First Encounter with Hu Runzhi

"Hu Linyi?"

Upon hearing the name, Smith visibly froze.

The name Hu Linyi felt both unfamiliar and oddly familiar.

"I'm sure I've seen this name somewhere before!"

Smith's brain began to work at lightning speed. Since childhood, Smith had earned the nickname "Scholar" from his peers—a mix of jest and admiration. This wasn't just because his mind was sharp as a spinning flywheel but also because of his excellent memory. While not quite photographic, he retained a solid impression of anything he'd come across, recalling it later with surprising accuracy.

But even a "Scholar's" brain isn't a computer capable of instantly retrieving information. And even if it were, keyword searches take time, right?

"Where was it... where?"

Smith pondered, combing through his memories while mentally flipping through the documents left behind by "Smiling Willi." Finally, just as his head was spinning to the point of nausea, he recalled where he had encountered the name.

It was sometime after starting middle school. Everyone has their moments of idle curiosity, and during one such period, a history-enthusiast friend in their group chat had been enthusiastically discussing "Zeng Hu Zuo Li" (four prominent figures in late Qing history).

Smith wasn't exactly a die-hard history fan—barely even a casual one. But during moments of idle curiosity, you just go with the flow, and he had glanced at the discussion.

That glance was enough to leave a faint impression: Hu Linyi was a Hunan native and the son-in-law of Tao Zhu, a leading figure among Hunan intellectuals in modern Chinese history. He seemed quite capable but tragically died young, not living past the early years of the Tongzhi era.

That was the extent of Smith's knowledge of Hu Linyi before his time-traveling adventure. Beyond that, he had no further impressions of the man, whose name didn't even appear in school history textbooks. After all, what isn't in the textbooks isn't on the exams. Smith wasn't a history buff, so why waste time on a figure irrelevant to his studies?

"Thinking back now, I deeply regret it..." Smith sighed internally. If he had known he'd be traveling to this era, he would have studied Hu Linyi more thoroughly.

"Too bad there's no medicine for regret!" Smith chastised himself. Yet, as if regret had unlocked a hidden corner of his memory, more details surfaced.

That same friend had mentioned in the chat that Hu Linyi's courtesy name was Runzhi. Later, a great leader, out of admiration for Hu Linyi, adopted the same courtesy name. Naturally, others in the group had asked what made Hu Runzhi so remarkable as to earn such admiration. The friend had explained at some length.

But what exactly had been said? Smith couldn't recall. Life goes on, and by the time he'd wanted to revisit the conversation, it had been buried under a flood of 99+ new messages.

Having recalled this fragment, Smith felt an even greater sense of regret...

In his past life, their connection had ended there. But now, standing before him was the living, breathing Hu Runzhi. Smith consoled himself:

"As the saying goes, 'seeing is believing.' It's not too late to start learning about Hu Runzhi now!"

While Smith had been lost in thought, the Khitan delegation's congratulatory remarks came to an end. His gaze, however, remained fixed on the delegation—or more precisely, on Hu Linyi. Half out of reason, half out of intuition, Smith felt that Hu Linyi would cross paths with him again at this banquet.

The logical reasons were obvious: as an envoy tasked with establishing diplomatic relations between Khitan and Prussia, Hu Linyi undoubtedly bore the responsibility of forging ties with the host royal family. The prince's birthday banquet presented the perfect opportunity to do so. Unless Hu Linyi was a fool, he'd seize the chance to curry favor with the Hohenzollerns. That much was a given.

But the intuitive reason was more intriguing: Smith noticed that, while he was observing Hu Linyi, Hu Linyi seemed to be quietly observing him as well!

It wasn't the blatant staring Smith was indulging in—that would have been far too rude. Smith could get away with it, being just a child. But as a diplomat, Hu Linyi couldn't afford such impropriety, lest it cause a diplomatic incident!

No, Hu Linyi's glances were fleeting and subtle, as if probing. Brief though they were, their meaning lingered. Smith wasn't one to overestimate his own importance, but in those glances, he distinctly felt a mix of "curiosity" and "astonishment."

What Smith didn't know was that while he was boldly scrutinizing Hu Linyi, Hu Linyi was not only observing him but also quietly discussing him with his companions.

"My father-in-law's skill in reading people—I dare say I've learned a thing or two," Hu Linyi murmured to a younger man beside him in his distinct Hunanese accent. After stealing another glance at Smith, he added, "They say you can tell a man's future from his childhood. I say the phrase 'three years old shows the man' isn't accurate! For ordinary folks, perhaps three years is enough. But for extraordinary individuals? A single year is plenty! This young prince before us, I believe, is one of those rare exceptions."

The younger man nodded slightly at the mention of Hu Linyi's father-in-law, Tao Zhu, indicating respect for the elder's renowned ability to assess people. But at the latter statement, he frowned in curiosity.

"What makes you say that, Sir Hu?" he asked.

"Ha, Dan'ya," Hu Linyi replied with a faint smile. "Have you noticed the child's eyes?"

"His eyes?" The man addressed as Dan'ya looked puzzled. "I confess I haven't paid much attention."

Hu Linyi didn't blame him. Instead, he explained patiently:

"Ordinary children at his age are naturally ignorant—innocence unspoiled. The world is full of mysteries to them, so their eyes often appear unfocused. Even if curiosity gathers their gaze briefly, it disperses quickly. But this boy? His eyes are sharp and steady, with purpose in their movement. He carries a calmness, as though he has clarity within—utterly unlike a typical child."

Looking at Dan'ya, Hu Linyi added with earnestness:

"Dan'ya, you've surely seen hundreds of children, if not thousands. Have you ever encountered such eyes before?"

The young man paused to think, then replied earnestly, "I haven't."

"Exactly," Hu Linyi nodded, a knowing smile on his lips. "Neither have I. And I've heard this boy was different from the moment he was born. While most babies cry, he laughed—laughed! That's no small matter. To laugh at birth is to see through life's trials and absurdities from the start. 'A great heart can endure what others cannot; a broad smile sees through life's folly.' With such insight and potential, this child is destined for greatness!"

"Your insight is most enlightening," Dan'ya said, nodding again in agreement. It seemed he was fully convinced of Hu Linyi's analysis.

If Smith had overheard the conversation between Hu Linyi and the young man earlier, he might have found it both amusing and awkward. Yet, things were indeed unfolding as Smith had anticipated.

Meanwhile, the banquet had reached the point where food and drink were secondary, and socializing became the main theme. Before long, Hu Linyi, accompanied by a few key figures from the Khitan delegation, strolled over to where Smith was seated.

As expected, Hu Linyi's first interaction was naturally with Frederick and his wife. Although Hu did not speak German, the Khitan delegation had clearly made thorough preparations for this visit. A Khitan interpreter diligently translated Hu's Hunan-accented Mandarin into fluent German. Even Smith, whose German was polished enough to pass as a Berliner, was impressed by the interpreter's eloquence, which conveyed both accuracy and elegance—clearly the work of a skilled professional.

This only deepened Smith's admiration for this alternate-universe Khitan, as well as his curiosity.

—What kind of country was this Khitan?

His greatest curiosity, however, was reserved for Hu Linyi himself. Moments ago, Smith had taken another look at the materials left for him by "Smiling Willi." Initially, Smith hadn't placed much hope in them. After all, by historical accounts, Hu Linyi had passed away in 1861, when Wilhelm II was barely three years old. Hu's influence on Wilhelm's life was negligible. Thus, if the real "Smiling Willi" hadn't included information about Hu, Smith wouldn't have been surprised.

To Smith's astonishment, however, within the vast sea of documents left behind, there was indeed an article about Hu Linyi. A quick read through gave Smith a preliminary understanding of the extraordinary figure Hu had been:

In the historical timeline Smith was familiar with, a certain phrase summarized the leading military figures of 19th-century mid-to-late Qing China: "Zeng, Hu, Zuo, and Li." This referred to Zeng Guofan, Hu Linyi, Zuo Zongtang, and Li Hongzhang. They were alternatively described as "the Four Generals of the Restoration" or "the Four Statesmen of the Restoration."

—The term "Restoration" might be debatable, as it referred to a relatively less disastrous period within a long, dark era. However, their status as either generals or statesmen was unquestionable.

Unlike the other three, who rose from humble beginnings, Hu Linyi was the son of an established official family. His father, Hu Dayuan, had been a tanhua (third-place finisher in the imperial examination) during the 24th year of the Jiaqing Emperor's reign, serving as a fourth-rank official in Beijing. His high-ranking status ensured Hu Linyi a privileged upbringing. Perhaps due to his father's successful career—or perhaps because Hu genuinely showed promise—he caught the attention of the prominent statesman Tao Zhu.

Tao, convinced of Hu Linyi's potential, arranged a betrothal between Hu and his daughter, Tao Xiuzhi. From then on, both Hu Dayuan and Tao Zhu invested heavily in Hu's education and development. They not only took him on official trips but also guided him academically. With such mentorship, Hu lived up to expectations. By age 24, he had passed the imperial examination, earning the rank of jinshi and a position as a compiler in the Hanlin Academy, thus beginning his official career.

However, the post of Hanlin Academy Compiler was largely ceremonial and offered little real authority. From then on, Hu's path in the bureaucracy would depend on his own efforts. Even as the son of a high-ranking official and the son-in-law of a regional governor, securing a substantive post was no easy feat.

To transition from a nominal position to a real one, Hu employed a less-than-dignified method: purchasing an official post.

It should be noted, though, that the funds for this were not from Hu himself but from his friends and students, who believed in his abilities and thought it necessary to place such talent in the service of the state. Yet, this arrangement deeply troubled Hu, who regarded official posts as a national treasure that should not be bought or sold lightly.

One wonders if Hu, in his thick Hunanese accent, cursed the state of affairs at the time: "TMD, has the country come to this?"

Regardless, the deed was done. Unable to refuse his friends' goodwill, Hu accepted the position. However, he chose an unusual path. While most purchased officials sought postings in wealthy regions like Jiangsu and Zhejiang to recoup their expenses, Hu deliberately chose Guizhou—a poverty-stricken and remote area, even into the 21st century.

Hu wasn't foolish. He had his own ideals. His goal in becoming an official wasn't wealth but the chance to accomplish something meaningful.

Guizhou, plagued by banditry and rugged terrain, had long been a troubled region. Upon his arrival, Hu organized the local population into self-defense units and led expeditions to root out bandits. In doing so, he forged a disciplined militia that restored peace and stability to the area.

Later, during the Taiping Rebellion, Hu led his forces into battle across Hunan and Hubei. His campaigns saw both victories and setbacks. When Wuchang fell and the provincial governor Tao Enpei was killed, Hu was appointed as the new governor of Hubei.

Learning from the failures of his predecessors, Hu understood that Hubei, situated at the crossroads of nine provinces, was the strategic heart of the Qing Empire. The key to victory lay not in individual battles but in coordinating efforts across provinces. He focused on forging alliances among his peers and ensuring the supply lines and logistics were in order. Under his leadership, the reserved Zeng Guofan, the flamboyant Zuo Zongtang, and the ambitious Li Hongzhang managed to work together harmoniously, enabling the tide to turn against the rebels.

Coordination and collaboration were the lessons Hu Linyi took from his time at this pivotal crossroads of China.

Now, at another crossroads—this time in Europe, in Prussia—what new insights would Hu Linyi gain?