’s applications would shine even brighter—artillery trajectories, intercontinental missile paths, all would require parabolic calculations. More importantly, the parabola involves quadratic functions; if Zu Mingjun could grasp its essence, it would greatly advance Chinese mathematics, securing his place in history.

“So it was Motun’s walnuts that knocked the insight into you?” Qin Huaiyu teased, grinning.

Everyone realized it was Motun’s continuous walnut tossing that sparked Zu Mingjun’s sudden insight.

They couldn’t help but marvel, gazing at Motun in disbelief.

“My thanks to Brother Mo for your kindness with the walnuts,” Zu Mingjun said solemnly, bowing deeply.

Motun quickly stepped aside, modestly replying, “It was your own mathematical talent, Brother Zu. I simply noticed you seemed on the verge of discovery and kept tossing walnuts. I wouldn’t dare claim credit. In fact, I was a little worried you’d blame me for throwing so many walnuts at you!”

With a light touch, Motun extricated himself from the matter. He’d long since noticed Zu Mingjun’s extraordinary mathematical talent. His method of arithmetic with Arabic numerals was child’s play to Zu Mingjun.

In other words, Li Gaoming, Qin Huaiyu, and the others were like elementary students, while Zu Mingjun was already at a middle school level. To keep teaching him basic lessons was hardly appropriate, so Motun had found him a new, more challenging task.

“No matter what, I owe the discovery of the parabola to your walnuts, Brother Mo!” Zu Mingjun said playfully, brushing aside his bangs to reveal a red mark left by the walnut.

The group burst out laughing, and the atmosphere turned lively. As for the true story behind the discovery, it was enough that those involved understood.

“Who’d have thought Motun could inspire epiphanies just by chucking walnuts? Since it’s so magical, Motun, why don’t you hit me with a walnut too? Let’s see what revelation I get!” Qin Huaiyu said, sticking his head forward with a laugh.

“Your head’s too hard—walnuts won’t do. How about this bench?” Motun joked, hefting a stool as if to strike.

“No way!” Qin Huaiyu withdrew his head in a flash. If that bench came down, there’d be blood for sure.

“What a shame! You just wasted a guaranteed chance at immortality!” Motun said, feigning regret.

“Really?” Qin Huaiyu asked, half-believing, a hint of eagerness in his voice.

“Of course! The history books will say: ‘In the ninth year of Zhenguan, Qin Huaiyu passed away at the age of fifteen,’” Motun replied with a mischievous grin.

Everyone burst out laughing.

“Get lost!” Qin Huaiyu retorted, exasperated.

Such is youthful temperament—knowing little of sorrow. Motun, having lived twice, once again felt that coming to the Tang dynasty wasn’t such a bad choice after all.