Opportunities often come unexpectedly. The very next afternoon after Smith made up his mind, the opportunity arrived.
That day, as Smith approached the dining table, he immediately noticed something unusual: his stepmother Victoria's eyes were swollen like peaches.
This was an extraordinary sight. Based on what Smith knew about Victoria, she was not the type to weep at the drop of a hat. She was a resolute and strong-willed woman, the kind who believed that "a daughter does not shed tears lightly."
Of course, that sentiment comes with a caveat: "unless it's truly heartbreaking."
For Victoria to cry like this, something truly distressing must have happened!
Thanks to the information left behind by "Smiling Willi" and their time spent together, Smith had developed a solid understanding of Victoria's temperament. If something upset her to this degree, it must have something to do with his grandfather.
Smith approached Victoria and softly asked, "Mother, what's troubling you? Is it about Grandfather?"
The moment Smith posed the question, Victoria's tears began to flow again. She pulled Smith into her arms, sobbing once more. After a while, she composed herself enough to speak through her tears:
"Nothing escapes my little genius…"
Smith gently patted Victoria with his small hands. After a moment, he asked again, "What happened? Is Grandfather ill?"
Victoria didn't answer directly. Instead, she handed Smith a folded letter sealed with red wax. The seal bore the coat of arms of the House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, unmistakably marking the sender as his grandfather, Prince Albert.
As Smith unfolded the letter and read, he felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow emanating from the pages. The letter explained that Queen Victoria's mother, the Duchess of Kent, had passed away due to illness. Prince Albert was devastated by the loss. Reflecting on the gradual passing of those close to him, he expressed a premonition that his own end might not be far off.
After reading the letter, Smith understood everything.
Queen Victoria, being Prince Albert's first cousin, meant that the Queen's mother was also the Prince's aunt. After the deaths of his own parents, this aunt had been one of the few remaining relatives Albert had left. Moreover, due to the scandal surrounding his mother's infidelity, Albert had been forbidden from seeing her since the age of five. His aunt had often stepped into a maternal role for him. No wonder Prince Albert was heartbroken by her passing.
As for his ominous remarks about his own demise, they were likely not unfounded. Albert was not one to exaggerate or dramatize.
Even without being a doctor, most people have some awareness of their own health. A learned and medically literate man like Prince Albert would certainly have noticed any significant changes in his condition. It was clear he had sensed something wrong, prompting such a letter.
Victoria had always been deeply attached to her father. Seeing him write such words, how could she not be heartbroken?
As Smith processed this, his mind began to race.
It was undeniable that Prince Albert's health was extremely fragile. Several events in the 1860s had accelerated his decline:
The first was a carriage accident in 1860. While driving a four-wheeled carriage alone, Albert's horses became spooked and bolted, causing chaos in the streets. Despite his efforts to regain control, the carriage ultimately collided with a cart on the roadside. The horses died on the spot, and the carriage was shattered. Albert narrowly escaped with his life by leaping out at the last moment.
Medical reports from the time stated that Albert had only sustained bruises and abrasions, with no serious injuries. However, from that point onward, his health began to deteriorate rapidly. The prevailing explanation was "shock-induced trauma."
Smith, however, found this hard to believe. Although he had only met Prince Albert once, that encounter had left a deep impression on him. Coupled with the information from "Smiling Willi," Smith was certain that Albert was a resolute and courageous individual who wouldn't be so easily shaken by a single accident.
This led Smith to consider another possibility:
Could Albert have sustained an undetected internal injury during the accident?
It was highly plausible. Some internal injuries require modern diagnostic tools to detect, and such technology simply didn't exist in the 1860s. The medical limitations of the time could easily have missed the true extent of Albert's injuries.
The subsequent death of the Duchess of Kent, his aunt, dealt a severe emotional blow. If Albert had indeed suffered internal injuries, this grief would have only exacerbated his condition.
With this hypothesis in mind, Smith resolved to act without delay. Setting the letter aside, he turned to Victoria and said:
"Mother, you must be very worried and miss Grandfather terribly, don't you? I miss him too. Could you ask him to come to Berlin?"
Victoria looked at her son, her eyes welling up with tears once more. Among Queen Victoria and Albert's nine children, Victoria had the closest bond with her father. She regarded him as a role model and the epitome of parenting. Smith's expression of longing for his grandfather struck a deep chord within her.
"Willi, you miss Grandfather too, don't you?"
Victoria cupped Smith's face and choked out, "I'll write to him right away and invite him over, okay?"
"Mother, why not send a telegram instead?" Smith suggested.
Indeed, the distance between Berlin and London wasn't far. With Prussia's advanced railway and postal systems, a letter from the Crown Prince's Palace could reach Prince Albert in no more than three days—a remarkably fast turnaround for the time.
But to Smith, even that was too slow. Time was of the essence, and faster communication was crucial. A telegram, which could be sent at noon and received by dinnertime, was the better option. If they paid for an urgent delivery, the message could reach Prince Albert within an hour and a half!
"Yes… why would I want to write a letter…" Encouraged by Smith, Victoria finally wiped her tears and made up her mind.
"I'll send a telegram right away! I'll tell him that not only do I miss him, but Willie and Charlotte miss him too. That'll surely bring him back!"
"Mother, are the imperial physicians accompanying the Khitan delegation still in Berlin?" Smith asked, steering the conversation in a new direction.
"They are still here—are you suggesting…" Victoria paused, beginning to understand Smith's intention.
"Have them take a look at Grandfather?"
"Yes," Smith nodded earnestly. "Their acupuncture helped me regain my voice. Maybe they have a way to improve Grandfather's health too. It's worth a try, and the sooner he comes, the better!"
"Oh, my dear Willie, you're so thoughtful!" Victoria said softly, her heart warmed by her son's concern. It was exactly what she had hoped for deep down. She pinched Smith's cheek affectionately and got up to draft the telegram.
Watching Victoria leave, Smith silently prayed that the imperial physicians from Khitan might uncover what was truly ailing Prince Albert. While he wasn't entirely confident in traditional Chinese medicine of this era, his own miraculous recovery was proof enough that it couldn't be dismissed outright. Who's to say they couldn't create another miracle?
Treating Prince Albert's illness and restoring his health was undoubtedly crucial for extending his life. However, that alone wouldn't solve the whole problem—it might only address half of it. The other half, Smith realized, lay with Queen Victoria herself.
As the saying goes, "There are no overworked fields, only overworked oxen." In this case, Prince Albert was the overworked ox, while Queen Victoria was the field that never tired of being plowed. Or rather, she was more like an oil press—relentless and unyielding. At forty, she was at her most vigorous, and if she continued to exhaust Prince Albert without restraint, no amount of treatment or nourishment would suffice to save him.
But what could be done about this?
Matters of the bedchamber were private by nature, especially in the conservative 19th century. As a child—and a reincarnated one at that—Smith had no standing to intervene in such affairs. Besides, even if he voiced his concerns, it wasn't guaranteed to make any difference.
Moreover, Queen Victoria's needs couldn't simply be ignored, could they? Freud's theories wouldn't be around for another few decades, but Smith already understood the basic principle: suppressed desires tend to manifest in uglier ways. If the queen ended up with her own health issues due to frustration, what then?
"Being a transmigrator is tough…" Smith sighed, looking up at the sky. Other transmigrators got to radiate kingly auras, commanding respect and admiration, and sweeping away obstacles. Why was he stuck dealing with such awkward problems?
"Awkward indeed…" Smith chuckled wryly at his predicament and marveled once more at the richness of the Chinese language.
This thorny issue wasn't something he could solve immediately. For the better part of the afternoon, Smith found himself distracted, unable to focus.
When one's mind wanders, one tends to fidget. By the time the sun began to set, Smith suddenly realized he had been flipping through Xunzi's Encouraging Learning.
It was a birthday gift from the Khitan delegation when he turned one. The book was fascinating—it looked like a scroll but had text on both sides. The front featured square Chinese characters in the Yan style of calligraphy, while the back contained a German translation in elegant Gothic script.
At that moment, Smith's eyes fell on the Chinese side, specifically on one line:
"君子生非异也,善假于物也."
(A gentleman's nature is not different; he excels in making use of external things.)
"Damn, why didn't I think of this earlier?"
That profound line sparked a flash of inspiration in Smith's mind. Like a bolt of lightning, a solution struck him.
Later, during dinner, Smith approached his father, Crown Prince Frederick, with a serious expression.
"Father, can I have a toy?"
"A toy?"
The question left Frederick momentarily stunned.
Theoretically, no child dislikes toys, and none would hesitate to ask their parents for one. But Smith was an exception. Since birth, he had never shown the slightest interest in the mountain of toys prepared for him. Even when someone tried to amuse him with one, he would respond with disdain or irritation. Asking for a toy? That had never happened.
At first, Frederick couldn't understand this odd behavior. Over time, however, as he realized his son was a prodigy, he grew accustomed to it.
"Geniuses are always a bit peculiar," he thought. "Being extraordinarily gifted is strange enough in itself."
But today, it seemed the sun had risen in the west.
"Of course, of course!" Frederick finally replied after a moment of processing. "Our little genius has done a great service for the king. You can have any toy you want!"
"Really? That's wonderful!" Smith exclaimed, waving a sheet of paper in his hand like an excited child. "I want this one! Please make this for me, Father!"
Frederick immediately sensed something was amiss. His sharp instincts as a seasoned soldier told him there was more to this than met the eye. His son's behavior was too childlike just now—completely unlike his usual self.
With suspicion brewing, Frederick took the paper from Smith. On it was a crude sketch.
It was a very crude sketch, with crooked lines that barely resembled anything. Yet, it was clear that the drawing depicted a machine.
As someone with a solid foundation in general education, Frederick had some knowledge of mechanics. A quick glance deepened his unease.
The machine appeared quite complex, with advanced electric-powered components. Yet its primary function seemed to be nothing more than driving a piston-like object in a repetitive motion.
Closer inspection revealed detailed specifications for materials and dimensions. The piston-like component, for instance, was to be made of natural rubber, 28 centimeters long, 4 centimeters in diameter, with an adjustable stroke length of 10 to 18 centimeters…
What kind of toy was this supposed to be?
"Willie…" Frederick furrowed his brow, his tone serious. "Are you sure this can be called a toy?"