Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

"It must have felt great there," Richard asked, "being with people like yourself, studying chemistry."

Thomas shook his head after hearing his words.

"Who among those who can sit in Mr. Bunsen's classroom isn't a genius?" A bitter smile still lingered on his lips. "...Genius is merely the threshold through which you can see him. Everyone else is just trying to chase after the shadows of their predecessors' achievements."

Richard understood Thomas's meaning: Robert Bunsen had hundreds of students, many of whom went on to win the Nobel Prize, and at the very least, some had published several influential works or held positions at prestigious universities.

Thomas's current situation is a complete waste of his talents.

However, this also happens to align with the E in the MICE principle: vanity and self-expression.

A student from a poor family was overwhelmed by geniuses in Mr. Benson's class and remained unknown in the Royal Chemistry Institute.

He needed to be seen and recognized, so Richard changed the subject.

“You could easily stay in Heidelberg as a lecturer,” Richard said, “or take a position at another university. Why go back to England to work at the Woolwich Arsenal?”

Thomas looked up and let out a long sigh.

"Why would anyone do anything?" he replied humorously. "For money, sir, always for money. That may not sound noble, but the so-called 'classless academia' at Heidelberg University is a complete lie."

He closed his eyes: "The longer I stayed in university, the closer I got to the brink of starvation."

Richard pursed his lips. In 19th-century universities, professorships were at the top of the pyramid, while at the bottom were countless young scholars like Thomas, spending countless nights in the laboratory, waiting for a vacancy that might never appear.

In addition, they also have to complete a rigorous professorship dissertation.

Mendeleev's family were Siberian landowners, and Fritz Haber's father was a wealthy merchant who ran a paint business. They could elegantly endure five, ten, or even more years in the university's café.

But Thomas was different. Even if he returned to England, the mainstream academic society still regarded science as a noble hobby belonging to the aristocracy. If you wanted to establish yourself in a university, you had to be a gentleman first.

Therefore, he first needed to find a place where he could have enough to eat and continue his research.

So he chose to work as Abel's assistant at the Woolwich Arsenal, earning an annual salary of two hundred pounds.

The salary wasn't high, but it was better than that of ordinary manual laborers; at least he didn't have to count his shillings at the end of the month.

Richard straightened up from the wall, walked over to Thomas, and gently patted him on the shoulder.

"How about this," he suggested, "if our experiment succeeds, I'll need geniuses like you next."

Thomas paused for a moment, his eyelashes trembling slightly.

Then he straightened up and bowed to Richard as he spoke: "You are too kind, Mr. Brian. Let us pray that this invention will bring us the same success as our Swiss counterpart."

Richard smiled; he knew Thomas was referring to Alfred Nobel, the wealthy man in Switzerland who had widely used explosives in railway construction and civil engineering.

The two then took the charcoal respirators off the wall again, put them on their faces, and pushed open the door to the explosives laboratory one after the other.

Inside the laboratory, Abel was bent over, holding his non-sparking tooth knife in front of the test bench, the tip of the knife cutting the first-generation gunpowder sample into fine particles.

He didn't look up, but squeezed out a question from under the respirator: "How did it go? How did your talks go?"

"It's even better than I expected." Richard walked to the test bench, looked down at the cut particles, and his eyes lit up.

"These samples look really good." He made no attempt to hide his excitement, because the powder, which resembled dried grapefruit peel, was almost identical to what he had seen in books.

Abel smiled wryly: "It looks good, but it's not nearly enough."

He picked up the dental scalpel from the velvet cloth, twirled it between his fingers, and inserted it into the pen holder on the side of the experimental table: "Here's what we'll do. You've only seen my heat-resistant device; today I'll show you how it's being tested."

Richard nodded.

The three men walked up to the gunpowder stability testing device.

The copper water bath has several rows of neat round holes drilled in it, and special test tubes are inserted into the holes.

Abel pulled a gold-plated pocket watch from his pocket, and with a clink, the watch cover popped open.

He placed the pocket watch upright on the testing table, with the dial facing upwards.

Richard also took out his pocket watch, glanced at the markings on the dial, and asked, "What are we looking at?"

"Of course it depends on the time," Abel explained, not understanding his question. "Gunpowder releases nitrogen and oxygen gases when heated. These acidic gases cause the test strips to change color, and they must change color within the appropriate time to be considered合格 (qualified/acceptable)."

He placed gunpowder samples with different proportions into the bottom of test tubes, and labeled each test tube with a number from A to E, with neat handwriting.

Thomas stood beside him, took out several strips of moistened test paper that had been soaked in potassium iodide and starch solution from a wide-mouthed bottle, hung them with a glass hook, and carefully placed them into the mouth of the test tube. The lower end of the test paper was suspended inside the test tube, less than an inch away from the gunpowder sample.

Once preparations were complete, the three men retreated behind the glass window of the blast-proof room.

The second hand of the gilded pocket watch ticked away. Abel lit the oil lamp beneath the water bath, turned the temperature control valve, and adjusted the water temperature to a precise setting.

The red alcohol column in the thermometer slowly rose and stopped at 160 degrees Celsius.

"It's starting," Abel said.

For the first five minutes, nothing happened.

The water in the pot was quietly bubbling, making a barely audible popping sound.

Richard stared at the test tubes; the test strips were still white, like a newly tailored shirt.

His pocket watch warmed in his palm as he waited patiently.

ten minutes.

On the top of the test strips in two of the test tubes, numbered B and E, a faint brownish-blue line appeared, as if someone had lightly touched the edge of the paper with an extremely fine brush, and then the color spread on its own, climbing up a short distance along the texture of the paper.

Abel frowned, turned around, picked up a pencil from the lab bench, and drew two horizontal lines on the record sheet behind him, meaning that these two ratios were eliminated.

Richard lowered his head and gripped his pocket watch even tighter.

twenty minutes.

The test strips in the remaining test tubes started to change color at almost the same time.

The brown and blue lines rise slowly like the tide washing over the beach; unless you are staring at them intently, you won't notice their changes at all.

Abel's brow finally relaxed: "This ratio is initially acceptable."

Richard closed the watch cover and looked at Abel: "Preliminary pass? That means there are still other tests to be done?"

"Of course." Abel picked up the gilded pocket watch from the windowsill and stuffed it into his vest pocket. "We must ensure it is in perfect condition."

Thomas, holding a notebook, turned to the latest page: "Gunpowder is not something to be taken lightly. Let's continue."

The two of them turned around at the same time and began to prepare for the next experiment.