The quantum data in my laboratory always fluctuates abnormally at three o'clock in the morning.
The refrigerator door at home opens and closes by itself, and the strawberry milkshake disappears in the middle of the night.
Until one day the bathroom mirror reflected a handsome ghost in a long gown: "Girl, I am a person with superposition of quantum states."
He took out a physics notebook from the Republic of China: "According to the Schrödinger equation, the probability of my existence depends on whether you observe it or not."
To test the theory, he deliberately poked his head into my shower: "Look, the probability has increased!"
I was so angry that I hit him with my toothbrush: "Rogue! That's not how this equation is used!"
He felt aggrieved and floated in the air: "Then... Girl, can you teach me how modern physics explains the soul?"
When he woke up in the morning, he found that he was deducing string theory formulas with his translucent hands.
There is a line of small words written at the bottom of the manuscript: "To make Qingqing smile, I would like to solve the ten-dimensional space."
