Smile, Wilhelm!

"Extra! Extra! A bloody incident at the royal palace! Edward Martin, the famed British physician, gravely injured and unconscious! Royal family members unharmed!"

On the chilly evening streets of Berlin, newspaper boys with single-strap satchels held up copies of the extra edition, shouting themselves hoarse. Their goal: to captivate the attention of hurried passersby with their energy and urgency, hoping to earn a little extra income.

Whether it was the boys' contagious fervor or the explosive nature of the headline, the news quickly caught on. Before long, Berlin's streets and alleys were dotted with clusters of people huddled over newspapers, reading the sensational story.

Thanks to Prussia's emphasis on education since the reign of Frederick William III, by 1859, the literacy rate in Prussia was among the highest in Europe. An educated populace was naturally more engaged with current affairs, creating a robust market for news media. This, in turn, had fueled the rapid growth of German journalism. Even in this relatively isolated era of communication, German media had an almost omnipresent reach.

Despite the Hohenzollern royal family's reluctance to publicize the event, the "unexpected incident" during the treatment of young Prince Wilhelm's intestinal hernia quickly made headlines. Journalists scrambled to piece together the story from any shred of information—be it intentional leaks or unguarded remarks from those involved—crafting narratives to satisfy the public's insatiable curiosity.

In some accounts, the event was framed as a simple accident, with the blame placed squarely on the "latest marvels of British technology." Critics claimed that had there not been such blind faith in unproven innovations, this tragedy would never have occurred.

Other reports targeted the British themselves, painting them as bumbling know-it-alls. These articles accused Edward Martin of overconfidence and incompetence, suggesting that during Queen Victoria's difficult childbirth, his contributions had been minimal at best, his self-proclaimed title of "British miracle doctor" being nothing more than empty boastfulness.

A third and more dramatic theory cast the incident as a terrorist attack. Was it Prussian rebels seizing an opportunity to cause chaos? Or an international anti-Prussian conspiracy? Either way, many believed the Hohenzollerns were the true targets, with Edward Martin simply an unlucky scapegoat who had taken the metaphorical bullet on their behalf.

Despite these varied takes, none offered solid evidence. Each account seemed plausible on the surface, but closer inspection revealed speculative leaps, recycled rumors, or outright fabrications. The more people read, the murkier the truth became, leaving Berliners in a fog of confusion.

So, what really happened?

Driven by curiosity, many turned their gaze toward the Crown Prince's Palace on Unter den Linden, convinced that the Hohenzollern family alone held the key to the mystery.

Yet, as readers speculated, the Hohenzollerns themselves were equally perplexed. After the initial shock and horror subsided, their predominant emotion was anger.

"Investigate! I want a full investigation!"

Crown Prince Wilhelm barked the order as he paced back and forth, his boots echoing sharply in the room. Surrounding him were men of significant rank—Berlin's police chief, the Prussian chief of police, the commander of the Royal Guard, and top officials from various civil departments.

Many of them had worked with Wilhelm long before he became regent. They knew him as a gentleman with a reputation for fortitude, rarely given to displays of anger. But today, Wilhelm's temper was fully unleashed.

The reasons were clear. The Hohenzollerns had only managed to produce a single male heir per generation for two generations. Now, the newest addition to the line was reportedly afflicted with a medical condition. And on the very day of a critical treatment, such a catastrophic event had occurred. Who wouldn't be furious?

Standing before the assembled officials, Wilhelm struggled to rein in his tone before issuing his next command:

"From this moment forward, Berlin is under a state of emergency! All major waterways and roads in and out of the city must be guarded by armed checkpoints. No one enters or exits without proper identification!"

This was a standard protocol, and the officials nodded along, unsurprised. But Wilhelm's next words caused unease.

"Effective immediately, I want preemptive arrests of all registered Social Democrats and radical liberals of influence. Known sympathizers and activists with liberal tendencies should be monitored closely, confined to their neighborhoods, and prevented from moving freely within the city!"

The air in the room grew tense.

Wilhelm's staunchly conservative stance was no secret. During the revolutionary upheaval of 1848, when Berlin's citizens, workers, and students rose in armed revolt, Wilhelm had been a leading figure in suppressing the rebellion. Under his direct orders, Prussian forces used cannon-fired grapeshot to quash the uprising, earning him the infamous moniker "Prince of Grapeshot."

The "Social Democrats" and "radical liberals" he referred to now were ideological descendants of those same revolutionaries. It didn't take much imagination to grasp Wilhelm's intentions—this was clearly an opportunity to strike at his political opponents.

The officials, though aware of the underlying motives, remained silent, exchanging tacit glances instead. No one dared voice their concerns, each waiting for Wilhelm's next instruction.

Sure enough, Wilhelm wasn't finished.

"If anyone resists arrest, attempts to flee, or exhibits suspicious behavior, I authorize you to eliminate these criminals on the spot!"

A heavy silence fell over the room.

By labeling his political adversaries as "criminals," Wilhelm had essentially issued a kill order. The severity of his command left no doubt about his intentions.

But would such drastic measures provoke backlash?

No one could say for sure. Back in 1848, the spark that ignited the Berlin uprising was a direct clash between violent machinery and the populace. Just 11 years later, could such drastic action once again trigger another Berlin uprising? No one dared to guarantee otherwise.

— Or to put it more bluntly, if such a consequence were to occur, none of the officials present would be able to bear the responsibility!

Thus, an awkward silence fell over the room. One official glanced at another, then looked away. On one side, the consequences of failure were unbearable; on the other, there was the regent's direct order. It was a true dilemma.

Amid the bureaucrats' indecision and fear of making the wrong move, a tall, handsome figure suddenly burst into the room, his voice ringing out with authority: 

"Father! What exactly are you doing?!"

The officials reflexively turned toward the source of the voice and saw none other than Frederick, the only son of Regent William. They exhaled a collective sigh of relief. 

Frederick was the most renowned liberal in all of Prussia. Anyone with even a basic understanding of Prussia's political climate knew this, and it was even more apparent to the aristocracy. On matters of national policy, Frederick, with his liberal leanings, had clashed multiple times with his conservative father, Regent William. The father-son relationship was often strained, with political differences escalating to the brink of open conflict. 

And now, it seemed, the gathered officials were about to witness the latest round of this father-son showdown.

Frederick stepped forward decisively and stood before Regent William. His tone was urgent: 

"You know full well that the facts of this matter have not yet been clarified. Moreover, as the investigation continues, there's increasing evidence pointing to this being nothing more than an unfortunate accident. How can you act so rashly?"

"This is about prevention, my son!" Regent William replied, his tone unexpectedly calm. He gazed firmly at his son, more than thirty years his junior. What a handsome and robust young man he was! Even if William were thirty years younger, he doubted he could rival him. But alas… 

"You are still too young, too naïve—sometimes even childish!" 

William deliberately switched to English for this pointed remark before continuing in German: 

"You know the investigation isn't complete. Ignoring a potential threat would be truly reckless!"

"But investigating doesn't mean fabricating excuses to exploit the situation!" Frederick countered without backing down. 

"Father, my son is not a tool for you to use!"

"Don't forget, he is also my grandson!" William's voice betrayed a rare note of emotion. 

"Think carefully—what kind of country do we want to leave him?"

"Of course—a just, upright, and respected one!" Frederick, understanding the implication of William's words, responded passionately: 

"And you must think carefully as well!"

The air in the room grew thick with tension. Apart from the father and son, no one dared to breathe too loudly, silently awaiting the outcome of their clash.

After a long pause, a deep sigh came from Regent William. 

"Ah… why… why can't you understand?" 

He waved his hand, weary, and addressed the others in the room: 

"Enough. Leave us."

As if pardoned from a death sentence, the officials hastily shuffled out. Within mere seconds, only William and Frederick remained, staring at each other in silence.

---

Unbeknownst to Smith, who was just a few dozen meters away, this stormy exchange had taken place. Compared to the clash between conservatives and liberals, he was far more concerned about how this incident might connect to the so-called "Temporal Management Bureau."

In fact, a hypothesis had already formed in his mind: 

Without a doubt, his left arm had not been damaged by the forceps as history recorded, and there was no visible sign of disability. By now, even the average Berliner likely knew about this. If the Temporal Management Bureau truly intended to investigate, they wouldn't find it difficult. Surely, they would realize that history's trajectory had already been altered. 

From their perspective and understanding, what conclusions might they draw? Could they have mistaken Dr. Edward Martin as a "time traveler" about to rewrite history? 

As soon as this thought took root, it deeply unsettled Zhao Hao. Given his limited mobility, he couldn't personally investigate to find evidence supporting his theory. Still, purely from a logical standpoint, it seemed the most plausible explanation. 

And it was one he least wanted to accept. If this theory proved true, it would mean the Temporal Management Bureau's influence had already reached his immediate surroundings. With his current physical condition and lack of information, not only was he incapable of predicting their next move, but he also stood no chance of countering it. The mere thought of such a predicament made Smith anxious and restless. 

Under this cloud of worry, Smith found little appetite and struggled to sleep. His adoptive mother, Victoria, tried to nurse him, but he barely drank. His usual 10-plus hours of sleep per day were nearly halved, and during the few hours he did manage to sleep, nightmares frequently jolted him awake. 

This torment was worse than before. For a fleeting moment, Smith tasted what it felt like to be a fugitive. But when he asked himself honestly, had he truly done anything wrong? Was crossing over into another time something he had chosen?

Yet the world is seldom fair, and Smith had long stopped expecting it to be. His only hope now was for this storm to pass as quickly as possible.