Surgery Godfather

Chapter 2193: Chapter 1436: Intuition (Part 3)

Tang Shun was the last to arrive, holding a plate and sitting down next to Yang Ping.

"I’ve reconsidered the algorithm issue."

"Mm," Yang Ping responded, not looking up.

"You were right, the model has boundaries. I plan to add an uncertainty quantification module so that when the model makes predictions, it also outputs a confidence level. When the confidence is low, it automatically alerts for human intervention."

Yang Ping looked up and said, "Good, but don’t make it too complex. Simple things withstand tests."

"Got it."

Tang Shun started eating, hurriedly, as if trying to make up for missed meals over the forty-eight hours. Yang Ping glanced at him without speaking, just pushed his untouched sausage over.

"You’re not eating?" Tang Shun asked.

"I’m not hungry," Yang Ping said, "You eat."

Tang Shun didn’t hold back. He speared the sausage, took a big bite, and juices splattered onto his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand and continued eating.

Professor Weber watched this scene from the side. He remembered how his team dinners were in Germany, with everyone dressed formally, seated according to rank at the sides of a long table. Discussions centered on grant applications, paper citations, and academic politics. No one would push food from their plate to another’s because that implied "I don’t need this," which, in a German context, was a subtle offense.

But here, Yang Ping pushed the sausage to Tang Shun without any deeper meaning, as simple as breathing.

"Professor Weber," Alina tapped his arm, "Eat, it won’t taste good cold."

Weber lowered his head, spearing a piece of mashed potato. It was soft, with the aroma of butter and milk, reminding him of many years ago when Alina first cooked for him. Back then they were still in Heidelberg, living in an attic without heating, warming during the winter with an electric heater. Alina used a tiny electric stove to cook a pot of mashed potatoes, which they shared, sweating all over.

"Carl," Alina whispered, "What are you thinking about?"

Weber said, "Thinking of the past, thinking of when we were young."

"Isn’t being young good?"

"It’s good, but now is better."

Alina smiled; she didn’t ask "why" because she knew the answer. In youth, Weber had fire in his heart, but it burned others and himself. Now, the fire remains, but its direction has changed. No longer to prove himself, but to accomplish a task well. Even after later receiving the Nobel Prize, he still felt he hadn’t done things well, but now, he feels he can do things well.

After dinner, Yang Ping went to the rooftop alone.

The rooftop of the Sanbo Institute was an abandoned terrace, usually locked, but Yang Ping had a key. He opened the door, walked to the railing, and looked at the distant city lights. He often liked to look out like this, as it helped broaden his thoughts.

Footsteps sounded behind him; he didn’t look back, knowing who it was.

"Professor Weber," he said, "You should go to sleep."

"Can’t sleep," Weber walked next to him, leaning on the railing, "The jet lag hasn’t worn off yet."

"You’ve been here for three months, still jet lag?"

"Not Germany’s jet lag," Weber said, "It’s the age jet lag. As one grows old, sleep becomes like an old battery, unable to fully recharge."

Yang Ping didn’t respond; they stood side by side, watching the distant lights. The night wind was a bit cool, Weber wrapped his coat tighter, Yang Ping didn’t, perhaps a benefit of being younger.

"Professor Yang, sometimes I really don’t understand why you always have so many novel ideas, yet you can consistently turn them into practicable paths. Sometimes it looks like a mess at the beginning, giving an impression of achieving nothing, but as you continue, the path becomes clearer and a clear future gradually appears. Like the early three-dimensional gene theory, later the K Therapy. When you proposed them, many people, including myself, didn’t believe, because it seemed too absurd, impossible, a complete fog without visible possibilities. But slowly, everything became clear."

Weber continued speaking.

"I mean, when the beginning is a mess, why do you dare start, why can you grasp direction in the fog? Intuition?"

This question was somewhat difficult to answer, but it had to be answered.

Yang Ping thought for a moment and said, "How to say it, you call it intuition, but it isn’t, because this intuition is actually sediment after the accumulation of knowledge to a certain extent. For instance, standing here now, I know that’s south, but you don’t. Even if surrounded by high-rise buildings anywhere in this city, I can immediately tell east, west, south, north, while you can’t. But if in Berlin, you can do it while I can’t. Because we’ve lived in our own cities for so many years, becoming so familiar with them that it requires no analysis, it’s a sediment of familiarity. In research, it’s the same. You call it intuition, but it isn’t; it’s an accumulation to a certain extent, then sediment in the brain."

Weber nodded, "I seem to understand; actually, the so-called intuition in research doesn’t exist. It’s just a kind of correct accumulation in the brain’s sediment, just like a clever and experienced police officer can easily spot thieves in a crowd."

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