London, Whig Party Club.
This was where the most powerful men in the entire British Empire gathered. The massive oak paneling, the leather sofas carrying the mixed scent of tobacco and aged hide, and the portraits of past leaders hanging on the walls all bore witness to the club's deep political heritage.
Arthur met the sitting Prime Minister, William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne, in a private reception room.
Today, Lord Melbourne was not wearing the official Prime Minister's uniform—an emblem of power and status—but an elegant black casual suit. Reclining comfortably on the sofa, a glass of amber whisky in hand, he wore a lazy yet shrewd half-smile. He looked more like a cultured university professor than a busy imperial Prime Minister burdened with affairs of state.
"Please, my boy, take a seat," Lord Melbourne said, gesturing to the sofa opposite him. His tone was relaxed, as if chatting with an old friend. "No need for formality; there is no Prime Minister here today—just an old man curious about your thoughts."
"It is an honor to have the opportunity to speak with you in this audience, sir," Arthur replied calmly as he sat down.
He knew that the more relaxed the environment seemed, the more likely the conversation would cut straight to its core. The man before him was a renowned old fox of the political arena—Victoria's mentor during the early years of her reign—someone who could never be underestimated.
A servant poured Arthur a glass of whisky as well.
"I witnessed your brilliant 'performance' in court," Lord Melbourne said, swirling his drink, the ice clinking crisply. "To be honest, it's a waste for someone of your talent to be merely a businessman. You should be at Scotland Yard—or a barrister. That fat Phillips looks like a clumsy apprentice compared to you."
"You flatter me, sir," Arthur replied with a polite smile. "It was nothing but the lessons I've gathered throughout my life. Luck helped me spot clues that others had overlooked."
"No, Arthur, that was not luck."
Lord Melbourne shook his head, his deep blue eyes gleaming with a knowing light. "That was logic—knowledge—a completely new way of thinking that I cannot fully perceive or understand. Just like the 'standardized production' you spoke of at Buckingham Palace, your mind seems to contain a future world the rest of us have yet to see."
He no longer circled around the topic and went straight to the point.
"That is why I invited you here today. I want to know—in that 'future world' you envision—what should the British Empire become? Or in what direction should we move?"
This question was of immense importance. It was a true test of value.
It was no longer about business advice or political analysis.
It was a high-level dialogue concerning national policy and the direction of civilization.
Arthur understood that this would be the decisive test Lord Melbourne intended for him. His answer would determine whether the Prime Minister regarded him as a useful "tool," or as a true "ally" worthy of speaking to as an equal.
He reflected for a moment, then responded—not with an answer, but with a question:
"Sir, what do you believe is the cornerstone supporting the global dominance of our British Empire?"
"The Royal Navy, of course," Lord Melbourne replied without hesitation. "We command the most powerful navy in the world. It protects our trade routes and deters our enemies."
"Indeed, the Royal Navy is our sharp sword," Arthur nodded. "But a sword alone isn't enough. To wield a sword with strength, one needs both powerful arms and a sound mind. And at this moment, both the 'arms' and the 'brain' of our Empire are ill."
"Oh?" Lord Melbourne raised an eyebrow, signaling him to continue.
"Our 'arms' are our industries," Arthur said slowly. "We invented the steam engine and possess the largest number of factories and workers in the world—these are our powerful muscles. However, this arm is in disorder. Factory owners fight their own battles, production standards vary wildly, and workers are mercilessly exploited under harsh conditions. This chaos causes enormous internal friction and waste, and it plants the seeds of massive class conflict."
"And our 'brain' is our financial system," Arthur continued. His tone was calm, but every word struck like a hammer on Lord Melbourne's heart. "London is the financial center of the world, yet our banks and stock market resemble a giant casino. Capital feverishly chases short-term profits through reckless speculation, while few are willing to invest in real industries or technological development—the very things that shape the future and require long-term commitment."
"Disordered industry, uncontrolled finance: these are the two chronic ailments festering beneath the glamorous surface of the British Empire."
When Arthur finished speaking, he lifted his glass, took a small sip, and waited for Lord Melbourne's reaction.
Silence fell over the reception room.
The lazy smile vanished from Lord Melbourne's face, replaced by an unprecedented seriousness.
Arthur's words were like a surgeon's scalpel—cutting open the Empire's seemingly robust exterior and exposing the festering wounds beneath, bloody and undeniable.
As Prime Minister, he had long been aware of these issues.
But no one had ever summarized and pierced straight through them with such clarity, depth, and precision as Arthur.
"Then how do you think we should cure them?" Lord Melbourne finally asked, his voice hoarse.
"Order," Arthur replied—just one word.
"Order?"
"Yes, sir. Establish a new order for our powerful industries. And establish a new order for our greedy financial system."
"In industry, the government and industrial associations must step forward to create unified standards. From the size of a screw to the gauge of a railway track, to the weight of a brick—everything should have clear specifications. Only through standardization can we achieve truly socialized mass production and unlock the Empire's full industrial potential."
"In finance, we need to create an institution equivalent to a National Central Bank. It would handle currency issuance, supervise commercial banks, regulate interest rates, and suppress harmful speculation. We must guide capital—like irrigation water—so that it flows to where it is truly needed: technological research, infrastructure, the development of overseas colonies. Money should generate wealth for the Empire, not merely circulate in the pockets of a few speculators."
National standards.
A central bank.
These two concepts—rich with the power of macroeconomic regulation—struck Lord Melbourne's mind like thunder.
He felt that the information he had absorbed in this single afternoon exceeded all the nonsense he had heard in Parliament over the past year combined.
He looked at the eloquent young man before him, and an almost absurd thought crossed his heart: Which of them was truly the Prime Minister of this nation?
How could someone not yet twenty possess a deeper and broader understanding of the country than he, who had spent half a lifetime in politics?
He suddenly recalled the King's remark about Arthur:
"A lion ready to change all of England."
And now, that remark felt almost too conservative.
This lion wanted to change the rules of the entire world.
After a long silence, Lord Melbourne suddenly burst into hearty laughter. He stood up, approached Arthur, and extended his hand.
"Arthur," he said, his deep blue eyes shining with genuine admiration, "I take back what I said earlier. You being a businessman is not a waste of talent—it is a blessing for the entire British Empire."
"For in you, I see the next fifty years of our Empire's future. I am fortunate to have met such an interesting soul in my lifetime."
Arthur rose and shook the Prime Minister's hand.
Their hands clasped firmly. No further words were exchanged.
But both understood that from this moment onward, their relationship would no longer be one of superior testing subordinate, nor of politician using businessman.
Something far more profound had formed between them.
Teacher and friend.
Or rather, a helmsman of the nineteenth century and a navigator of the twenty-first had formed an unbreakable political alliance.
"In the future, should you encounter any 'problems' in London that you cannot resolve," Lord Melbourne said, releasing Arthur's hand with meaningful emphasis, "you may come directly to me. I doubt any short-sighted fool would dare cause trouble for someone backed by the Whig Party Club."
This was protection.
The strongest, most direct political protection the Prime Minister of the Empire could offer.
Arthur knew that from this moment forward, men like Conroy would no longer pose a direct threat to him.
He had finally secured the strongest support for both himself and Victoria in this dangerous Empire.