Smile, Wilhelm!

"You're the one who's crazy!"

Smith was busy vomiting as though the world were ending, yet that didn't stop him from catching Edward Martin's words. Unless someone is deeply scheming or extraordinarily pure at heart, it's hard not to care when overhearing people talking about you. Smith was no exception. Hearing Martin's remark, he instinctively wanted to retort and throw the words right back at him.

Unfortunately, despite being fluent in English, German, French, and Russian in his previous life, his newborn body wouldn't allow him to articulate such a comeback. More importantly, he was too busy throwing up. Even if he could speak, he was in no state to do so.

Left with no other choice, Smith resorted to mentally complaining about Martin while once again confronting the profound helplessness of being a baby.

Meanwhile, Edward Martin seemed to have uncovered some critical symptom. He turned to his colleagues, launching into an animated discussion:

"Vomiting in newborns could indicate insufficient blood flow to the brain, which is common in babies born through difficult labor. This must not be taken lightly!"

His assertion caused quite the commotion among the group of doctors. Opinions quickly diverged. Some agreed wholeheartedly, emphasizing the gravity of the situation, while others dismissed it, pointing out that spitting up milk is a normal physiological phenomenon in newborns. After all, this was the prince's first instance of vomiting, hardly enough to draw definitive conclusions. A few doctors ventured further, hypothesizing that the prince might suffer from some digestive ailment, possibly an obstruction or disorder.

In short, the room buzzed with speculation. Every piece of knowledge these doctors had about infant vomiting was being thrown at Smith's symptoms. And the discussions increasingly leaned toward the conclusion that he was ill.

For a fleeting moment, Smith thought of the phrase, "Doctors often treat non-illness as an achievement." It wasn't that Smith feared treatment; rather, he knew how unreliable medicine was in this era. Many practices that future generations would find absurd—or outright laughable—were still considered gospel truths in this time.

It was January 1859, and though Europe was already in the quiet throes of the Industrial Revolution, medical science lagged woefully behind other fields of knowledge. Railroads stretched across the land, steamships conquered the seas, and telegraphs connected distant cities at lightning speed. Yet, when it came to understanding life and the human body, humanity was still in its infancy.

In London, Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species had yet to make waves; in Austria, Gregor Mendel's groundbreaking pea experiments were only three years in, with five more years needed to yield results. As for Thomas Hunt Morgan, the father of modern experimental biology, he wouldn't even be born for another seven years.

Medicine, still shrouded in the shadows of superstition and pseudoscience, was riddled with absurdities. In the 1840s, just a decade prior, surgeons performed operations with little to no anesthesia. To keep patients from writhing in pain, they needed strong assistants to physically restrain them. But pain often unleashed a strength born of fear and desperation. Even the mightiest assistants sometimes couldn't hold patients down.

This limitation forced surgeries to be swift affairs, rarely exceeding ten minutes. A twenty-minute operation was considered an eternity, and surgeons prided themselves on their speed. Those lacking such skills often faced… natural consequences at the hands of their patients or their families.

Though anesthesia had been introduced by 1859, it was still a fledgling practice, derided by some as a "lazy cheat" for unskilled doctors. Even by the 1860s, its adoption remained disappointingly low.

As if surviving surgery weren't enough, postoperative infection loomed as an ever-present threat. Lacking concepts of sterilization and hygiene, many doctors conducted procedures in unsanitary conditions, leading to staggering infection rates.

And yet, surgery was still the most "advanced" branch of medicine at the time. Other fields, including pediatrics, lagged far behind.

Smith was no medical professional, but as the son of a doctor, he'd been exposed to more than enough to confidently claim that he understood medicine better than the entire group of doctors present. Considering the year was 1859, he dared to make a bold proclamation:

"No one here knows more about medicine than me!"

Naturally, he wasn't eager to let these so-called experts—whom he privately dubbed "quacks"—poke and prod him. But as a newborn, his opinion didn't count for much.

The realization made his stomach churn, and the overwhelming frustration finally erupted—literally.

"Waaaaah!"

Smith threw up with such intensity that the milk splashed several meters away, drenching the observing doctors. The air was soon thick with the sour scent of milk.

Even the doctors who had initially argued for further observation were now convinced otherwise. United by the shared experience of being splattered, they rallied under Edward Martin's banner:

"This child is definitely ill!"

"We must inform the Regent and the Prince immediately!" Martin declared, assigning a few doctors to keep watch while he marched off with his aides.

Left alone, Smith could only brace himself for the worst. His unease grew as he recalled the terror of childhood visits to the pediatrician.

Meanwhile, Martin wasted no time. Striding into the Regent William and Prince Frederick's presence, he cut straight to the point:

"The prince has vomited violently twice. We suspect a condition, possibly brain hypoxia or a digestive system abnormality."

Both men paled at the news. The Regent exchanged a meaningful glance with Frederick before turning back to Martin.

"Is this diagnosis reliable?"

Martin, brimming with confidence, replied, "While we haven't yet conducted a systematic examination, I assure you of our professional expertise."

After a silent exchange with his father, Frederick spoke decisively:

"I want my son to grow up healthy. Conduct a thorough diagnosis immediately and do everything possible to treat him."

"Of course. We'll use the most advanced medical technologies of the British Empire," Martin assured.

The Regent leaned in, his voice lowering:

"Keep this quiet. No word of this must leak from the medical team."

Martin quickly nodded, understanding the need for discretion. Only hours earlier, the Regent had announced the newborn prince's robust health. News of a sudden illness would be deeply embarrassing for the royal family—and the medical team.

With that, Martin left to organize a comprehensive consultation for Smith.

Poor Smith had no idea that his second "tragic childhood" was about to begin. His years of misery were sealed in these fleeting exchanges between three men.

At present, Smith could only watch helplessly as Martin returned with a stethoscope in hand, moving toward him with determination.

"Don't come any closer!" Smith screamed internally, flailing his tiny limbs in protest. But to everyone else, it looked like the fussing of a cranky baby resisting an exam.

The cold stethoscope met his fragile body.

"Hmm… the heart seems fine," Martin muttered, his tone professional. "But there's abnormal noise in the abdomen. Likely a gastrointestinal hernia caused by the difficult labor."

Smith mentally rolled his eyes. He was confident he didn't have such a condition. If he did, he'd already be in severe pain.

Still, his protests were futile. The doctors, influenced by Martin's theory and the dramatic vomiting episode, unanimously agreed.

"To treat a gastrointestinal hernia, surgery is the ideal solution," a bearded doctor declared solemnly.

All eyes turned to Smith, whose unease grew by the second. Surgery in this era was akin to walking into the jaws of death, with survival hinging entirely on luck. Smith had fought tooth and nail to be born; he wasn't about to perish so senselessly.

"But considering that His Royal Highness was just born, performing surgery on such a small child is unprecedented. We must consider a more conservative treatment!" the bearded doctor added.

Hearing this, Smith let out a small sigh of relief. From the sound of it, the life-threatening surgery might be off the table for now. After all, while he was just an unremarkable infant, he still carried the halo of the Hohenzollern name. If something went wrong during surgery, these doctors probably wouldn't be able to shoulder the blame.

— It seems that being born into a royal family isn't always such a terrible thing…

The bearded doctor's words resonated with the group, eliciting a chorus of approval: 

"I agree with conservative treatment!" 

"After all, His Highness is far too young!" 

"He's just a baby!" 

... 

"Yes, I agree as well!" Edward Martin nodded, adding: 

"However, traditional conservative treatments have limited efficacy. Recently, our British Empire has developed a new method for treating gastrointestinal hernias. By introducing pressurized oxygen into the patient's digestive system, we can help the organs reposition themselves! This technique is less risky than surgery and more effective than conventional approaches. What do my colleagues think?" 

A wave of applause and approval erupted in the room, but amidst this enthusiasm, Smith's little tummy tightened once again…