Admissions

"His Highness is right. The University of Bulgaria has only just been established, and we must ensure the quality of our students! In fact, the faculty's capabilities also limit the number of students we can admit. The Ministry of Education estimates that the first class will number somewhere between three and five hundred!" Chekhov drove another knife into everyone's hearts.

"We understand all that. I agree that the numbers need to be cut, but this is less than a tenth of what we originally planned!" Ako, the history department's representative, said gloomily.

"No, sir, you're mistaken. It isn't a tenth. To conserve educational resources, enrollment in some subjects may not change much, but many others will be canceled outright!" Chekhov laid down the law.

"What? How can that be?" Everyone was stunned.

"Minister, this..."

Seeing that things were about to go wrong, Ferdinand waved his hand. "One moment, gentlemen. Don't make things difficult for our minister. He doesn't want to do this either, but we have no choice. We're poor, after all! I can answer this question for him and give you an explanation!"

"Bulgaria is at a critical stage in its development. Every resource must be devoted to industrialization. So, at this stage, the University of Bulgaria exists to serve industrialization!"

"For Bulgaria's sake, everyone must make sacrifices. You are the nation's elite. Tell me, are you willing to make sacrifices for this country?" Ferdinand demanded.

The crowd answered unevenly:

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

Ferdinand was very pleased with their response. It seemed everyone cared about their dignity; at least on the surface, they were all patriots.

Ferdinand didn't get involved in deciding which subjects to cut. He left that directly to the Ministry of Education.

He gave the Ministry of Education just one guiding principle: keep all science and engineering programs, and have the government cover their tuition and fees. Graduates would be guaranteed job placements.

As for the humanities, sorry—not a single penny. The university would have to cover all those expenses itself. Government appropriations, private donations, and all other income would be off-limits to the humanities. The state would take no responsibility for their graduates' employment.

In other words, he was telling the Ministry of Education in no uncertain terms to cut the humanities departments, or else find a way to fund them themselves.

The reason was simple. Historically, most Bulgarian humanities graduates had been arrogant but incompetent, unable to find work.

In the end, these unemployed people would take revenge on society. Some joined revolutionary parties, others became anarchists. Later, when the Soviet Union exported revolution, they became the next generation of communists.

To safeguard his position, Ferdinand naturally had to eliminate these risks in advance. Without these people taking part, it would be almost impossible for the Soviet Union to infiltrate Bulgaria.

The final outcome was just as Ferdinand had expected: the academic world chose to compromise. Most humanities subjects became electives. History and languages were fortunate enough to remain compulsory courses, though they would not have their own admissions quotas.

Everyone could accept this outcome. At least the humanities programs had survived, and everyone had kept their jobs.

Ferdinand was happy with the arrangement too. He'd spent a little money to keep these scholars at the university, so they wouldn't cause him trouble.

The only ones out of luck were the students of the University of Bulgaria. They would never get to experience the freedom that students enjoyed at universities in later generations.

The packed timetable made Ferdinand's scalp prickle. They'd be treated just like high school seniors in later generations: weekends didn't exist. They were probably the most miserable university students in the world.

Leaving aside Ferdinand's glee, news about the University of Bulgaria's first class immediately caused a sensation across the country.

Everyone was paying attention to the university's twelve programs. They were all science and engineering, without exception—a sight that left people astonished.

The media argued back and forth every day. Forget that lot: before, they had fought tooth and nail to protect their interests and preserve the humanities programs.

Now, one by one, they had transformed into patriots, claiming they were doing it all for Bulgaria's development and to conserve educational resources. They said they had volunteered for this sacrifice.

They were even willing to swear to God that they had not the slightest selfish motive; they were sacrificing for the nation and its people.

Ferdinand was almost moved. They were all such patriots. If he hadn't preserved their benefits, the scene unfolding now would probably have looked very different.

Bulgaria had a continental climate, with four distinct seasons. The north was influenced by the Black Sea, while the south was influenced by the Mediterranean Sea.

Even in summer, the weather wasn't very hot. Students arriving from all over were full of confidence, spirited and vigorous, each carrying an air of believing the world was theirs for the taking.

Their figures filled the streets and alleys of Sofia. To prepare for the entrance exams, several hotels owned by Ferdinand had opened ahead of schedule.

At the Hilton Hotel in the eastern part of the city, several students were talking.

"Ram, do you know what they're going to test us on?" Andrea asked.

"Andrea, what kind of question is that? How could I possibly know? But I heard the exam will be very strict. If you don't study hard and fail, you'll be disgraced!" Ram replied.

"Ram, you're as boring as ever. This is Sofia, our capital and Bulgaria's biggest city. Don't you want to go and have a look around?" Andrea asked.

"Andrea, I think Ram is right. We should focus on studying for now. I heard they're admitting very few students this year. If we get rejected by accident, how could we face our families when we go home?" Annabel said.

"Oh, God, you're both right! Let's study. But if we don't even know what's on the exam, how are we supposed to prepare? What a bunch of bores!" Andrea said.

Little scenes like this played out all across Bulgaria. Most people who had managed to graduate from secondary school came from fairly well-off families. In those days, education was beyond the means of ordinary households.

Naturally, people coming to Sofia from all over the country couldn't resist going out to explore. This also gave Sofia's economy a boost, though most people still chose to study.

In Bulgaria, being a university student had always been considered something lofty and prestigious. In the past, anyone who wanted a university education had to go abroad.

The enormous expense could cripple even a wealthy family. Only a handful of people could afford to study overseas each year; for most, it was an unattainable dream.

This exam was an opportunity for many people. They might speak casually about it, but nearly everyone was working hard.

As the exam date drew closer, Ferdinand—still influenced by memories of his past life—nearly gave in several times and tried to make a quick profit by selling study guides.

In the end, he forced himself to hold back. He wasn't that bootleg-selling Taobao merchant anymore. How much could he make from a few thousand study guides—several thousand leva, or tens of thousands?

He earned more than that in a single day now. And if selling the guides compromised the fairness of the exam and resulted in a bunch of hopeless candidates getting selected, that would be a disaster.

The first graduating class would become his future inner circle, the future leaders of every Bulgarian industry.

He had given up on that idea, but he could still imagine what lay ahead. Bulgaria's students in the future would surely be buried under piles of study guides. When it came to profit, Ferdinand's scruples had always been paper-thin.