Chapter 90 Smith's Embarrassment

Zurich, Switzerland.

The 28th International Materials Science Conference is being held here. It is one of the highest-level academic conferences in the global materials field, attracting thousands of top scholars every year. This year's theme is "Frontiers and Challenges of New Energy Materials."

Smith is one of the keynote speakers at the conference.

As a Nobel Laureate in Chemistry, his influence in this field is unrivaled. Over the past few decades, he has almost become synonymous with materials science—any new technology that receives his approval is equivalent to obtaining a pass to the academic temple.

And vice versa.

Two months ago, he publicly published an article in an international academic journal questioning the feasibility of China's Lithium Extraction from Seawater technology. The article was sharp, stating, "Economically extracting lithium from seawater is an almost impossible task under existing technical conditions."

That article was widely reprinted by global media and once became one of the international public opinion pressures bearing down on Lin Mo's team.

Today, he stood on the podium at the Zurich Conference Center, facing thousands of scholars from all over the world, and began his keynote speech.

The title was: "Next-Generation Energy Storage Materials: Opportunities and Challenges."

The speech went very smoothly. Smith showcased his team's latest progress in the field of solid-state batteries; the data and charts were exquisite, and applause erupted from the audience from time to time.

Forty minutes later, the speech ended.

It was time for the Q&A session.

The first question came from Germany, regarding the interface stability of solid-state electrolytes. Smith answered with ease.

The second question came from Japan, regarding dendrite suppression in lithium metal anodes. Smith cited three documents and spoke eloquently.

The third question—

A blonde female reporter stood up and took the microphone handed to her by a staff member. She had a press pass for The Economist hanging on her chest.

"Professor Smith, I am a reporter for The Economist. How do you view the breakthrough in Lithium Extraction from Seawater technology announced by China last week? It is reported that their extraction cost is only 35,000 yuan per ton, far lower than existing ore-based lithium extraction."

The whole room fell silent.

Everyone's eyes turned toward Smith on the podium.

Smith's expression changed slightly.

He stood behind the podium, silent for two seconds. Those two seconds seemed to be stretched out, and people in the audience began to whisper to each other.

"Professor Smith?" the female reporter pressed, "You previously publicly questioned the feasibility of this technology. Now that China has officially announced a breakthrough, what is your comment on this?"

Smith's lips moved.

His hands pressed against the podium, his knuckles turning slightly white.

"No comment."

Four words, spoken in a low voice, as if squeezed out from between his teeth.

The whole room was in an uproar.

Cameras aimed at his face, and the sound of shutters rang out in a chorus. His expression was frozen—his face ashen, his eyes gloomy, his mouth tightly pursed.

The conference moderator nearby hurriedly tried to smooth things over: "Professor Smith has a tight schedule today; we will allow him to rest first. Please direct the next question to the other guests on stage—"

But it was already too late.

That image and those words, through the live network signal, instantly spread across the whole world.

On social media platforms, the related topic quickly hit the trending list.

Under the topic hashtag "Smith No Comment," various comments flooded in.

Someone posted a screenshot of his questioning article from two months ago and placed it next to today's "No comment," with the caption: "From 'impossible' to 'no comment,' it only took two months."

Someone made a meme: a photo of Smith with an ashen face, captioned with the words "I have nothing to say."

Others were popularizing the technical principles of Lithium Extraction from Seawater, posting the Pilot-scale production data of Lin Mo's team and analyzing it point by point.

Of course, a few people spoke up for him: "Nobel Laureates are human too; you can't expect them to smile and offer congratulations after being slapped in the face, right?"

But they were quickly retorted: "A real scholar should respect the facts. The data is right there; is it that hard to admit that others have achieved it?"

In the backstage lounge of the Zurich Conference Center, Smith sat on the sofa, not saying a word.

His assistant stood nearby, holding a tablet, and cautiously handed it over: "Professor, online..."

Smith waved his hand, signaling him to take it away.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa.

Two months ago, when he received that technical report on "Lithium Extraction from Seawater" from China, his first reaction was disbelief. He had been immersed in this field for forty years and knew full well the difficulty of extracting lithium from seawater—the lithium concentration was too low, there were too many impurities, and the costs simply could not be kept down.

He thought it was another "Chinese-style Great Leap Forward," another instance of fabricating data for political propaganda.

So he wrote that questioning article.

He wanted to let the world know that science cannot be kidnapped by politics, and data cannot be compromised by false propaganda.

But now, China had really produced Pilot-scale production data, produced cost accounting, and produced national endorsement.

The people he sent hadn't returned yet, and the verification trip wouldn't depart for another three weeks.

But the results had already been announced in advance.

What did this mean?

It meant that the Chinese people had absolute confidence and were not afraid of him coming to verify it at all.

It meant that the data was real.

He opened his eyes, looked at the ceiling, and let out a long breath.

The assistant asked in a low voice: "Professor, are we still going to China next week?"

Smith was silent for a long time.

Then he stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window was the streetscape of Zurich, where ancient buildings and modern glass curtain walls complemented each other.

"Yes," he said.

The assistant was taken aback: "But..."

"Precisely because of that, I must go." Smith turned around, his expression extremely complex, "I want to see with my own eyes how they actually did it."

On the Gobi Desert, Captain Zhou held up his phone, laughing until he was bent over.

"Professor Chen! Come look quickly!" He shouted into the Prefabricated Building, "That old man Smith said 'no comment' at the press conference, his face as black as the bottom of a pot!"

Chen Xueming was debugging a new data model and didn't even look up: "What's so interesting about that?"

"Come and see it!" Captain Zhou ran in and shoved the phone in front of him.

Chen Xueming glanced at it, and then paused.

On the screen, Smith's ashen face, paired with those four words, was indeed a bit... satisfying.

He remembered how great the pressure of public opinion was two months ago when that questioning article was sent back to the country. Some people online followed the trend, saying that Chinese scientific research was fraudulent; international media was sarcastic, saying it was "another political project"; even some domestic peers were whispering in private, "Isn't it too rushed?"

At that time, Chen Xueming held his breath, guarding the Gobi Desert day and night.

Now, that breath had finally been released.

He returned the phone to Captain Zhou, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

"Alright, get back to work."

Captain Zhou walked away with a grin.

Li Xiao leaned in: "Teacher Chen, aren't you excited?"

Chen Xueming looked at the data screen and was silent for a few seconds.

"Excited about what? Our work isn't finished yet." He said, "The design of the floating offshore platform, the goal of reducing costs to below 30,000, and Smith coming to verify it next month—which of these is not more important than looking at someone's face?"

Li Xiao was taken aback for a moment, then nodded.

She remembered a saying: True strong people do not need to use others' failures to prove their own success.

Chen Xueming was such a person.

Or rather, this team was all made up of such people.

Outside the Prefabricated Building, Lin Mo was standing next to the reactor, discussing the optimization plan for the next phase with the energy team's engineers.

His phone vibrated; it was a message from Fang Lin: "Did you see it? Smith's 'no comment'."

Lin Mo took a look, smiled, and replied: "I saw it. But he will definitely still come."

Fang Lin replied instantly: "So sure?"

Lin Mo looked up at the sand ridge in the distance; George's people hadn't appeared for a long time.

"Because he is a true scholar," Lin Mo typed, "A true scholar will want to see with their own eyes where they went wrong."

Fang Lin replied with a "thumbs up" emoji.

Lin Mo put away his phone and continued discussing with the engineers.

The wind of the Gobi Desert blew over, carrying sand grains that hit his face, stinging a little.

But he was used to it.