At Pier 7 of New York Harbor, the salty sea breeze carried a few long blasts of steam whistles, dispersing the morning mist.
The giant steam passenger liner "Ocean Star" of the White Star Line was docked at the berth.
Thick black coal smoke spewed from the smokestacks, and sailors on deck were busy making final preparations for departure.
The thick ropes were pulled taut by the winch, emitting a teeth-gritting friction sound.
Inside the restricted area of the pier, Prime Minister William Gladstone of the British Empire was preparing to board the ship and return to London.
His entourage was carrying dozens of large leather suitcases filled with luggage onto the gangway.
The most eye-catching of this luggage was the black velvet box closely guarded by two capable bodyguards.
Inside it were precisely the trophy and certificate of the inaugural Argyle Peace Prize.
Felix very graciously came to the pier in person to see off this newly minted "Messenger of Peace".
The two stood in a sheltered spot not far from the boarding gate, surrounded by security personnel who kept all reporters trying to approach far away.
"A short trip of a few days to New York is unforgettable for a lifetime."
Gladstone tightened the overcoat on his body to resist the onslaught of the sea breeze, his gaze fixed on the plutocrat creator before him who was decades younger than himself.
"Prime Minister, your speech in the auditorium was equally impressive."
Felix leaned on his walking stick with both hands, his tone calm, as if discussing how the weather was quite nice today.
"I believe that when you set foot on the land of London with this trophy and certificate, those members of the House of Commons will surely prepare the warmest cheers for you.
Your contributions in the field of peace have already been endorsed by scholars worldwide."
The corners of Gladstone's mouth curved into a knowing smile.
Wasn't this precisely what he wanted?
"The momentum of public opinion is indeed very important.
But what I value more are the consensus points we reached in the cigar room."
The Prime Minister lowered his voice; on this noisy pier, only the two of them could hear each other's dialogue clearly.
"Last night, I already sent an encrypted telegram to the cabinet in London via the submarine cable.
Regarding the debt restructuring and franchise transfer issues of those core railways in Argentina and Brazil in South America, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Department of the Treasury have already begun drafting relevant secret bill drafts."
"As long as I return to London, relying on the political prestige brought by this award, I can basically directly and forcibly push the bill to pass.
The Conservative Party can find no reason to refute a proposal aimed at 'promoting international peace capital cooperation'."
"Your efficiency in handling matters is admirable."
Felix nodded slightly.
"The funds of the Argyle Empire Bank are already ready.
As soon as the bill passes, we will immediately take over all the bad debts of Barings Bank in those projects at a ten percent premium above market price."
Mentioning Barings Bank, Gladstone's eyebrows twitched slightly.
"Mr. Argyle, I must remind you once again.
You have very strong strength in America, but Barings Bank has very deep roots in South America.
Those unfinished railway projects are not just a matter of steel rails and railroad ties."
Gladstone watched the cranes loading and unloading cargo.
"In Buenos Aires, on the pampas where the gauchos run rampant.
Those laborers participating in road building are mostly controlled by gangs and local warlords.
Barings Bank has a massive agent network over there.
London's bill can only solve ownership at the legal level, but on the physical level, if your people want to safely build the railway down, I am afraid they will encounter many 'accidents'."
"Of course I know.
But in this world, there are no accidents that the Gatling Gun and artillery cannot solve.
If there are, it is just that the quantity is not enough."
Felix's reply exuded the momentum of firepower being king.
Just kidding, you must know that in his previous life he had a phobia of insufficient firepower, caring little about whatever gangs or warlords.
He'd blast you with dozens or hundreds of cannon shells first.
Knock you flat on your back and then toss you a bone.
He turned his head to look at Gladstone.
"The ocean-going cargo ships of the Metropolitan Trading Company have already started loading construction machinery and steel rails in the warehouses of the East Coast.
Departing with the ships will be the three hundred most elite armed security personnel of Cygnus Mining.
As long as Your Excellency the Prime Minister guarantees that the cruisers of the Royal Navy in the South Atlantic Ocean will not intercept our fleet.
As for the remaining mercenaries and warlords, I will make them understand who the real master is."
Gladstone heard the murderous intent in Felix's words, but did not say anything more.
The British Empire only needed to ensure that it got enough pounds sterling in the transfer; as for how the plutocrats of America committed arson and murder in South America, that was not within the consideration range of Mr. Prime Minister.
Cause hardship to South America, let Barings take the infamy.
We are world peace ambassadors, how could we possibly participate in slaughter?
"The Royal Navy only protects the legitimate interests of the British Empire.
And those legitimate interests will soon no longer belong to Barings Bank."
Gladstone extended his hand, making the final promise.
"Then Your Excellency the Prime Minister, looking forward to our next cooperation."
Felix extended his hand and shook tightly with the other party.
Gladstone turned around and walked up the gangway surrounded by his entourage.
The steam whistle let out three deafening, long blasts.
The massive hull of the "Ocean Star" began to slowly back up, guided by tugboats out of the berth, sailing toward the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.
Standing on the pier, until that giant ship became a tiny black dot, Felix withdrew his gaze.
Frost walked over from behind the security personnel, holding a black briefcase in his hand.
"Boss, our insider in Washington sent back news that Congress has a very enthusiastic response to this awards ceremony.
Previously President Thomas seized the opportunity to deliver a speech on strengthening federal education investment, and his approval rating soared by ten percentage points overnight.
Next year's general election, I think victory has probably been locked in advance."
"Political gains are merely incidental."
Felix turned around and walked toward the carriage parked outside the pier.
"We spent five million dollars, and what we truly want to buy are the brains of those geniuses.
Right, how is the onboarding situation over at the university?"
Frost closely followed beside Felix, opening the reports inside the briefcase.
"Currently, it is very good.
Aside from those few joined candidates, among the European scholars visiting New York these past few days, over one hundred and fifty people have actively submitted job applications to the university.
Among them, over sixty are senior professors and advanced researchers in various fields.
The faculty positions in the physics, chemistry, biology, and mechanical engineering departments are completely packed.
Professor Arthur and the others have had their hands go limp from signing contracts these past two days."
"Remember to screen carefully and keep those who are truly valuable.
For those who want to come and fish for a high salary without actual scientific research capability, buy them a third-class ticket directly and send them back to Europe."
Felix sat into the leather seats of the carriage, his tone stern.
"Understood."
The carriage started, its wheels rolling smoothly on the paved stone road, heading toward the direction of Wall Street in Manhattan.
"Aside from personnel recruitment, there is an even more important matter, Boss."
Frost closed the personnel report and pulled out another document.
"These past few days, top authorities like Professor Helmholtz and Mr. Louis Pasteur have already begun working in our laboratories.
They are very satisfied with the equipment we provided.
But the transformation of theory into industry requires coordination between different departments."
Frost looked at Felix.
"Professor David Harrison reported that when Professor Helmholtz was visiting the workshop of General Electric, he had some academic disputes with Nikola.
It seemed to be about conservation of energy and the application of Alternating Current.
As for Mr. Louis Pasteur, he also seems to have some of his own ideas regarding the large-scale canned food sterilization assembly line transformation plan proposed by the Argyle Food Company.
These might require you to personally go and coordinate them."
Hearing this, a sharp glint flashed in Felix's eyes.
"Understood."
He put his walking stick aside and leaned his body slightly forward.
Europe's top theoretical brains and America's wildest industrial practices were finally going to collide inside the factories of the Argyle Family.
This was the ultimate purpose of him spending a huge sum of money to bring these people to New York.
"Notify Mark, the carriage will not return to the mansion.
Go directly to the General Electric experimental workshop in Brooklyn."
In the Brooklyn industrial area, a large top-secret experimental workshop of the General Electric Company.
It was filled with the pungent smell of ozone, the volatile odor of engine oil, and the smell of scorched insulating rubber.
Thick copper coils were piled in the corner, and several small steam engines were emitting a dull roar, driving the drive shafts to rotate at high speed.
When Felix and Frost pushed open the heavy soundproof iron door and walked in, they were greeted by the sound of an argument.
"Ridiculous! This is simply a desecration of the laws of physics!"
Professor Hermann von Helmholtz stood in front of a huge iron operating table, waving several sketches filled with complex formulas in his hand.
This leader of the German scientific community, who had just won the inaugural Argyle Physics Prize, completely lacked the composure and reservation he had shown at the award ceremony. His face was flushed red, and a mix of German and English gushed out of his mouth.
Standing opposite him was the tall and thin Nikola Tesla. Tesla's white shirt was stained with black oil, his hair was messy, but his sunken eyes revealed a stubborn glint.
"No, Professor! My calculations are not wrong!"
Tesla pointed unyieldingly at a strange mechanical device being assembled on the operating table.
That was an early motor prototype composed of several sets of interweaving copper coils and cylindrical iron cores.
There were no complex brushes and no traditional commutators.
"If we feed Alternating Current with a phase difference of 120 degrees into these three sets of stator coils arranged at an angle of 120 degrees to each other, the magnetic fields they generate will superimpose together, forming a magnetic field in space that rotates synchronously with the power frequency! This Rotating Magnetic Field will cut through the rotor in the middle, generating an induced current, and then the rotor will naturally rotate along with the magnetic field! This is perfect mathematical symmetry!" Tesla gestured excitedly.
Professor Helmholtz slapped the operating table with a palm, shaking the screws on it until they jumped up.
"Shit! Mathematical symmetry cannot replace physical reality! Nikola! Your so-called 'polyphase Alternating Current' changes its voltage and current directions countless times every second! Not only will this cause extremely serious energy loss, but more terrifyingly, during long-distance transmission, the alternating electromagnetic field will generate huge inductive reactance and capacitive reactance!"
"You might be able to turn this rotor with a few short wires in the laboratory, but if it is placed on a line dozens of miles away, the energy will be completely consumed on the way. Only stable Direct Current is the transmission method that best complies with the optimal solution of the conservation of energy!"
Professor David Harrison, the head of the physics department, was caught in the middle of the two, sweating profusely as he tried to stop the fight, but obviously unable to get a word in at all.
Felix did not speak to interrupt them. He stood in the shadows, quietly listening to this collision belonging to the top brains of the nineteenth century.
What Helmholtz represented was the extremely rigorous classical physics school of the Old Continent; they emphasized stability, controllability, and absolute theoretical conservation.
As for Tesla, he was the visionary of the new era who broke out of all frameworks. What he pursued was breaking limits and changing the rules.
"Professor!"
Tesla's voice also raised.
"When Direct Current is transmitted over long distances, because the voltage cannot be easily changed, to reduce the resistance loss on the line, one can only use extremely thick copper wires. But that cost is an astronomical figure!"
"But Alternating Current is different. We can use the principle of electromagnetic induction to easily step up the voltage to several thousand volts or even tens of thousands of volts through a Transformer! With high voltage and low current, the line loss will become negligible. When it reaches the factory, a Transformer is used to step down the voltage for use. This is something Direct Current can never do!"
"Ten thousand volts?!"
Professor Helmholtz widened his eyes, as if looking at a madman.
"That kind of voltage will break down all insulating materials! It will produce a fatal electric arc in the air. As long as there is a little bit of leakage, it will instantly burn the person who touches it into ashes! You are making a weapon of murder, not providing energy!"
"Better insulating materials can be found for this, and the wires can also be strung on tall wooden poles. As long as technology advances, the danger can be controlled!" Tesla argued logically.
Seeing that the two were about to fall into endless arguments again, Felix walked out of the shadows at the right time.
The sound of leather shoes stepping on the concrete floor finally caught the attention of the three.
"Boss."
Professor Harrison felt as if he had been granted amnesty and hurriedly greeted him.
Seeing Felix, Professor Helmholtz tried hard to calm his emotions.
"Mr. Argyle, you have come just in time. I must protest to you. This young student you are optimistic about has very dangerous fantasies. If General Electric invests in research and development and production according to his drawings, it will not only waste a lot of funds, but may even trigger a terrifying disaster. This high-voltage Alternating Current system, which has not been strictly verified by theory, must never leave the laboratory." The old professor's tone was extremely stern.
Tesla bit his lips tightly on the side.
He looked at Felix, his eyes revealing a trace of apprehension.
In Europe, when an authoritative professor reached such a conclusion, his experiments would often be terminated immediately, and his funding would be cut off.
He didn't know which side the oligarch in front of him would stand on.
Although a promise had been given before, the one refuting him was Helmholtz, the winner of the inaugural Argyle Physics Prize.
Felix walked up to the operating table, picked up the sketch drawn by Tesla, and looked at it casually. Although he couldn't understand those complex calculus equations, he saw the repeatedly modified inductance data on the edge of the sketch.
Putting down the sketch, he turned his head to look at Helmholtz.
"Professor Helmholtz, you are the founder of the law of conservation of energy, and your rigor is a treasure of the physics community."
There was respect in Felix's tone, which made the old professor's expression soften slightly.
"But..."
Changing the subject, Felix began to protect his own protégé.
"In the rules of commerce and industry, what we pursue is never one hundred percent safety, but the maximum profit under acceptable risk. You say that ten thousand volts of Alternating Current is dangerous. Then let me ask you, when the first steam locomotive was built, were there few cases of boiler explosions killing people?"
As he spoke, Felix pointed at a steam engine in the corner of the workshop.
"Just because boilers will explode, should we abandon the railways and go back to riding horses? No, I don't think so. We will find better steel and build safer pressure relief valves."
He turned his head and looked at Tesla, who was full of shock.
"Nikola said that Alternating Current can be transmitted over long distances with low loss through a Transformer. What does this mean commercially? It means that I can build a huge power station next to Niagara Falls, and then use a few cheap thin wires to sell electricity directly to every factory in New York! I think the profit margin in this is enough to buy half of America!"
Felix turned around and looked straight at Helmholtz.
"Professor, you used theory to tell us where the boundary of energy is. And Nikola's Alternating Current is trying to find the cheapest and most lucrative shortcut within this boundary. If there is an insulation problem, let the chemistry department study a new rubber formula. If there is a safety problem, formulate strict wiring regulations!"
"General Electric's funds will always pay for ambitions that can change the era. I promised before to allocate an independent research and development workshop to Tesla, and all required materials will be supplied at full strength. I want to see this brush-free Alternating Current motor successfully turn even one lathe in the workshop as soon as possible!"
Hearing these words, Tesla was so excited that he almost lost his footing. He clenched his fists tightly, and tears even welled up in his eyes.
"Mr. Felix, you are my god!"
Looking at that face full of capitalist dominance, Professor Helmholtz sighed long and hard after a long while.
"Mr. Argyle, you are not only a businessman, but also a madman. You are gambling with human lives and countless dollars on an unknown direction. However..."
A flash of compromise, and even a hint of anticipation, crossed the old professor's eyes.
"Science truly needs this kind of reckless trial and error. If we cannot persuade him in theory, let's verify it in practice. At the physics laboratory center, I will use the most rigorous instruments to monitor his data. If his Transformer can really reduce the losses to the calculated value, I will personally endorse him in my paper."
Felix smiled; this was the effect he wanted.
Using the will of capital to forcibly match the rigor of theory with the wildness of practice.
"That's right. Theory guides practice, and practice corrects theory. This is the very meaning of the existence of Argyle University."
Having resolved the sparks in the physics workshop, Felix did not stop.
"Let's go, Edward. Let's go see Mr. Pasteur. I heard his inspection over at the Food Company has also encountered some'scaled-up' troubles?" Felix turned and walked out of the workshop.
"Yes, Boss." Frost closely followed behind.
"Between the medical test tube and the factory assembly line, there is indeed still some distance that needs to be bridged."
At the other end of Brooklyn, a large dairy processing plant affiliated with the Argyle Food Company.
The air here lacked the pungent smell of machine oil, instead filled with a rich milky aroma and a faint scent of carbolic acid disinfectant.
Inside the huge red-brick factory building, several rows of giant stainless steel milk storage tanks stood quietly, and workers in white work clothes were busily at work.
Louis Pasteur, wearing a white lab coat, was standing in front of an experimental small steam heating tank with a tightly knitted brow.
Beside him were the production director of the Food Company and several mechanical engineers heavily recruited from Europe with high salaries.
"No way! The temperature fluctuation range is too large!"
Pasteur pointed sternly at the thermometer dial on the heating tank, his voice tinged with stubbornness.
"Let me say it again, the core of 'pasteurization' lies in precise control! Heat fresh milk to between 62 degrees and 65 degrees Celsius and maintain it for thirty minutes. This temperature can precisely kill the lactic acid bacteria and other harmful microorganisms that cause milk to sour and spoil, while not destroying the nutritional components and taste of the milk itself."
Pasteur turned his head to look at the sweating production director.
"But look at this heating tank! The temperature at the bottom has already exceeded 70 degrees, while the temperature at the top hasn't even reached 60 degrees! Milk heated this way will have its proteins coagulate at the bottom, producing a burnt smell, while the bacteria at the top are not thoroughly killed at all! Under a microscope, this is simply a disaster!"
The production director wiped his sweat and explained helplessly.
"Mr. Pasteur, in the laboratory, using flasks and small-capacity glass containers, it is indeed very easy to control temperature with a warm water bath. But please, this is a factory! The capacity of this heating tank is five hundred gallons, and we can only feed high-pressure steam into the bottom to heat it. The volume is too large, and the heat of the steam conducts unevenly inside the liquid; we really have no way to achieve the precision of the laboratory."
The mechanical engineer also chimed in: "That's right, sir. If we lower the steam pressure, the entire heating process will drag on for several hours, and the efficiency of the assembly line will be completely lost. If that happens, the milk we produce every day won't even supply half of New York City."
Pasteur took off his reading glasses and rubbed his weary eyes.
He was an absolute king under the microscope, but when facing such engineering problems brought by industrial scaling, he indeed felt a bit powerless.
Just at this moment, the iron door of the workshop was pushed open.
Accompanied by Frost, Felix walked up smilingly and glanced at the unevenly heated tank.
"It seems the truth under the microscope has encountered a little trouble when meeting a huge stainless steel tank."
"Mr. Argyle."
Pasteur bowed slightly, a hint of embarrassment in his tone.
"If we cannot solve the uniformity problem of large-volume liquid heating, pasteurization will forever remain at the workshop stage. Your Food Company's plan to transport fresh milk on a large scale across the entire East Coast cannot be realized."
Currently, due to the lack of refrigerators and reliable sterilization technology, the milk drunk by urban residents was often rancid, and the mortality rate of children's intestinal diseases caused by contaminated milk was extremely high.
Whoever could solve the long-distance preservation problem of milk could monopolize this huge livelihood market.
Felix did not rush to refute. He walked around the heating tank once, quickly mobilizing memories of industrial production from his past life in his mind.
"Why must we use such a large tank for static heating?"
Felix stopped his footsteps and turned to look at the production director.
"Boss, because the production demand is high. Large tanks process more at one time," the director replied.
Felix shook his head, then looked at Pasteur.
"Mr. Pasteur. Since the heat conduction of large-volume liquids is slow, why should we gather the milk together to heat it?"
Felix walked over to the blackboard nearby, thought for a moment, picked up the piece of chalk, and started doing something he hadn't done in a long time—drawing two parallel lines with some tortuous pipes drawn in the middle.
He hadn't flexed his profound knowledge for several years, so he was a bit rusty.
"Let's try to change our mindset. Do not use tanks, use pipes."
Felix quickly depicted a slightly rough but clear-principled industrial sketch.
"The machinery department will design a heat exchanger. Pump the milk into extremely slender spiral red copper pipes. Outside the red copper pipes, wrap another layer of pipes into which constant-temperature 65-degree hot water or low-pressure steam is fed for a water bath heating. The milk flows rapidly in the fine pipes, the heated surface area will be infinitely magnified, and every drop of milk can reach the required temperature in an instant!"
Pasteur's eyes suddenly lit up; as a scientist, he instantly understood the mystery within.
"Flow heating! Increasing the specific surface area! This not only solves the problem of uneven heating, but also turns it into a continuous production process without waiting thirty minutes to empty the tank!"
"That's not all."
Felix continued to refine this idea.
"The heated fine pipes directly connect into another condensation pipeline zone wrapped in an ice-water mixture. After completing sterilization, the milk instantly cools down below 10 degrees. Then it is directly filled through a closed aseptic filling machine into glass bottles that have been washed with carbolic acid, sealed tightly with corks."
Throwing the chalk onto the desktop, Felix patted the dust off his hands.
"Heat-exchange sterilization, instant condensation and closed filling. If this whole set of assembly lines runs smoothly, the shelf life of the company's milk will be extended from one day to at least half a month. We can load the milk onto trains and sell it to Boston or Chicago, or even further!"
The production director and mechanical engineers were stunned by this industrial assembly line conception.
If their president Jones saw this, he would definitely say they still lacked exposure; you must know that a decade ago, several of those veteran members had already seen the boss flexing his profound knowledge like this.
"An ingenious idea... Mr. Argyle." Pasteur praised sincerely.
"It seems you are not only a generous sponsor, but also a genius engineer. This pipe heat exchange system can completely solve the large-scale disinfection problem of all liquid foods."
"Leave the engineering drawings and manufacturing to them to handle. You just need to use the microscope to study for me whether there are still living bacteria in the milk flowing out from the pipes at the end."
He smiled and patted Pasteur on the shoulder.
Acting cool in front of these great gods was not easy.
A villa somewhere on Fifth Avenue in New York.
The wrought-iron gate was tightly shut, surrounded by a dense forest of fir trees.
The wooden wheels of the carriage rolled over the gravel driveway, making a monotonous rustling sound.
Mark pulled on the reins, and the carriage came to a smooth stop in front of the villa's porch. He jumped down from the carriage and opened the door for Felix.
"Boss, the hidden guards around have all finished changing shifts. There are no schedules for tonight," Mark reported in a deep voice.
"You've worked hard, Mark."
Felix handed the briefcase in his hand to Mark and walked up the steps alone.
Having just concluded that world-renowned award ceremony and spent several consecutive days handling the settlement matters of various scholars, Felix's brain had been in a high-speed, tense state of operation.
He needed a place that required no scheming and no mask whatsoever to let his nerves completely relax.
Here was his best destination.
At the entrance.
Hu Mei, thirty-two years old, stood behind the door.
Today, she was not wearing those complicated Qing Empire cheongsams, but had instead changed into a regular cotton everyday home outfit.
But this loose clothing still could not conceal her fully matured, voluptuous figure. Her long hair was casually coiled at the back of her head, and her eyes exuded the gentleness and charm unique to a mature woman.
"Sir, you're back."
Hu Mei greeted him in fairly fluent English.
Over the past year, under the guidance of specially hired tutors, all seven women living here had become capable of conducting daily English communication.
Felix nodded and walked inside, casually handing his overcoat to Su Ying, who was standing behind Hu Mei.
Su Ying was Hu Mei's daughter and had just turned twenty this year. She took the overcoat and hung it on the walnut coat rack by the door.
"It's windy outside, sir, please drink a sip of hot tea to warm up your body first," Su Ying said in a low voice, turning and walking toward the kitchen.
The interior decoration of the villa did not completely adopt the heavy American style, but was cleverly infused with many Eastern elements by these women.
The living room sofa was spread with silk cushions shipped from Jiangnan, a few blue-and-white porcelain vases were placed in the corners, and even beside the brass wall clock on the fireplace, there was placed an exquisite sandalwood folding fan.
Felix sat down on the sofa and let out a deep breath.
The air was filled with a faint aroma of jasmine tea, mixed with the smell of stewed meat wafting from the kitchen; this was a pure atmosphere of life.
"Sir looks very exhausted today."
A cold yet somewhat scholarly voice came from the top of the stairs.
Liu Wanqing walked slowly down the stairs holding the New York Tribune. Her aunt Shen Yue followed closely behind, holding a plate of cut fruit.
As the daughter of the fallen salt merchant Liu Shian, Liu Wanqing was the smartest and most concerned about current affairs among these eight women.
She read the newspapers every day, trying to understand what kind of business empire this man was ultimately manipulating.
"Dealing with those stubborn old European men consumes even more energy than negotiating with those bankers on Wall Street."
Felix leaned against the back of the chair and took the hot tea handed over by Su Ying.
Liu Wanqing walked over to the sofa, sat down, and placed the newspaper on the coffee table.
"The newspaper says that you spent five million US dollars to buy all the smartest scholars in Europe to New York. In the Great Qing Empire, this is a move that even the emperor would not dare to imagine."
Liu Wanqing looked at Felix, her eyes revealing deep awe.
"However, I care more about the news over in Asia."
Felix put down his teacup and glanced at this intelligent woman.
"Are you worried about your father?"
"Yes, sir." Liu Wanqing did not hide it.
"A few days ago, the newspaper briefly mentioned that some turmoil occurred in the Shanghai Bund. The cargo ships of the Metropolitan Trading Company docked, and it is said that they even had a conflict with the British Sassoon & Co.."
Felix chuckled and reached out to pull Liu Wanqing close to his side.
"Don't worry about Mr. Liu. Not only is he living very well right now, but he will also soon become a major businessman."
Felix leaned back on the sofa and very casually revealed the layout of the Far East to her.
"My representative, Leon Hughes, previously brought the repeating rifles of Vanguard Military Industry to Shanghai. He found Lu Zhaoting to act as an agent. And your father, as our man in the Jiangnan region, has now established a connection with Lu Zhaoting."
Liu Wanqing was exceptionally clever and instantly understood the crucial point in this.
"Repeating rifles? Sir, do you intend to use firearms to pave the way? But this will offend the British! The imperial court of the Great Qing Empire will also absolutely not allow private merchants to resell so many firearms."
"The imperial court? The imperial court of the Great Qing Empire is nothing more than a leaky, dilapidated house." Felix's tone revealed undisguised disdain.
"Those princes and nobles sitting in the capital cannot even manage the soldiers under their own hands. The ones who truly need these rifles are the regional viceroys holding heavy military power along the coast and in the inland. As long as your father and Lu Zhaoting can deliver these guns into the military camps of Li Hongzhang or Zuo Zongtang, those viceroys will become allies of the Argyle Family in the Qing Empire."
Felix lightly tapped his fingers on the coffee table.
"As for the British? The manager of Sassoon & Co. brought police constables in the middle of the night to make arrests, only to be directly blocked inside the warehouse by Leon with four Gatling Gun units. They retreated in a dejected manner without even daring to utter a peep. In the face of absolute force, that set of colonial rules of the British is nothing more than waste paper."
Hearing this, Liu Wanqing's heartbeat suddenly accelerated.
She finally understood what a terrifying thigh her father, who had once been driven to a dead end, was now hugging.
"Dinner is ready, sir."
Amur walked out from the dining room.
This young girl tribute from the Western Regions had completely shed her initial greenness, carrying an exotic wildness and submissiveness about her.
"Let's go, eat. We don't talk about business at the dining table," Felix stood up.
In the dining room, the huge rectangular dining table was filled with sumptuous food.
There were both top-tier Angus steaks specially supplied by the Argyle Food Company and several authentic Huaiyang dishes personally made by Hu Mei and Shen Yue.
The Jiangnan twin sisters Yun Yan and Yun Meng sat at the end of the dining table, quietly serving food for Felix.
This meal was eaten extremely quietly and warmly.
There were no probings from politicians, nor arguments from scholars. These women were very clear about their positioning; they did not ask about Felix's bloody expansion outside, and only provided him with the ultimate service and relaxation in this hidden courtyard.
After dinner, the fire in the fireplace burned very brightly.
Amur brought iced wine. Yun Yan and Yun Meng sat on the carpet, taking out the pipa brought from home and gently playing Jiangnan tunes.
Felix leaned against the sofa, while Hu Mei knelt behind the sofa, kneading his shoulders and tense temples with extremely professional techniques. Su Ying sat on the footstool, pounding his legs for him.
Amidst the alcohol and soothing music, Felix's brain completely emptied out.
This financial tycoon who could stir up wind and rain in America was enjoying the privileges of the old era inside this cage of Eastern canaries.
Until late at night.
The fire in the fireplace gradually extinguished.
After washing up, Felix came to the master bedroom and lay down. Before long, Su Ying and Hu Mei came in.
Waving to them, Felix said in fluent Chinese: "Come over..."
The next morning.
When the first ray of sunlight pierced through the fir forest, Felix was already dressed neatly and stood in the villa's foyer.
He put back on that cold mask.
"I won't come over often during this period. The university has just opened, and there are still many things to handle," Felix said to Liu Wanqing and Hu Mei who were seeing him off.
"Rest assured, sir, we will take good care of the home."
Hu Mei gently straightened the collar of his overcoat for him.
Felix nodded, pushed open the door, and walked out.
Mark was already driving the carriage and waiting under the steps.
"Go to Argyle University."
Upstate New York, Argyle University.
This newly completed and magnificent campus was currently plunged into a busy yet orderly chaos.
On the gravel-paved main road, carriage after carriage laden with wooden crates shuttled back and forth.
The carriages were printed with the logos of the Erie Railroad and the Federal Real Estate Company.
Workers shouted loudly as they hauled crates of experimental equipment, office furniture, and tons of high-quality anthracite into the basements of various teaching buildings.
On the third floor of the main administrative building, the president's office.
Armand Lefèvre sat behind a large desk, rubbing his throbbing temples.
As the former physics master of the Paris Academy of Sciences, in his very first week as president of Argyle University, he experienced the terrifying impact brought by American capital efficiency.
His desk was piled high with material requisition forms, personnel transfer documents, and laboratory allocation plans submitted by various departments.
The office door was knocked.
The British physicist, and now the core professor of the university's physics department, Arthur Penhaligon, walked in holding a document.
"President Armand, sorry to disturb you."
Arthur sat down on the chair opposite the desk, slapped the document onto the desk, and his tone carried undisguised dissatisfaction.
"I must protest to you about the equipment allocation issue at the Physics Experimental Center in Building Number 3."
"That Dr. Vogel from Germany, he brought his chemistry department team and forcibly occupied the main floor near the basement steam generator."
"He even said that their chemical extraction experiments require an absolute and stable power supply. But this is sheer nonsense! Our physics department's electromagnetic tests require the purest current!"
Arthur pointed at the document.
"That is the latest direct-current generator from General Electric, and that old stubborn Vogel actually had people pile pungent chemical reagents next to the generator! Not only does this affect our experiments, but I suspect there is even a danger of explosion!"
President Armand sighed.
This was the price of forcibly lumping together Europe's top and most arrogant scholars.
These people belonged to different countries and had their own academic pride.
In Europe, British scholars and German scholars already looked down on each other, and now upon arriving in America, this national-level rivalry directly turned into infighting for laboratory resources.
"Professor Arthur, calm down."
Armand got up, poured two cups of water from the cabinet nearby, and handed one to Arthur.
"I understand your anger. But you must know that Dr. Vogel is one of the core judges of this Chemistry Prize, and his status in the German chemical community is extremely high. The batch of young scholars he brought are also currently precious assets to our university."
"Ha? High status means one can ignore the rules?"
Arthur drank the water, still feeling indignant.
Just then, the office door was pushed open.
Dr. Friedrich Vogel, wearing a coat stained with a few chemical reagent patches, strode in angrily.
"Mr. President! I was just looking for you!"
Dr. Vogel shouted in a heavy German accent.
"The people in your physics department are simply impossible to communicate with! I just had several Carl Zeiss high-power microscopes moved into the laboratory, and your assistants actually came over to demand requisition. Saying they want to take them to look at the crystal structure of some metal slices? This is equipment for the chemistry department!"
Arthur immediately stood up and sneered in retaliation.
"Please~ Dr. Vogel, that batch of microscopes was uniformly allocated by the purchasing department. There is no rule that they can only be used by the chemistry department. Does our physics department's material research not deserve to use microscopes?"
"What do you know about the maintenance of precision instruments? Those British assistants are clumsy and rough; who will take responsibility if they break the lens?"
Dr. Vogel glared unceremoniously at Arthur.
The two top scholars representing British physics and German chemistry respectively, right there in the president's office, started arguing like two children fighting over toys.
"Alright, enough! Gentlemen!"
President Armand slammed his desk fiercely, the loud sound instantly silencing the office.
With a cold face, his gaze swept over these two titans who commanded wind and rain in Europe.
"Please figure out where this is! This is not the Royal Society of London, nor is it the Munich Academy of Sciences! This is Argyle University in America!"
Armand walked between the two of them, his voice carrying the ruthlessness belonging to an administrator.
Hm... This was what Felix personally taught him before he took office.
"In Europe, you are accustomed to fighting for those pitiful funds using seniority and nationality. But here, Mr. Argyle has given us a sufficient budget! Fighting over microscopes? Fighting over generators? This is simply an insult to capital!"
Armand returned to his desk, pulled open a drawer, took out a stack of blank application forms, and threw them to Arthur and Vogel respectively.
"Listen well, these are the school's rules. I don't care if you are German, British, or French. Here, the sole standard determining resource allocation is the commercial conversion rate or academic foundational value of your research projects!"
"Feel that microscopes are not enough? Then fill out the form! Write down clearly how many you need, and how long the research is expected to yield results. The purchasing department will order another ten from Europe as soon as possible!"
"Feel that the generator's location is bad? Fill out the form anyway! State how much power you need. The engineering department will build a separate substation for your experimental building next month!"
Armand looked at the two dumbfounded professors.
"Here, dollars can solve all the physical and chemical problems you encounter. The premise is that you must produce research reports worthy of these dollars. Whoever's project is more valuable gets priority in getting equipment. If you are unconvinced, go to the laboratory and speak with data. Don't waste time in my office, understand Gentlemen?"
Dr. Vogel swallowed a mouthful of saliva, lowered his head to look at the blank application form, and this crude yet efficient management logic made him somewhat flustered.
"I... I understand, Mr. President." Dr. Vogel put away his arrogance.
"I will go back immediately and organize the team to write the project application. The synthetic fuel project is definitely more valuable than their metal slices."
"We shall see, Doctor. Our electromagnetic tests will change the world." Arthur also picked up the form unwilling to show weakness.
The two glared at each other and turned to walk out of the office.
Watching the backs of them leaving, President Armand let out a long sigh of relief.
He finally understood why Felix wanted to grant him that almost dictatorial administrative power.
There was no help for it.
To deal with these geniuses, only with absolute resources and ruthless efficiency could all their energy be forced into the laboratory.
Just as Armand was about to continue processing the documents on his desk.
The office door was knocked for the third time.
The person who came in this time was not those nose-in-the-air old European professors, but a young man wearing an old suit and looking somewhat neurotic.
Nikola Tesla held a piece of paper filled with messy formulas and material lists, walking in with a stubborn expression.
"Mr. President, the logistics department rejected my material requisition form. They said my request violated routine laboratory security regulations. I need your signature."
Tesla said in stiff English, directly placing that piece of paper in front of Armand.
Armand frowned, picked it up, and took a look.
Just one second, and his eyes widened in shock.
As a former physics master of the Paris Academy of Sciences, what kind of experimental equipment had Armand not seen?
But as he looked at the handwritten material requisition form by Nikola Tesla in front of him, he still wondered if the young man had lost his mind.
"Mr. Tesla."
Armand took off his reading glasses, looked up at the tall and thin young man, and his tone was filled with disbelief.
"I can understand that physical experiments require copper wire. But, two tons? You applied for two tons of special high-purity insulated copper wire? And a full five thousand pounds of silicon steel sheets? Plus three large buckets of insulating impregnating varnish and six custom heavy-duty ceramic insulators?"
Armand pushed the piece of paper back.
"What are you building here? An ironclad warship made of electromagnets? We are the physics experimental center of a university, not a steel mill in Pittsburgh! Of course the logistics department wouldn't dare approve such a scale of materials for you. Not only does this consume a massive amount of funds, but more seriously, the electromagnetic field and voltage generated when these materials are combined could burn the entire experimental building to ashes at any time!"
Tesla stood unyielding in front of the desk.
"Mr. President. In Europe, everyone believes that Direct Current is the only truth. But Direct Current is a complete failure in long-distance transmission. What I am building is a miniature prototype of a complete system of Alternating Current generators, Transformers, and induction motors."
Tesla's eyes revealed a trace of paranoia.
"You are a physicist, you should be able to understand the sketch I drew on the back. To generate a high-frequency alternating magnetic field and overcome the eddy current losses in the iron core, I must use a large amount of laminated silicon steel sheets. To verify the feasibility of high-voltage transmission, I must wind tens of thousands of turns of induction coils. This requires a massive accumulation of materials! Those petty glass tube experiments simply cannot verify this grand industrial-level power!"
Armand flipped over the requisition form and looked at the sketch.
Those extremely complex coil-winding methods, calculus formulas for magnetic flux calculations, and the scalp-tingling step-up Transformer design made Armand draw a sharp breath.
"How high do you plan to raise the voltage?" Armand asked vigilantly.
"On this prototype, I plan to first try to break through twenty thousand volts."
Tesla replied calmly, as if he were talking about a trivial matter.
"Twenty thousand volts?!" Armand suddenly stood up.
"You are crazy! Tesla. Without any safety protection, the electric arc generated by twenty thousand volts of Alternating Current can puncture a distance of one foot in the air! You will electrocute yourself and everyone on this entire floor!"
"That's why I also applied for those heavy-duty ceramic insulators and impregnating varnish. As long as the materials are in place, the risks are completely controllable." Tesla stubbornly insisted.
Armand looked at this obstinate young man, took a deep breath, and prepared to use the president's authority to forcibly reject this dangerous application.
But just as the tip of his pen was about to fall...
He suddenly remembered a special list that Felix had personally handed over to him before taking office.
In that list, Felix explicitly pointed out that the university must provide sufficient support for certain specific "madmen."
"Nikola Tesla... Graz University of Technology..."
Armand searched his mind for the notes corresponding to this name.
He suddenly remembered.
Felix's original words were:
"If that young man named Tesla wants copper wire, give him copper wire. If he wants to tear down the roof of the laboratory, let the logistics department find him a ladder. As long as he doesn't blow Manhattan into the ocean, give him whatever he wants."
Armand sighed.
Being this president is so difficult!
Exhausting...
He sat back down in his chair and picked up his fountain pen.
"Mr. Tesla. From the rigorous perspective of physics, your experiment is extremely crazy and lacks safety redundancy. If it were in Paris, I would immediately revoke your laboratory access pass."
Armand firmly signed his name at the bottom of the requisition form and stamped it with the president's seal.
"But this is America, and Mr. Argyle believes that you have the potential to destroy everything and then rebuild the rules." Armand handed the requisition form to Tesla.
"I approve it, but with one condition. Your experiment cannot be conducted in the physics center of the main teaching building."
"Where should I go?"
Tesla took the form and asked eagerly.
"I remember there is an abandoned old warehouse in the back mountain of the university, far away from the crowd. Perhaps you can go there, and the logistics department will pull a dedicated power line over. Even if you really cause some big explosion, you will only blow yourself up. Understood?"
"Of course, of course... Thank you very much, Mr. President! I guarantee you will see a miracle soon!"
Tesla was so excited he was incoherent, grabbing the requisition form and rushing out of the office like the wind.
Looking at Tesla's retreating figure, Armand speechlessly shook his head.
"Truly a bunch of madmen. And the boss who provides gunpowder to these madmen is even more of a madman among madmen."
A few minutes later, Tesla's requisition form was sent directly to the logistics department through the university's internal system.
The telegraph machine in the university's logistics department immediately began to tick frantically.
An urgent telegram was sent directly via a dedicated line to the Lex Steel Company in New Jersey.
"University specially approved supplies. Five thousand pounds of custom silicon steel sheets are needed, cut according to the drawing dimensions. Ship at the fastest speed."
Almost at the same time, another telegram was sent to General Electric's cable manufacturing plant.
Only twenty-four hours later.
On the dedicated freight line of the Erie Railroad in upstate New York, a steam train spewing black smoke made a harsh braking sound.
Several heavy carriages were already waiting on the platform.
Workers used cranes to unload several large rolls of thick insulated copper wire and wooden boxes full of silicon steel sheets from the train carriage onto the carriages.
The carriages drove along the gravel road, unhindered all the way into the back mountain of Argyle University.
When Tesla stood in that crude old warehouse, watching the mountain of industrial materials being hauled in cartload by cartload, he felt an unprecedented shock.
In Austria, applying for funds for an iron core required a three-month approval process.
But here, all it took was a signature.
The industrial machine of the Argyle Family could smash tons of steel and copper wire in front of him within a day.
"This is the power of capital."
Tesla stroked the cold copper wires, flames burning in his eyes.
It's burning up!
"With these... the era of Alternating Current will definitely arrive in the future."
The brand-new machinery in the university began to run.
Not only was it Tesla's crazy laboratory, but the old professors in the front office building also settled down.
Arthur Penhaligon opened a basic electromagnetism course in the physics department; meanwhile, Dr. Vogel from Germany led his team to begin deep extraction experiments of coal tar on brand-new chemical equipment.
Everything was evolving toward an academic powerhouse along the track envisioned by Felix.