In the early twentieth century, studying abroad was not an easy matter. The high expenses were one thing, but the more important problem was the language barrier. Before studying abroad, one had to learn a foreign language first. It was not enough to handle daily conversation as one also had to reach the level required for examinations. Except for the Japanese diploma mills that accepted anyone, the rest of the universities all had admission requirements. Unless one paid a large sponsorship fee, the only path was through entrance examinations. Whether the exam was written, an interview, or based on recommendations varied from school to school. Whether one could stand out depended not only on personal ability but even more on connections. This was the main reason students from the Far East went to Japan. Once there, admission was guaranteed. If they went to other countries, they could not even be sure of receiving an admission offer. The admissions for Nanyang University were no exception. The written exam was limited to several testing centers in the Austrian-controlled Southeast Asian territories. It was impossible to send examiners across all of Asia. The Ministry of Education required the exam syllabus to follow the secondary school curriculum. With the same set of questions, overseas students who were cramming at the last minute clearly could not compete with local students who had studied diligently for more than ten years. Although the university seemed to be recruiting more than a thousand students across Asia, most of those who could truly stand out in the written exam would still be students from the Austrian Southeast Asian region. Failing the written exam meant losing the chance for free education and having no choice but to pay tuition. Since Nanyang University was newly established, even Principal Wilhelm was not confident, so the tuition fees remained very reasonable. Compared with the domestic universities whose annual tuition exceeded ten thousand, the cheapest programs at Nanyang University required only five hundred guilders per year. For wealthy students studying abroad, this naturally was not a problem. But for the vast majority of families with modest means, it was a major burden. For traditional farming families that upheld the ideal of combining agriculture and study, it was an astronomical figure. Even with thousands of acres of well-cultivated farmland, the yearly income seldom exceeded ten thousand taels of silver. At first glance, the income seemed sufficient, but an entire household depended on it to survive. At most, it could support only one or two students studying abroad. Of course, the main reason was still that the news about abolishing the imperial examination system was only a rumor and had not yet become fact, so everyone's enthusiasm for studying abroad was not high. Once the exam was truly abolished and everyone realized that studying abroad was the only path left, that would be the moment when students from the Far East would leave in large numbers, supported by their entire clans. “Bo’an, stop joking. It is fine for those who have just arrived in Japan, but we have been studying here for several years. We are about to finish our courses, and starting over in Nanyang…” Halfway through the sentence, Liu Renxin realized he had said the wrong thing. Among those present were not only senior students but also newcomers. He may not have spoken with ill intent, but those listening certainly took it differently. Even if they hid their displeasure for the sake of face, the thorn had already been planted. If it were strangers, misunderstandings could be resolved and even turn into friendship. But among friends, once such misunderstandings occurred, even if they were cleared up, it was difficult to return to how things once were. The adult world was never simple. Sensing the tension, a classmate who was close to Liu Renxin quickly changed the subject: “Brother Liu, do not be discouraged. What we learned in Japan over the years is quite limited. Having the chance to continue our studies may not be a bad thing. From what I know, many Japanese classmates have also started preparing for the entrance exam, planning to compete for admission to Nanyang University. Since the situation in Tokyo is uncertain, we should make early plans. Even if we cannot get first class standing, we should at least secure an admission slot.” This was true. At the moment, the Japanese were more eager than anyone to look toward Europe. Anyone qualified to study in Europe would never remain in Japan for higher education. Although Nanyang University was not a European institution, it had a Holy Roman prince serving as its principal, which made it quite attractive. If nothing else, graduating from Nanyang University made it much easier to pursue further studies in the Holy Roman Empire. The fact that Japanese students were preparing as well placed enormous pressure on the overseas students. Even if someone claimed Nanyang University was a diploma mill, no one would believe it. The greater the appeal of Nanyang University, the fiercer the competition became. In the end, not only the entrance exams but even the self-funded admission slots would require competition. A school was still a school, after all. It could not be fully commercialized. Allowing the highest bidder to win might maximize profits, but Principal Wilhelm could not afford to lose face like that. Under such circumstances, the only option was to continue holding entrance exams. However, to ensure fairness in educational resources, the Holy Roman Empire’s Ministry of Education stipulated that self-funded students could not exceed five percent of the total student body. Foreign students, of course, were not included in this quota. In principle, as long as they could pay and the school had room, the more the better. Domestic universities did not face such problems. Their high tuition fees frightened away ninety-nine percent of foreign applicants. The real issue lay with Nanyang University. The tuition fee of five hundred guilders deterred some people, but not enough to keep most away. Many still met the requirements. It was under this situation that the first, second, and third class categories were created. The lower the class, the higher the tuition. Those who could not even obtain third class standing were considered academic failures. Nanyang University did not accept dead weight. This created an awkward situation. While many foreign students were brilliant, there were just as many poor performers. They shared a common trait: they had no hope of passing the imperial examinations. Their families sent them abroad not to save the nation, but to secure official positions. Talk of national salvation was merely the personal idealism of the students and did not represent the expectations of their entire extended families. In a sense, academic performance did not truly matter. What mattered was polishing one’s credentials. Yet after studying abroad for several years, many could not obtain even a Japanese diploma, and they had no chance at all of gaining admission to Nanyang University. If they returned home like this, they would have no way to explain themselves. “The admissions for Nanyang University are not far off. If we want to improve our grades in a short time, the only solution is to pool our money and hire private tutors.” Seeing that no one responded, Li Bo’an took the initiative to speak frankly. Making last-minute efforts was better than making none at all. No doubt others had similar thoughts, but most were accustomed to presenting themselves as naturally gifted and were embarrassed to admit that they were struggling. Calling them failures was an exaggeration, but it was true that most had not learned much during their years studying in Japan. After all, Japan’s educational resources were just as scarce during those years, especially higher education. It was extremely limited. University instructors were mostly former students sent abroad. Many of them had attended second-rate European institutions, learned only the basics, and then returned home to teach. Often, teachers had to study the material together first before they could return to their classrooms and teach their students. The real reason any talent emerged at all was that everyone was genuinely eager to learn. At Tokyo University, it was common to see teachers and students studying a problem together late into the night. By contrast, the situation in second-rate institutions was completely different. Many were outright fraudulent. Quite a few teachers had never attended a real university. They simply read through the textbook once and called it a lecture. Only a small number of foreign students who managed to enter proper universities could actually learn anything. Most others were simply wasting time abroad. … The wave stirred up by Nanyang University had only just begun when a new hot topic quickly overtook it. On February 6, 1904, the Japanese government suddenly announced the severing of diplomatic relations with Russia, and tensions in the Far East rose sharply. Everyone knew war was coming, except the Russian government, which remained confusingly optimistic. Nicholas II was still confidently assuring the public that Japan would not dare to make a move. To be fair, the Japanese government had indeed been timid before the great powers in recent decades. With the Black Ship incident, the Philippine War, and even the recent embassy affair, Japan had backed down whenever foreign powers intervened. However, in all those cases there was one common factor: Japan’s opponents had been far too powerful to fight. The situation now was clearly different. The Russian Empire was strong, but its forces in the Far East were limited. At least until the Trans-Siberian Railway was completed, Russia’s strength in the region would not be enough to defeat Japan. Since Japan had a chance of winning, why would its government back down? The two nations were destined to fight sooner or later. Starting the war now, before Russia was fully prepared, offered a far higher chance of victory. Most importantly, Britain and the Holy Roman Empire had formally fallen out. With Britain as an ally, Japan could counterbalance diplomatic pressure from the Holy Roman Empire. … In the Palace of Vienna, once the news of Japan and Russia breaking off diplomatic relations arrived, Franz had no choice but to step out of his comfort zone and resume his duties as monarch. Under the influence of the butterfly effect, the Russo-Japanese War had undergone tremendous changes. It was no longer merely a conflict between Japan and Russia. It had also become a struggle between the Holy Roman Empire and Britain. The Holy Roman Empire indeed intended to set traps for the Russians, but the outside world was unaware of this. In the eyes of many, Russia and Austria, bound by alliance, still acted as one in strategic matters. The war between Japan and Russia now was not only a contest for dominance in the Far East. It was also one round in the rivalry between Britain and the Holy Roman Empire for global supremacy. With all the actors already in position, the show was about to begin. As the host of this performance, how could Franz possibly be absent? In theory, leaving the matter to his son might not have been a problem. Yet Franz simply could not trust him fully. Mistakes during peaceful times could be tolerated, but in a moment like this, even the smallest misstep could ruin the entire plan. Failure of the plan was one thing. What he truly feared was failing to trap the Russians and accidentally exposing the scheme prematurely, pushing Russia into Britain’s arms. Although the Holy Roman Empire already held overwhelming momentum and could still prevail even against two major powers at once, the risks were high. Victory gained through strength was genuine and secure. Victory gained through gambling was nothing more than a roll of the dice. For a great power, gambling was taboo. When it came to setting traps, Franz considered himself far more skilled than his son, especially when the target was Russia. He had plenty of experience. Just look at the Russian government. They had been fooled repeatedly, yet they had never shown any real retaliation. That alone said everything. … Franz said, “Japan and Russia have already broken off diplomatic relations. It looks like war will break out in a few days. Frederick, start taking action! We must create a trade dispute with the British before news of the Russo-Japanese War spreads. We need to drive prices up in advance.” There was no other choice. The Russo-Austrian alliance had a clause that required one side to provide support if the other went to war. The most important rule was that during wartime, prices for strategic materials could not be raised. In simple terms, whatever price was agreed upon in the first order had to apply to all subsequent orders. This time was different. The Russian government simply did not believe the Japanese would dare take action and therefore never placed early orders for strategic supplies. The sudden outbreak of an Anglo-Austrian trade conflict now provided the perfect excuse for higher prices, and Franz was not going to let the opportunity slip by. It was purely business, and price fluctuations were normal. Even if the Russian government noticed, they would not have much to say. “Father, isn’t this bad? The Russian government is already in financial trouble. They cannot even pull together the funds needed for war in the short term. If nothing unexpected happens, the Russians will definitely borrow money from us. Raising prices now will only force them into bankruptcy even earlier.” It was not that Frederick was particularly noble. The real issue was that the Russian Empire was too poor. Once war broke out, a large part of the military budget would effectively be paid by the Austrian government. The higher the prices climbed, the more money they would have to lend. With the Russian government’s financial condition, repayment would be a distant dream. As for the collateral the Russians could offer, it was symbolic rather than practical. If it ever came to actual repayment through physical assets, the Russo-Austrian alliance would probably fall apart. There was one exception, which was when the Russian government was pushed to the edge and forced to sell assets just to survive. A clear example was the collapse of the Soviet Union in the original timeline. As long as something could be exchanged for money, they sold it. If something went unsold, it meant the offer was not high enough. If enough money were offered, they would even sell nuclear weapons. If the operation had not been exposed, the first nuclear weapons deal in human history would have been completed. Forcing the Russian Empire into a desperate corner was clearly not an easy task. Since the Holy Roman Empire could not take action directly, Japan alone would never be able to accomplish it. Given this situation, the more money the Holy Roman government lent to the Russians now, the greater the losses would be in the end. Raising the prices of strategic materials only benefited the capitalists, even though many enterprises in the Holy Roman Empire were controlled by the government and the royal family. Franz shook his head and said earnestly, “Frederick, remember this. If you want to take something from someone, you must first give them something. If we do not lend them enough, how will the Russians feel at ease?” The saying that the debtor is the master applied just as well in the early twentieth century. Once too much money was lent, creditors would find themselves tied down by the debtor. In the original timeline, the Americans had lent so much that after Russia surrendered, they were forced to step in personally to help the Entente, just to keep their loans from turning worthless. That was a positive example. The negative ones were Britain and France. When their debtor, Russia, collapsed, their loans disappeared instantly, which directly affected the speed of postwar economic recovery. The Holy Roman government now faced the same situation. If the Russian Empire collapsed, the financial system of the Holy Roman Empire would also take a hit. The extent of the shock would ultimately depend on the amount of outstanding debt. The more they lent, the more tightly the economies of Austria and Russia would be bound together. Doing something that was clearly disadvantageous was not because Franz enjoyed helping others. The real purpose was to reassure the Russian government. A debt of several hundred million guilder was not enough to restrain the Holy Roman Empire, but debts of several billion or tens of billions would be impossible to shake off. If you do not risk the bait, you cannot catch the prey. In order to lure the Russian government into taking the bait, Franz was prepared to pay a heavy price. It was only money. As long as they could become the ultimate victor, printing a little more did not matter. Even if an economic and financial crisis erupted, most of the world would share the burden. Franz could afford the losses.
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