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    “Your Highness, this is the telescope you asked for.”

    The workshop supervisor held a stick-like object about 1.2 meters long and 4.5 centimeters in diameter as he spoke.

    After the scholar protests, Xiao Ming had ordered the glass workshop to produce an astronomical telescope. Considering the current level of technology in Qingzhou, he ultimately chose the Keplerian telescope from the mid-17th century.

    Compared to the Galilean type, which uses a plano-convex lens as the objective and a concave lens as the eyepiece, the Keplerian telescope uses two convex lenses for both the objective and eyepiece, greatly improving magnification.

    And convex lenses like these were fully within the glass workshop’s capabilities—they were just outwardly curved on both sides, similar to modern magnifying glasses.

    Receiving the Great Yu Empire’s first astronomical telescope, Xiao Ming raised it to the sky.

    It was already evening, and a crescent moon hung above. Through the telescope, the craters on the moon were clearly visible. The moon’s surface showed a strong contrast between light and shadow.

    Staring at the bright moon, Xiao Ming fell into deep thought. This event with the scholars had turned into a decisive victory thanks to his careful planning. The new interest groups in the domain had overwhelmingly defeated the old ones, which was a great encouragement to him.

    But he knew that the real old power groups outside his domain hadn’t launched their final attack yet—they were still lying low.

    One massive threat, in particular, was watching over his land. He needed to prepare a sharp sword to deal with this giant beast at any moment—and that sword was astronomy.

    Now that he had the telescope, the question was: who should he entrust to study this field?

    Like in real-world feudal dynasties, astronomy—or astrology—was an imperial subject. In the Ming Dynasty, the general public was even banned from researching it. The idea of divine kingship made emperors extremely wary of such knowledge.

    For the past two years, Xiao Ming had wanted to establish an astronomy academy, but in the end, he kept postponing it. Once word spread, people might accuse him of rebellion.

    After all, why would a vassal prince order his people to study the stars? Was it to deny the emperor’s divine right to rule or to establish his own kingdom?

    Because of this, he could only research astronomy in secret and wait for the right moment to unleash this powerful weapon.

    “Keep this matter quiet. Understand?” Xiao Ming said in a deep voice. He kept it secret to avoid causing unnecessary trouble, especially since the imperial court was still his backing.

    After Xie Ziyun was beaten and driven out of his village, unrest in Qingzhou continued for another month before finally calming down. No one dared to speak against Xiao Ming’s policies anymore.

    Soon after, private schools throughout the domain began to close, and all the children previously studying there flooded into the public school system.

    A decree published in the newspaper made it clear: students in private schools could not participate in the selection of domain officials. They could only take the imperial exams. Meanwhile, students in public schools could take both the domain’s exams and the imperial ones. So why not choose public school?

    Most importantly, studying at public school didn’t cost any silver at all.

    “Your Highness, this is the Qingzhou Public School. As you requested, it has two sections. Children aged six to twelve study in the building on the left, and those aged thirteen to sixteen are placed in the building on the right. After passing exams here, they may qualify for admission to Bowen Academy.”

    As they walked, Zhan Xingchang explained the Qingzhou Public School to Xiao Ming.

    The school was located just about a hundred meters from Bowen Academy. It consisted of seventy-two traditional classrooms, lined up with green tiles and red bricks in neat rows.

    Each classroom had a blackboard and a teaching platform, showing early signs of modern educational tools.

    According to Zhan Xingchang’s data, Qingzhou now had a population of 450,000. Around 6,000 children were eligible to attend public school.

    The campus was lush with plants, featuring decorative rocks and ponds. There was also a sizeable sports field next to the classrooms. Overall, Xiao Ming was very satisfied with how it had turned out.

    During the construction period, he hadn’t visited much. But now that emotions in the domain were running high, he believed it was the right time to open the school. This marked the start of his plan to make education accessible to all.

    Although Qingzhou’s military industry was now close to matching Europe’s, Xiao Ming still lagged far behind in terms of talent.

    “Admitting 6,000 students at once will be a lot of pressure, but your office must hold strong. Also, I’m not afraid to spend money on education. Remember, teachers must be paid well and chosen carefully. I want teachers who are dedicated to teaching, not slackers. If someone can’t even be a proper role model, don’t even consider hiring them.”

    Xiao Ming spoke with a serious tone. What he hated most were teachers who ruined students’ futures. He would rather offer high salaries to attract qualified ones.

    Zhan Xingchang smiled. In the Great Yu Empire, it was rare for a vassal prince to value education so highly. Most lords and noble families preferred to keep the public uneducated—that made it easier to maintain their power. That mindset had never changed. But here, everything was different.

    Just the Qingzhou Public School alone was educating 6,000 people. Across the entire domain, that number could grow to 40,000 or 50,000 at once. That was a staggering figure.

    “Yes, Your Highness. I will fully support the public school system without hesitation,” Zhan Xingchang said firmly.

    Xiao Ming nodded and added, “Also, don’t make public school too rigid. If students are ready for higher-level learning early, let them advance. That way, we can train useful people faster.”

    This time, Xiao Ming didn’t simply copy modern education. In this era, boys could marry and have kids by thirteen, and noble youth could become officials by fifteen or sixteen.

    Also, he didn’t need to follow the modern ideal of holistic education—it wasn’t practical for this world. The students just needed to master the knowledge of the 18th century.

    That meant their education wouldn’t be as broad or slow as in modern times. By the time they turned eighteen or nineteen, they’d already be contributing to Qingzhou’s development.

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