Really Sick?!

Even in the midst of a world-altering upheaval, for most people, life unfolds in quiet monotony. For Smith, it was exactly so.

The brief yet electrifying encounter with Hu Linyi and the Khitan delegation at his birthday banquet had been nothing more than a fleeting spark in the tedious expanse of his second childhood. That flash of brilliance illuminated the dreariness of his existence but, like all sparks, it vanished in an instant.

Life carried on as before: a daily grind of eating, sleeping, and being coddled like a child, interspersed with early childhood lessons that failed to capture his interest, "conservative treatments" for his nonexistent "intermittent attention deficit disorder," and periodic physical examinations.

Still, there were changes. Just as the Hohenzollern family had hoped, Victoria was pregnant again. The pregnancy became apparent shortly after Smith's first birthday celebration. Remarkably robust, Victoria showed no signs of morning sickness, fatigue, or nausea during this second pregnancy. Her menstrual cycle had been irregular since giving birth to Smith, so no one noticed until her stomach inexplicably grew despite strict dieting. Only then did the truth come to light.

The news of Victoria's pregnancy delighted Prince Regent Wilhelm, who was convinced the second child would also be a boy. But Smith, who had studied Hohenzollern family history, knew better. Barring any butterfly-effect twists, this child would likely be a girl—his sister Charlotte, as she was named in history. Still, given the altered circumstances, he couldn't entirely rule out surprises. For all he knew, his resilient mother might produce something completely unexpected.

As for Smith himself, his growth continued apace. Thanks to the Hohenzollerns' military genes and the best nutrition and care available, his physical development was remarkable. By his first birthday, Smith could already walk proficiently; by 17 months, he was jogging. At 15 months, he had reached a height of 85 centimeters and weighed over 15 kilograms—a towering and hefty figure for any era.

Concerns about his left arm, initially feared to be impaired, turned out to be unfounded. His arm developed normally, and his overall motor skills and coordination were exceptional for his age. Worries about potential hypoxia-induced neurological issues during his difficult birth proved equally unnecessary. Even the doctors' speculative "intermittent attention deficit disorder" seemed to be improving under their relentless "conservative treatments." Smith displayed increasing focus during readings and even occasionally pretended to read himself—a behavior that delighted his parents, Friedrich and Victoria. Though the doctors dismissed it as mimicry, the couple firmly believed their son was a prodigy.

From Smith's perspective, things looked different. His physical limitations meant he couldn't explore the world independently, forcing him to rely on news read aloud during his "treatments" to understand what was happening. As a time traveler, this information was essential, even if his royal destiny weren't at stake.

Everything seemed to proceed smoothly, or so everyone—from his parents to the Hohenzollerns—prayed. Smith himself shared that hope. But after his historically accurate sister was born, something still felt off.

Smith couldn't talk.

By his reckoning, most children begin speaking simple words around age one and form rudimentary phrases by 18 months. Individual differences exist—some children don't speak until two years old—but Smith hadn't managed even basic words by this point, which was concerning.

Speech development involves both cognitive and physical growth: the brain matures to enable conscious thought, while muscle control improves to articulate words. For Smith, his mind was fully developed from the outset, thanks to his time-traveling soul. Controlling his vocal cords to produce simple sounds should have been within his grasp.

Yet, from birth, all his efforts resulted only in unintelligible babbling. Initially, he attributed this to the immaturity of his new body. But by his first birthday, progress remained stagnant. By 14 months, he began to worry: in his previous life, he had reportedly spoken simple words like "eat" and "water" by this age. It made no sense that he couldn't now even manage "mama" or "papa."

By the time Charlotte was born, Smith was 18 months old and still incapable of coherent speech. He could only produce vague, indistinct sounds, even though the proper words resounded clearly in his mind. This discrepancy tormented him.

A chilling thought haunted him, slithering into his mind like a venomous snake:

What if I'm really sick?!

Whenever this idea surfaced, Smith shivered involuntarily.

Speech disorders weren't uncommon in any era, but even in the advanced modern age Smith had left behind, they remained only partially understood and treated. In the quasi-magical medical world of the 1860s, a diagnosis of such a condition would mean slim hopes of improvement. For Smith, this could spell a lifetime of listening but never speaking—a nightmare for someone who relished conversation.

This problem was only the tip of the iceberg. Being born a Hohenzollern meant dealing with a family notoriously harsh toward imperfection. Smith shuddered to think how they would react to a speech-impaired child, given their history of cruel remarks, like declaring that "a one-handed man cannot be Kaiser" in reference to Wilhelm II.

Even if Smith's mature mind allowed him to endure such psychological abuse, the accompanying "treatment methods" were bound to be sheer torture. The thought alone was enough to drive him to despair.

In short, if Smith's language barrier became an undeniable fact, everything he had painstakingly and cautiously built since his time-traveling would collapse entirely. This was an outcome Smith couldn't accept, whether rationally or emotionally.

Suddenly, a familiar yet subtle sense of powerlessness from the early days of his transmigration overwhelmed him, leaving Smith both irritated and helpless. Given his current condition, self-treatment was a fantasy, and concealing the issue was equally impossible.

But paper cannot wrap fire. What must come will eventually come. Over time, even Frederick and Victoria, novice parents though they were, realized their child seemed to face difficulties in speaking. On several occasions, they noticed their son straining with great effort to form words, only to produce unintelligible sounds. At first, they clung to a glimmer of hope, but seeds of doubt had already been sown.

Finally, in the deep autumn of 1860, when their newly appointed royal pediatrician, Dr. Clark Hamilton, came for a routine check-up on their newborn daughter Charlotte, Frederick and Victoria, after much deliberation, decided to have him examine Smith as well.

As expected, given Smith's extensive medical history, the doctor dared not take things lightly. The anticipated "trial of three" ensued, resulting in a cautious preliminary diagnosis after much chaos:

"His Royal Highness indeed seems to have some sort of language impairment..."

Smith was present when this verdict was delivered. He noted Frederick's heavy sigh and Victoria's heartbroken expression upon hearing the diagnosis. Though Smith had never rationally regarded them as his true parents, at that moment, he felt a genuine sense of being part of their family.

This added a new layer to Smith's sorrow—he was sad for Frederick and Victoria.

As for the original source of his grief, it stemmed from himself. This time, Smith believed the doctors weren't wrong.

At least until they started discussing treatment options.

"Perhaps we could try bloodletting therapy!"

A careless remark from one of the "miracle doctors" struck Smith like thunder, sending chills down his spine.

"Are they seriously considering this?!"

The very mention of it gave Smith another shiver. Others might not grasp the infamous reputation of bloodletting therapy, but Smith knew all too well.

Bloodletting had been a staple of Western medicine for centuries. Unlike the traditional Chinese practice of bloodletting to clear clots, Western methods were far more reckless. For centuries, bold Western physicians had dared to drain large amounts of blood from major veins in the arms and legs, even inventing specialized tools like the lancet for better incisions.

Yes, that world-renowned British medical journal The Lancet was named after this tool.

But bloodletting wasn't just reckless; it was seen as a panacea by many doctors of the time:

Smallpox? Bloodletting!

Colds and fevers? Bloodletting!

Dizziness or gout? Bloodletting!

Epileptic seizures? Bloodletting!

Mental illnesses? Still bloodletting!

In short, bleed away!

And if it didn't work? Clearly, you hadn't bled enough! Or perhaps you started too late!

While it's hard to say how many people were genuinely cured through this method, history provides ample evidence of its victims. George Washington, for instance, had half his blood drained by "miracle doctors" before his death, leaving no room for divine intervention.

Washington was but one of many on this grim list. Charles II of England, Mozart, Byron, and countless unnamed others had all fallen to bloodletting's deadly embrace.

One thing Smith was sure of: he had no intention of becoming the next victim of this pseudoscience! He desperately wanted to shout:

"Bloodletting therapy is quackery!"

Alas, his very ailment robbed him of speech.

Meanwhile, the doctor, an apparent bloodletting enthusiast, continued his impassioned argument:

"His Royal Highness may have experienced vascular compression during his difficult birth, leading to blood clots over time. These clots could be pressing on nerves, impairing his language abilities. Bloodletting could improve circulation, dissolve the clots, and naturally restore his speech. In His Highness's case, there's no need for venous incisions; we could simply use more leeches..."

Smith felt as though he might explode.

"Bloodletting therapy is nonsense!"

Before Smith could burst, a loud voice rang out, echoing his thoughts. Smith barely had time to glance gratefully at the speaker when the voice continued:

"Instead, let's try the latest technology of our British Empire!"

Smith's eyebrows twitched as a wave of dread surged through him.