Chương 2: You're Awake! Did You Know You're Smiling Willi Now?
"You're awake! Did you know you're Smiling Willi now?"
This abrupt statement reverberated in Smith's mind, leaving him utterly stunned.
First of all, he was indeed awake—but he couldn't recall when he had fallen asleep or how long he had been out. His last memory? Laughing hysterically after "giving birth to himself"—a bizarre and utterly baffling situation on its own.
Secondly, perhaps thanks to some restored energy after his slumber, Smith found himself recollecting fragments of memories from before his "birth." He vaguely recalled snippets of conversations in German, yet this voice just now had spoken in unmistakable Chinese. This linguistic shift added another layer of confusion to an already mind-boggling predicament.
"Who are you?" Smith wondered internally. He opened his eyes, ready to scan his surroundings for whoever had just spoken to him. Yet, all he could see were blurry lights and indistinct shadows.
Frustration surged within him. Desperate for answers, Smith listened as the voice resumed:
"Don't bother looking for me! You won't find me—I'm in your head!"
The words sent a chill down Smith's spine. In my head? he thought, deeply unsettled. He demanded, "Who the hell are you?!"
"I'm Smiling Willi!" the voice declared gleefully. "Also known as Wilhelm II—the guy who lost World War I!"
Smith was momentarily speechless. While not a history buff, he had enough basic knowledge to recognize the reference. Thanks to a widely circulated video clip showing Wilhelm II's comically earnest smile, online humorists had nicknamed him Smiling Willi. The GIF version of that clip had become a wildly popular meme.
But Wilhelm II? Wasn't he German? And, more importantly, hadn't he been dead for nearly a century? How could he possibly be speaking to Smith?
Questions upon questions piled up in Smith's already overloaded mind, leaving him increasingly irritable. His thoughts grew more combative. "What a load of crap! If you're Wilhelm II, I'm Wilhelm I! Next time you try to con someone, at least pick a name that makes sense. Don't dig up a dead foreigner to pull your tricks!"
"Look, I know this is hard for you to accept," the voice replied, surprisingly patient. "This whole situation is beyond comprehension, and I don't have much time to explain…"
"Then why should I believe you?" Smith interjected suspiciously.
"It doesn't matter whether you believe me now. Just remember every word I say—you'll understand later!" The voice continued with urgency. "Long story short: you've traveled through time and space—soul transmigration. And the soul you've transmigrated into…is mine."
"Wha—?!" Smith's exclamation was a mix of disbelief and incoherence. "This…this makes no sense…"
Ignoring his shock, the voice pressed on. "You've transmigrated into me before my birth. Now that you've been born and gained consciousness, I've come to find you. Since my death, my soul has been gathering information—"
"Wait, hold on!" Smith's chaotic thoughts couldn't keep up. "People die, and they're just dead. Where does this soul nonsense come from? That's not scientific!"
"It is scientific! You'll understand once you learn string theory!" the voice retorted, its tone growing impatient. "But this isn't the time for debate! I need to transfer this information to you—now!"
Although still drowning in confusion, Zhao Hao recognized an opportunity. More information might help untangle this mess. He hesitated briefly before agreeing. "Fine. How do I receive it?"
"Close your eyes. And whatever you do, don't open them until the process is complete, or it'll all be for nothing!" the voice instructed firmly.
Smith obediently shut his eyes. "Can I talk to you while this is happening?" he asked.
"As long as your eyes stay closed, feel free to ask whatever you like." The voice seemed to soften slightly, perhaps understanding Smith's desperation for clarity. "I'm starting the transfer. Fire away with your questions!"
The moment the voice fell silent, Smith's mind was flooded with what felt like an endless stream of flashing images—books, documents, blueprints, and more. The information was so overwhelming, Smith felt nauseated. Fighting off the discomfort, he muttered, "Why does this feel so sickening?"
"Your brain's receiving too much data at once. Just endure it—it'll pass once the transfer is complete," the voice reassured him. Then, as if out of concern, it added, "Are you holding up okay?"
"Barely," Smith admitted through gritted teeth. "But hurry up—I don't know how much longer I can take this." After a pause, he asked hesitantly, "Are you…really Wilhelm II?"
"Why would I lie?" the voice replied lightly.
"…What?"
"Of course!" Smith steadied himself, the earlier question merely a warm-up to gauge his strange companion. Encouraged by how talkative Wilhelm—or whoever this was—seemed, he asked, "Tell me about your family. If I'm supposed to be you, I need to know who I'll be dealing with daily."
"Heh, you're an interesting one," the voice chuckled. "Alright, let me give you the rundown…"
What Smith didn't realize was that he hadn't been asleep for long—barely an hour, in fact. In that brief time, doctors and nurses had completed a quick health check, cleaned him up, and placed him in a bassinet.
What Smith also didn't realize was that while he was processing this surreal encounter, chaos had erupted in Berlin's Crown Prince's Palace.
The voice in Smith's mind wasn't lying. Due to reasons far beyond anyone's understanding, he had indeed soul-transmigrated into Wilhelm II, and his birthplace was none other than the palace on Berlin's Unter den Linden boulevard.
The date was January 27, 1859. At this moment in history, Germany was still fragmented, with Berlin serving as the capital of Prussia. The reigning Prussian king, Friedrich Wilhelm IV, had been incapacitated by a stroke and mental illness, leaving governance in the hands of his brother, Prince Regent Wilhelm—future Kaiser Wilhelm I. Friedrich, the regent's son, was destined to become Friedrich III, while Smith—now Wilhelm II—was their grandson and son, respectively.
The confusion in the palace began an hour earlier when Smith was born. His peculiar laughter echoed through the delivery room, leaving everyone in stunned silence. The doctors exchanged bewildered glances; Friedrich and the regent looked at each other, their expressions unreadable; and the baby's mother—Victoria, the 19-year-old Princess Royal of the United Kingdom—had fainted from the pain of a difficult delivery.
The British physician Edward Martin, a trusted doctor of Queen Victoria, finally broke the silence. "Gentlemen, this is nothing short of a medical miracle!"
It didn't take Edward Martin to point it out—both of the individuals before him were already keenly aware of the situation. A breech birth this obvious, where not only the child was successfully delivered but the mother seemed relatively unharmed—what else could this be if not a miracle?
The key, however, lay in Martin's seemingly superfluous statement, which clearly served as an icebreaker, much like the British habit of starting conversations by commenting on the weather. Whatever Edward Martin intended to say next would surely be the real crux of the matter. Thus, the two men curbed their impatience and waited for him to continue.
"However," Edward Martin began, as expected, employing that pivotal word of contrast:
"After His Royal Highness the Crown Prince was born, he did not cry like a typical newborn. Instead… he smiled. Forgive my bluntness, but this is somewhat abnormal. I believe further observation and diagnosis are necessary!"
Frederick glanced at Prince Regent Wilhelm without saying a word. Wilhelm, on the other hand, responded in a voice devoid of much emotion:
"I've heard of babies being born smiling. But you are the doctors—do what needs to be done."
Edward Martin, taking this as the Prince Regent's approval, prepared to leave, only to hear Wilhelm's voice once again:
"I expect you to demonstrate the professionalism of British physicians by ensuring my grandson's health."
Though his tone remained even, Edward Martin couldn't miss the biting sarcasm in his words. And rightfully so—the British doctors summoned for the Princess's difficult labor had been of little help. For most of the ordeal, they, like their Prussian counterparts, had been at a loss. In the end, it was Zhao Hao's own efforts that secured success, leaving the British doctors with little to show for their presence.
What Wilhelm didn't know was that in another timeline, this very Edward Martin had played a decisive role during Princess Victoria's difficult labor. At a critical moment, with the newborn severely hypoxic and on the brink of death, Martin wielded a pair of forceps with reckless determination, pushing past others to pull the baby out by the arm.
How one interprets that act depends on perspective. On the positive side, Edward Martin might be credited with saving the child's life. On the negative, his rough handling left Kaiser Wilhelm II with a lifelong disability in his left arm, severely impacting not only his physical health but also shaping his personality—and arguably altering the course of world history.
But in this timeline, thanks to Smith's "self-reliant struggle," Edward Martin never got the chance to use those history-altering forceps. After hearing Wilhelm's pointed remarks, the British doctor said no more. Offering a polite nod to both Wilhelm and Frederick, he departed to attend to other matters.
Once the British doctor was gone, Prince Regent Wilhelm led his son outside to a secluded spot and spoke in a low voice:
"To be honest, I don't know what to do. Representatives of royal families and foreign envoys from across Europe are all waiting for news of the child. How are we supposed to announce it to them?"
In the 19th century, European court protocol dictated that whenever a royal newborn was born, foreign envoys would gather to offer congratulations. The host nation was also obligated to promptly announce the child's gender and health status. This was a matter of royal dignity and could not be handled carelessly.
The newborn was clearly a boy, but his health presented a dilemma for Wilhelm. Frederick, gritting his teeth, finally turned to his father with resolve:
"We will tell them he is a boy, healthy, and that both mother and child are safe."
"But is the child truly healthy? I've heard of babies born smiling, but a child who climbed out of his mother's body by himself…" Wilhelm trailed off, unable to find any flattering words to describe such an extraordinary occurrence. At the same time, an inexplicable sense of dread began to take root in his heart.
Frederick, however, had a different perspective. With firm conviction, he declared:
"Because he carries the blood of the indomitable Hohenzollern family, he is destined to be anything but ordinary! Trust my judgment, Father. I am a father now too—"
"—And a father always knows his son best," Wilhelm finished the Prussian proverb his son had left incomplete. Finally, he nodded and continued,
"Very well, then. But the child's name—"
"In the name of our ancestors, grandfather, and father," Frederick said,
"I shall name him Friedrich Wilhelm Victor Albert von Hohenzollern!"
Hearing this, Wilhelm smiled, nodded, and turned to address the foreign envoys who had been eagerly awaiting news.
Meanwhile, Smith—now formally named—was struggling to suppress an intensifying wave of nausea. He kept his eyes tightly shut, simultaneously processing the data being transmitted by someone who claimed to be "Kaiser Wilhelm II" and engaging in a back-and-forth Q&A game with him.
The so-called "Kaiser Wilhelm II" was eloquent, his speech both emotional and logical. From their earlier exchanges, Smith had already gleaned a wealth of useful information about the Hohenzollern family, along with an initial understanding of the intricate web of family ties and bloodlines within the European royal courts.
After finishing his explanation, Smith asked another question:
"One last thing—after all those years as Emperor and reviewing so much research by later generations, what's your take on the current and future state of Europe?"
Before he could finish, a crisp *ding* rang out in his mind. Immediately, the voice of "Kaiser Wilhelm II" grew hurried:
"I've sent you all the information I've reviewed, along with my thoughts. They're coming—I need to leave now! You'd better be careful of them too!"
"Wait!" Smith called out, desperate to hold him back, his mind brimming with unresolved doubts and questions.
"Who? Who are *they*?"
"The Time Bureau!"
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