Chapter 218: A Stalemate

Victor’s voice echoed through the auditorium, carrying the brilliance and finality of a symphony’s concluding movement.

The Wave Faction’s camp erupted completely, their cheers and applause converging into a torrent that battered everyone’s eardrums.

Henry and the members of the Particle Faction behind him seemed so isolated and helpless in this sea of fanaticism.

Their faces were pale, but their eyes were filled with determination.

Although Victor’s arguments were vague on key mathematical details, his grand narrative and inflammatory rhetoric had successfully captured the minds of many of the other observers present.

He hadn’t proven himself right, but he had successfully made particle theory seem like an outdated, crude joke.

On the main stage, Master Horace’s brow furrowed slightly, and President Samuel’s expression also grew grave.

They both saw the logical loopholes in Victor’s arguments, but the atmosphere of the venue had been completely ignited, and the voice of reason could hardly be heard anymore.

In the box on the second floor, Lia put down her small cookie.

“He’s won the momentum,” she said to Klein.

“Momentum can’t change the data,” Klein lifted his black tea, took a sip, his gaze never leaving the lectern below.

The tide of revelry finally subsided under the magically enhanced cough of Master Horace.

Victor smiled, bowed to the main stage, and then walked off the lectern with the stride of a victor.

Now, it was Henry’s turn.

All eyes were focused on this leader of the Particle Faction.

People’s gazes were filled with curiosity and expectation.

Under the complex stares of the crowd, Henry stood up and silently walked to the lectern.

His steps seemed heavy, each one as if treading through a viscous swamp.

He stood still at the center of the lectern but did not speak immediately.

He first looked calmly at Victor opposite him. To Victor’s surprise, his eyes were a sea of tranquility.

“Mr. Victor’s speech was, in my personal opinion, very brilliant,” Henry’s voice sounded, calm and clear, in stark contrast to Victor’s passion.

“His metaphors were also very magnificent.”

“However, our physics is not poetry, and truth is not won by beautiful words.”

Henry raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

On the fluorescent screen behind him, lines of cold experimental data, composed of numbers and symbols, appeared.

“This is the original record of the photoelectric effect.”

“Mr. Victor, you wish to explain the photoelectric effect with energy ripples.”

“Then, please use your beautiful wave theory to calculate precisely.”

“Why is it that no matter how strong a red light I use, even if that light is bright enough to illuminate the entire kingdom, I cannot knock a single electron out of this small zinc plate?”

“And yet, an extremely weak beam of ultraviolet light can?”

“Please, use mathematics, not metaphors, to give me the answer.”

Victor’s expression changed slightly.

This question pointed directly to the core flaw of wave theory.

“As I said, this is a probabilistic issue of energy accumulation…” Victor tried to repeat his previous argument.

“Probability?” Henry interrupted him. “Then, please tell me, what is this probability? What is its mathematical expression? What is its specific relationship with the frequency and intensity of light?”

“The experimental data I have here is accurate to four decimal places. Can your theory give an equally precise prediction?”

Victor opened his mouth but could not produce a specific formula.

His “wave packet” theory was just a qualitative conjecture, completely incapable of any quantitative calculation.

Henry gave him no room to breathe.

He waved his hand again.

The data on the fluorescent screen switched to the cloud chamber photograph of Compton scattering, with the precise measurements of momentum and energy marked beside it.

The classic V-shaped trajectory was particularly glaring on the screen.

“And this, what you call a macroscopic illusion of ‘wave packet’ collision.”

“Then, please use your theory to calculate.”

“Before the collision, what were the energy and momentum of the incident ‘wave packet’?”

“After the collision, what are the energy and momentum of these two scattered ‘wave packets’ respectively?”

“Why is it that when they are added together, they are exactly equal to the values before the collision, no more, no less?”

“Why does this ‘illusion’ perfectly obey the laws of conservation of momentum and energy that my colleagues and I summarized from experiments with colliding small balls?”

“Your wave packet, where is its mass? What is its momentum expression? What relationship does its energy and momentum follow?”

Henry’s voice grew louder and sharper with each sentence.

He wasted no words; every question slammed hard on the most fragile foundation of wave theory.

“If your theory cannot even provide the most basic quantitative explanation and prediction, then what difference is there between it and the ‘aetheric vortices’ that the alchemists of the past spoke of?”

“It is not truth, it is just a story!”

“And the study of truth cannot be a story!”

Henry’s final sentence was delivered with resounding force.

A dead silence fell over the auditorium.

Victor’s face gradually turned ashen.

His much-vaunted eloquence seemed so pale and feeble in the face of this cold, precise data.

He could only repeat empty phrases like “macroscopic illusion” and “microscopic complexity” over and over again.

But his weak defense only made him look more pathetic.

“Enough!” Victor finally couldn’t stand the questioning anymore and slammed the table in anger.

“Henry! You are using a macroscopic, particle-based ruler to measure a microscopic, wave-based world!”

“And you?” Henry retorted without yielding. “How do you use your wave theory to explain these particle phenomena that are as clear as if carved by a knife?”

“The diffraction pattern! The electron diffraction pattern is ironclad proof!” Victor roared.

“The V-shaped trajectory! The V-shaped trajectory of Compton scattering is also ironclad proof!” Henry countered.

The debate had reached a complete stalemate.

One side held irrefutable particle evidence, while the other possessed an undeniably intuitive wave phenomenon.

Both sides were like holding stone tablets bestowed by a deity, inscribed with a part of the truth, yet neither could decipher the text on the other’s tablet.

They both firmly believed they held the final answer, yet neither could completely destroy the other’s argument.

A stalemate.

The argument became more and more heated, more and more illogical.

It gradually devolved from an academic debate into a clash of wills.

“Silence!”

Master Horace finally couldn’t bear it any longer. He stood up abruptly, and the pressure of a Ninth-Circle Archmage instantly enveloped the entire auditorium.

The chaotic scene immediately quieted down.

Everyone felt the immense pressure from the spiritual level, and even breathing became difficult.

Horace looked at the leaders of the two factions below, his eyes filled with disappointment.

“This debate has lost its original meaning.”

President Samuel also stood up. He exchanged a glance with Horace, and they reached a consensus.

“I declare that this Debate of Truth is temporarily adjourned,” Samuel’s voice carried an indisputable authority.

“Both sides will be given three months to find more solid evidence, to construct a more complete theory.”

“Three months from now, we will be back here to hold the final verdict.”

“At that time, I hope to see not endless arguments, but the one and only truth that can truly unify all phenomena.”

“If there is still no result by then…” Samuel’s gaze became sharp, “then the Magic Association will have no choice but to restrict the dissemination of both theories in order to maintain the stability of the magic world.”

This sentence made both Henry’s and Victor’s hearts sink.

It meant that if they still couldn’t determine a winner after three months, then this war would have no victor.

The debate thus ended with a whimper.

The crowd dispersed, filled with disappointment, confusion, and unease.

The members of the Particle Faction gathered around Henry, but no one spoke.

Although they had held their ground in the debate just now, everyone knew that they had not won.

As long as that damn diffraction pattern existed, they could never declare victory.

Henry looked at the gloomy sky outside the window, feeling an unprecedented sense of fatigue and pressure.

Three months.

He only had three months.

Where was he going to find the final weapon that could settle the matter once and for all?

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