France's Troubles

Fallen leaves lay scattered across the ground, paving a golden "road of gold."

Stepping on them produced an occasional crunch, so pleasant it felt like walking on a cotton carpet. Not a single leaf was superfluous; every one was a golden leaf, leaving an endless aftertaste.

The joy of harvest filled Vienna. Franz and his family, out for an excursion in the countryside, had become so enchanted by the scenery that they could not tear themselves away.

A sudden burst of poetic inspiration seized Franz. He was writing furiously, intending to leave behind a splendid passage for future generations. Alas, he truly lacked the talent; what he wrote never satisfied him.

It was too labored, as though he were creating for the sake of creation, without the effortless grace of poetry born by nature itself.

Franz still had his principles in this regard. He had never hired a ghostwriter, and naturally had no work worthy of display.

He casually destroyed the evidence of his failed creation. Just as Franz was about to start over, a maid hurried over.

"Your Majesty, news has just arrived. At noon yesterday, the Tsarist Government delivered a declaration of war to the Prusso-Polish Federation."

Hearing this, Franz set down his pen and ordered, "Pass the word. Pack at once. We are returning to the palace."

The outbreak of the Prusso-Russian War would not only alter the situation in Europe, but the situation across the world as well. Though he had prepared for it long ago, Franz still had to return and take charge of the overall situation.

Since it was merely an outing, they naturally had not gone far. By evening, the carriage had returned to the royal palace. Without even taking time to rest, Franz convened a cabinet meeting.

Foreign Minister Wessenberg said,