Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

This was Richard's freshest morning in nearly a month.

Sunlight streamed through the restaurant windows, casting bright squares on the elegant tablecloth. Richard had half-eaten bacon and fried eggs, along with a steaming cup of coffee, beside him.

He leaned back in his chair, clutching a newspaper in his hand, unable to suppress the smile on his lips.

The Times headline read: "Competition among arms newcomers thwarts factory arson plot."

Not only The Times, but also three or four penny newspapers were spread out on the table—The Daily Telegraph, The Morning Post, and The Star.

Every single one featured this story on their front page, and one even drew a cartoon: Greenwood was hiding in a corner pouring kerosene, while Richard stood on a high place holding a lamp.

Richard picked up his coffee and took a sip, almost burning himself in the process.

"What are you doing sitting there grinning like an idiot?" Louise's voice came from the stairwell.

She was wearing a light pink morning gown, her hair was still uncombed and loosely draped over her shoulders, and she walked over while rubbing her eyes.

She hadn't seen that smile since Richard returned to London; it made Richard look like a playful big boy.

"Don't tell me you've been betting on horse races these past few days." She sat down opposite her and picked up a newspaper from the table.

Richard put down his coffee cup and waited to watch her read the newspaper.

Louise's gaze swept from the title to the text, then from the text to the cartoon, and then the corners of her mouth curved slightly before she finally burst out laughing.

"Why did they draw Greenwood's chin so big?" Louise gestured to the comic book, "He looks like Mr. Punch."

Mr. Punch is the protagonist of a traditional British puppet show, which is performed on the streets dozens of times a day. However, the plot is not fixed, and over time it has become one of the symbols of British traditional culture.

"Maybe the cartoonist thought his chin was perfect for hanging a kerosene lamp," Richard shrugged.

Louise flipped the newspaper over and glanced at it again, then smiled and shook her head: "You seem to be in a good mood."

"You figured it out."

"Don't sit here, come upstairs with me." Louise stood up, walked around the table, and tapped him on the shoulder.

Richard looked up: "Upstairs?"

"While you were gone, I tidied up that empty room on the second floor." Louise, hands on her hips, had already reached the top of the stairs. "Everything's been moved in. You haven't seen it yet, come on up."

Richard quickly stuffed the fried egg and bacon into his mouth, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and got up to follow him.

The second floor houses the master bedroom and guest rooms, while the living room is mostly filled with unused furniture and an old piano, though the door there used to be closed.

The door was open today, and sunlight streamed in, carpeting the hallway floor with a golden sheen.

He walked in and froze on the spot.

The entire room has been completely renovated. Several pots of geraniums are placed on the south-facing balcony, their red flowers in full bloom, and a few vines that have not yet blossomed are climbing on the wrought iron railings.

Several easels stood in the center of the room, and the walls were covered with sketches and oil paintings, including landscapes and portraits. Paint tubes and palettes were piled on a long table against the wall, and the air was filled with the scent of turpentine and linseed oil, which was not pungent but rather made people feel calm and quiet.

"You...designed it yourself?" Richard looked around at the paintings.

"Aunt Susan helped too, with those potted plants," Louise said, walking to the window and pulling the curtains open a little more. "The light here is good, perfect for painting. You don't mind, do you?"

"What do you mind?"

Louise pointed to several sketches on the wall.

Richard then noticed that the charcoal lines on the drawing paper depicted him sitting on a train, leaning against the window, with blurry fields outside. Next to it was another drawing of him in a carriage, holding a document, his brows furrowed.

Next to it was a woman sitting on a sofa, dignified and reserved, but her expression clearly showed her exhaustion. That was Queen Isabella II of Spain, whose portrait was painted by Louise under the pretext of a sculpture while they were in France.

"You're putting me alongside the Queen?" Richard asked.

"A painting is just a painting," Louise said, walking to the window with her back to the sunlight. "What matters is the form of the people in the painting, not their identities."

"Hmm, you drew very well." Richard looked around but couldn't find the old piano; perhaps it had been moved to the attic.

"Thank you." Louise smiled shyly. She walked back to her easel, picked up a charcoal pencil, and said, "I'm thinking of a name for this studio, but I'm not satisfied with any of the ones I've come up with. Could you help me think of one?"

This hit Richard's weak spot; he's terrible at naming things.

"Uh, the House of the Muses...?"

"Too tacky."

"Tianzhu Art Studio?"

"You named your art studio after a bonsai plant?"

"Per...Gasos?"

"Where did you get all these words from?" Louise tilted her head and glanced at him.

"I'm not very good at this," Richard said, rubbing his forehead. The only paintings he knew were the Mona Lisa and the Starry Night, and he was only looking at scanned copies on his computer screen.

"Forget it, I won't choose one." Louise turned around and squeezed a little cobalt blue paint onto the palette. "Names are something that get weirder the more you think about them. Maybe one day they'll just pop into your head."

She had barely finished speaking when there were two soft knocks on the door.

"Sir," Harold's voice came from the corridor, "there is a letter for you."

"Come in."

Harold entered, carrying a silver tray with several letters on it. On top was a thick, off-white envelope stamped with the War Department's sealing wax seal.

Richard's heart skipped a beat, and he quickly tore open the letter and pulled out the paper.

The letter was neatly written and carefully worded; it was an invitation from Viscount Cavill to a dinner party this week at the Army and Navy Club, where several military dignitaries and members of parliament would be in attendance, and he hoped that Viscount Cavill would "honor his presence."

"What is it?" Louise walked over, took the letter from his hand, and glanced at it.

"The Army and Navy Club!" she exclaimed, looking at him with delight. "Richard, do you know what that means?"

"Does this mean I've finally taken a step into your circle?"

"That's right!" Louise folded the letter and stuffed it back into his hand. "Cavill wouldn't just invite any businessman; he at least thinks you're worth training."

"This is a starting point," Richard put the letter back in his pocket. "Maybe one day I really will be awarded a medal."

Louise looked at him thoughtfully, then she put down her paintbrush, wiped her fingers on the cloth next to the easel, and crossed her arms.

"Whether you get the medal or not is another matter," she said. "You need to get through this dinner first. Do you even know what the Army and Navy Club is?"

"As the name suggests, it's a place for private gatherings between the Navy and the Army?"

"Not entirely." Louise shook her head. "It was a place for high-ranking officers to sit down and talk, not a place to send letters to the Queen Mother to slander each other."

Richard immediately understood that although Britain did not have such a fierce land and sea conflict, the two sides were still constantly at odds, and if he could get first-hand information from Princess Louise, the Queen's secretary, it would be extremely beneficial to him.

"Tell me what they wrote in their letters?" Richard asked.

“First of all, Cavill is pushing forward with army reforms,” Louise pulled up a chair and sat down. “You know that, but you may not know that Her Majesty the Queen supports him.”

Richard nodded.

"But the Queen cannot make a public statement," Louise said, spreading her hands, "because the British Navy is the darling of the Royal Family, ever since Nelson's time, and they have written to the Queen Mother complaining that Cavill's reforms are sacrificing the Navy's interests to appease the Army."

"That makes sense. The total military budget is limited. If the army takes more, the navy takes less."

“That’s right, and secondly the Duke of Cambridge,” Louise pouted, “my cousin, the Queen’s cousin.”

"What's wrong with him?"

"He often berates the navy in front of the Queen Mother, calling them arrogant and conceited bastards, saying they are wasting the Empire's resources." Louise looked troubled. "The Queen Mother is willing to support her brother, but you know, state affairs and family affairs cannot be mixed up."

Even an upright official finds it difficult to settle family disputes. Li Cha understands this principle, and Louise is telling herself whose side she should stand on.

"There's one last thing," Louise said, looking at him seriously, "You might need to brush up on your knowledge of wine, so you don't embarrass yourself later."