The Variables of History

"So, the British Empire's latest technology involves… inserting a tube into the baby's rectum?" 

Frederick leaned forward in disbelief, staring at Edward Martin as though he were trying to discern whether the man before him was mad. As a scion of the House of Hohenzollern, Frederick had been taught from a young age to maintain decorum and keep his emotions in check at all times. 

...But no royal tutor could have prepared him for a situation like this. 

"And then pumping oxygen in to help His Highness's intestinal hernia correct itself," Edward Martin explained evenly, his tone utterly devoid of emotion, as if discussing the merits of drinking juice through a straw. 

"This…" 

Frederick shot up from his seat, pacing the room with agitation. A cavalry officer known for his decisiveness and quick thinking, he had never faced a dilemma as perplexing as this. 

"Isn't there any other treatment option?" 

"As an alternative, we could introduce air through the mouth, but an infant's oral tissues are much more delicate. The procedure would be harder to perform and more painful for the prince," Edward replied, his calm demeanor unwavering. 

"God above! What did I do to deserve such punishment?" Frederick buried his face in his hands, his anguish evident. When he raised his head again, his bloodshot eyes startled the surrounding attendants, who had never seen him so distraught. 

He truly loved his son. 

Though his marriage to Princess Victoria had been forged out of political calculations, their shared interests had kindled genuine affection over time. The birth of their child had been a source of joy and anticipation. Yet a difficult labor, a comatose wife, and a "sickly" son had shattered those dreams. 

For once, the typically resolute Frederick was at a loss. 

At that moment, Prince Regent William stepped forward. 

As a father himself, William understood the depth of Frederick's pain. The afflicted child was his own grandson, after all, and the situation weighed heavily on his heart. 

But William was not just a father—he was a Hohenzollern and a man destined to be King of Prussia. Some decisions, he believed, could not be guided solely by personal sentiment. 

The Hohenzollern lineage had faced dwindling male heirs for generations. Starting with Frederick William III, male children had become scarce. In William's generation, only his elder brother, King Frederick William IV, and he himself remained. 

Frederick William IV, however, had no offspring and was already incapacitated by a stroke and mental illness. It was only a matter of time before William ascended to the throne, making his son Frederick the crown prince and the newborn infant the heir apparent. 

One day, William's reign would end, and so would Frederick's, leaving the infant to bear the weight of the crown. 

William, a staunch Prussian Junker, believed hardship forged character. If the child could not endure this, how could he be fit to rule? 

Glancing at his anguished son and his equally distraught wife, William turned to Edward Martin and declared, "The House of Hohenzollern will not tolerate a future king who cannot withstand such trials. If the boy cannot endure this, he does not deserve to be one of us!" 

With that, he continued decisively, "Doctor Martin, proceed with the oral air insufflation procedure if you are confident in your skills." 

To emphasize the gravity of his order, William spoke in the courtly Prussian dialect. 

Edward Martin caught the regent's implied warning and bowed. "As you wish, Your Highness." 

Unbeknownst to Smith, his delicate dignity had been temporarily spared, though his mouth was not. For now, he remained oblivious to his fate. 

Instead, Smith was preoccupied with mastering his body in the confines of the nursery. 

For any newborn, controlling one's limbs was an essential skill, though a daunting one. Manipulating hundreds of muscles and bones to move with intent was a magnificent yet often overlooked miracle of life. 

Thanks to his preserved adult consciousness, Smith had been able to coordinate his body even before birth—enough to escape from Princess Victoria's womb. However, his body was underdeveloped, and he was still unfamiliar with it. Training was inevitable. 

His progress was impressive. He could roll over, crawl, and even pull himself up by the crib rails. But Zhao Hao made sure to practice only when the caregivers weren't looking. After all, it would be unsettling for a newborn less than 72 hours old to exhibit such advanced abilities. 

For all his progress, though, Zhao Hao was still constrained by the laws of nature. His muscles could only manage these basic actions; running was out of the question. 

"So, this is my limit…" he sighed inwardly. "It seems even transmigrators must abide by the natural order." 

Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed outside the nursery, followed by hushed voices. Smith's underdeveloped hearing caught snippets of English: 

"…Princess… awake… bring the baby…" 

Smith's thoughts snapped into focus. The "princess" they referred to could only be Princess Victoria, his biological mother in this new life. 

His memories of the chaotic delivery were vivid. Struggling to free himself had been a matter of life and death, and he hadn't spared a thought for the woman bearing him. Now, hearing that she had finally awakened after fainting from the ordeal, Smith mused, "So my new mother is ready to meet me, huh?" 

Before he could process further, the nursery doors creaked open. A crowd of attendants surged in, bustling with activity. Smith instinctively braced himself. 

As he scanned the group, he activated the knowledge inherited from Wilhelm II, identifying the British royal household staff, Prussian court officials, and a mix of nurses and nannies. 

However, the act of accessing this knowledge triggered a wave of nausea. It wasn't the first time. Every previous attempt to retrieve Wilhelm II's data had left him retching. Smith began to suspect the worst: "Could it be… every time I use this information, I'll feel sick?" 

Determined to test his theory, he summoned more knowledge from Wilhelm II—and promptly let out an earth-shaking wail as he vomited spectacularly. 

The attendants, unaware of the real cause, assumed the baby's hernia had flared up again and sprang into action. Within moments, Smith's vomit was cleaned, his clothes changed, and his abdomen massaged. 

Smith, meanwhile, was too dizzy to keep track of his surroundings. By the time he regained his senses, he was in an ornate pram, being wheeled toward a grand set of double doors. 

The doors opened slowly, and Smith was ushered inside, flanked by an entourage of attendants. His mother awaited. 

Though his newborn vision was still blurry, Smith could sense the weight of history bearing down on him.

The eyesight of a newborn is far from fully developed, but thanks to Smith's unique status as a transmigrator, he seemed to have a cheat-like ability to defy this limitation, enabling him to see clearly in such a short time. Even so, his visual range was quite limited. Within the scope of his vision, Smith discerned that he was in a rather large room. At its center was a grand bed, beside which stood his "cheap" father, Frederick. On the bed lay a pale and exhausted young woman.

Without even accessing the memories left by Wilhelm II, Smith could easily guess that this young woman was his "cheap" mother, Victoria.

For political reasons, it was common for noble girls of this era to marry young. Many were married in their teens and had children before turning twenty. As the eldest princess of the British Empire, Victoria was no exception. Now a newly-minted mother, she was merely 19 years old, the very peak of youth and beauty.

However, Princess Victoria didn't inherit much of her tall and handsome father's genes in appearance or build. Instead, she bore a greater resemblance to her mother, Queen Victoria. Like the queen, the princess's features couldn't be described as stunning, though they were proper and dignified. But standing at less than 160 cm tall, no matter how graceful her demeanor or elegant her posture, she simply couldn't meet the contemporary standard of great beauty.

For Smith, though, such details were unimportant. What mattered was how this Victoria would view and treat him.

As the crib moved closer to the large bed, Smith's view became clearer, including the young woman's gaze. In her eyes, he could perceive restraint and composure, along with a hint of curiosity and inquiry. But what Smith couldn't detect was even a trace of a mother's affection for her child. It was as if she were looking at a complete stranger rather than her own son.

A sense of unease crept into Smith's heart. How many mothers would have such an expression when seeing their child for the first time?

Soon, the crib was pushed to the bedside. Frederick, his "cheap" father, gently picked Smith up with a face full of love and held him out to Victoria. In a soft voice, he called her by her nickname: 

"Vicky, this is our child! Look, isn't he adorable?"

According to typical story progression, Victoria should now take the child in her arms. 

But she didn't. 

To everyone's astonishment, the eldest princess of Britain, in a frail yet firm voice, replied: 

"I'm sorry, dear. I'm too weak…"

It was an honest statement, but the detachment and restraint behind her words were undeniable. An awkward air instantly enveloped everyone in the room. Because of the close proximity, Smith caught every subtle expression and involuntary micro-movement from Victoria. If he failed to read the indifference, disdain, and even disgust radiating from her, then his 30-plus years of life prior to transmigration would have been in vain.

Realizing this, Smith felt his heart sink completely. He muttered inwardly: 

"It's over. I've officially become a *'disgraced heir.'*" 

Frederick, naturally perceptive of the situation, was heartbroken at what he saw. Suppressing the sorrow welling up inside him, he softly said to Victoria: 

"You've been through so much." 

But in his heart, he became painfully aware that his future family life would likely be nothing like what he had envisioned. 

"This isn't what I imagined at all…" 

Late at night in a Berlin beer hall, a group of figures cloaked in heavy coats and hats sat huddled together. In a language distinctly different from German, a low voice broke the silence: 

"This isn't what I imagined at all." 

As the voice spoke, one of the figures slammed a newspaper onto the table. The headline on the front page reported the successful birth of Smith. Beneath the headline was an interview with the renowned British doctor Edward Martin, who boasted about his exceptional medical skills and how he had saved both Victoria and her child.

The figure who had thrown down the newspaper pointed to the headline and said: 

"A temporal anomaly has appeared! This human was supposed to be born with congenital disabilities, but instead, he was born perfectly healthy. Something is definitely amiss here!"

As he spoke, his gaze landed on Edward Martin's name in the article. With a cold tone, he said: 

"It seems we'll need to have a little chat with Dr. Edward Martin!"