June 18, 1815, is destined to go down in history.
On this day, in a little-known Belgian town called Waterloo, a battle was taking place that would determine the fate of an empire.
From the beginning of the morning, the French army and the British and Dutch allied forces were engaged in a life-and-death struggle, within a few hours, there have been tens of thousands of blood on the battlefield.
Hundreds of cannons thundered incessantly, seeming to convey the roar of God, and smoke mixed with bloody fumes hung over the battlefield for dozens of miles around, making everything seem unreal.
The hero, who looked down upon the whole world, stood still on the heights beside The Manor of Rossum, looking down impassive upon his men, and repeatedly making desperate assaults upon the English lines.
He watched as tens of thousands of men from all over France, dressed in fine uniforms, shed their blood for him. In his twenty years in the army he had been so used to conquest and glory, danger and death, that it was no longer worth touching him.
But he still felt restless.
He was the emperor of the French Empire, and he was in the eyes of his soldiers an incomparable genius, a commander who led them to glory and glory.
And today, after many attacks but still unable to break the lines of Arthur Wellesley, the British general, he felt vaguely that he could not give victory to the French.
God seemed to be punishing him for his good fortune.
The emperor paced restlessly.
It was already sunset.
At that moment, on the horizon, a vague black shape appeared, though its approach soon proved to be that of an army on the move.
"Is it Grouchy? He murmured to himself.
He and the people around him waited.
I just need to be lucky this once, this once... The Emperor prayed in his heart.
But it was only a few more minutes before his arms and legs stiffened with disappointment.
The army flew the Prussian eagle.
The legion, numbering in the tens of thousands, would be a decisive weight in the twilight when both armies were exhausted.
And this weight was obviously going to be added to the English side.
Albion, you have won!
There seemed to be an unmistakable verdict in the sky.
The fighting continued, but the arrival of a new Prussian army was decisive.
It was at that moment that even the most indomitable warrior could not help being bound by fear, losing the courage to fight on, and wailing at the inevitable defeat.
The cries were scattered at first, but they were echoed everywhere, and at last they formed a flood that could not be contained, and carried the soldiers away in the opposite direction to the enemy.
At first officers tried to stop the fleeing flood, but they soon found themselves helpless, and were even taken back with them.
Though the troops on the front line fled back in column after column, the whole battlefield collapsed with them, and soon not even the emperor himself could stop the rout.
The Emperor and his staff watched from the farm, and the younger officers wept in grief and indignation, and cursed the fleeing cowards for ruining everything.
The emperor himself just stood there, looking pale and silent at the torrent of the retreating troops.
He did not blame those who fled.
The French nation had fought for him till now, with the blood of millions, and had not abandoned him even at his worst, and had risen again after him, and had come here.
They have sacrificed enough, and no one can blame the French for their lack of loyalty and courage.
The Emperor Napoleon slowly closed his eyes and tasted the pain of his life from which he could never get rid.
He was not suffering for himself. He had tasted the pain of being imprisoned once a year before, and it would not be the end of the world to do it again. He could bear it.
He was suffering for his heirs.
The child he had brought into the world to carry on his business, the child he had hoped for, the child who had brought him so much joy...
I have nothing left for him.
The emperor who had shaken and dominated Europe for two decades uttered a mournful lament.
"Agron, I'm sorry, we have nothing left!"
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At dusk, the dark golden sun stained Europe with blood, even as far away as Schonbrunn Palace in Vienna.
In one of the palace suites, maids came and went anxiously, tending to a child lying in a hospital bed.
He had blond hair, and was a little dazed by a bad cold, with large beads of sweat on his forehead.
He was what the emperor called Eglon, prince of the French Empire and King of Rome, Napoleon II, who had been destined to succeed Napoleon.
Now at the age of four, he has a little understanding of what the words "empire" and "emperor" mean, but of course he cannot know that today his father has lost the empire and he has lost all the glory that surrounds him.
He could not even see his father again.
Last year, when Napoleon abdicated for the first time in 1814, at the "invitation" of Emperor Franz of Austria, The Queen of France, his daughter Louisa, arrived at the Austrian palace with her son on May 21, and has since become a crowned hostage.
From then on, father, son and wife never saw each other again until Napoleon fell ill and died on an isolated island in 1821.
"Agron? Agron?"
Sitting at the head of a bed, the mother anxiously and painstakingly looked at her son, who was seriously ill, and called out from time to time.
Her son has been suffering from a high fever since the last two days, and the doctor said it was even life-threatening.
Ignorant of medical science, she could do nothing but sit helplessly by the bed, lamenting fate's cruel trick on her, while praying that at least everything would not become worse.
As if in answer to her prayer, the child slowly opened his eyes and stared at his mother with his deep blue eyes.
"Agron, you are awake at last!
Still holding the title of queen in theory, Louise, regardless of royal decency, gently embraced her son.
But she would never have imagined that the soul that remained in this child's body had been replaced in the fever.
Perhaps the burning of Waterloo was too much for the soul of Napoleon's son.
...........................
Didn't I just fall asleep in the library? Why are you suddenly moved as soon as you open your eyes?
Confused, Chu Ying was startled to find that she seemed to have come to a completely strange world, which was obviously not China.
Am I dreaming? Where is this? Why am I here?
And why do I understand what they're saying?
The questions piled on him, and he could not think, for the lady before him was holding him by the shoulder and shaking him gently.
And so on... My body?
How did I become a child?
He was horrified to discover an even more terrible truth.
The pain of the body's fever told him that all this was not a dream.
"Agron, are you all right? In front of the western lady dressed up lady, with residual tears and pleasantly surprised smile asked.
"I... I'm fine." Confused and sleepy, he blurted out the answer.
The woman's face twisted in surprise as she looked at the doctor beside her in horror.
"God, help him, he's already raving!"
The doctor hurried over and examined the child carefully.
"Don't be alarmed, ma 'am." A moment later he looked at Queen Louisa. "He's all right. I don't think he's getting used to it yet. He just needs to sleep again."
"Is it all right?" Louise was still in a state of shock.
"It's all right. His temperature is dropping, you see." The doctor smiled to reassure her and pointed to his forehead.
Queen Louisa raised her right hand and touched her son's forehead.
"Thank God..." She breathed a sigh of relief. "That's better."
Then she hugged him again. "Poor boy..."
Chu Ying didn't say a word. He just lay there, feeling the woman's embrace.
He has realized that the situation is definitely not normal - he should be like the protagonist of an online novel.
So the question is, where have you been? How is the world any different here?
The four-year-old has no coherent memory or conscious judgment of his own. All he can retrieve in his mind is a fragmentary picture.
But even with this patchwork of memories, he was slowly able to piece together some details.
Children have memories of the Tuileries, Fontainebleau, crowns, and warm arms... Father's arms.
Father... Oh my god! It's that guy!
In the arms of her Majesty, Chu Ying stared at the gilt decoration on the ceiling with wide eyes.
As an amateur European history buff, he certainly knew what all these details meant, and who he was now.
More importantly, I don't know the exact date, but I am now four years old, which means that this is 1815, a disastrous year for the Bonaparte family.
King of Rome, you and your father have just lost everything...
At the thought of this, Chu Ying closed her eyes and uttered a silent lament, not knowing whether it was for the child or herself.
(The king's name was Napoleon-Fran? Ois-joseph Charles-Bonapart, and the Emperor Napoleon gave him the nickname Aiglon, which means "baby eagle."
After arriving in Austria, on July 22, 1818, his grandfather, Emperor Franz I of Austria issued an edict, cancelled his Napoleonic name, to the German "Franz" as his new name; He was stripped of his title of King of Rome and all other titles, and made Duke of Leichstedt.
Therefore, at different times and occasions, the characters will have different names for the main characters, please do not be surprised
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