Chapter 16
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 016
Chapter Title: Gladstone
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Politics is complicated no matter the country.
This was no exception for William Gladstone, the rising star of the Conservative Party.
Born the son of a wealthy family that owned massive sugar plantations in the Caribbean, young Gladstone had followed the classic elite trajectory of Eton to Oxford. There, he distinguished himself before entering the House of Commons. Then he took the lead in opposing the Opium War, unleashing fierce denunciations that made his name resound across the nation.
"I have never heard or seen a war so immoral as this one, a war that strips Britain of her honor."
"Victory and profit in this war are certain. But no matter how great the gains, they cannot compare to the dishonor and loss of prestige the British Empire will suffer."
"Why does our heart race at the sight of our flag? Because it has always fluttered for justice, against oppression, for national glory, and for fair commerce. But now, thanks to Foreign Secretary Lord Palmerston, our flag flies to protect opium smugglers. Our banner is sullied!"
It was Gladstone's speeches that first gave the Anglo-Chinese War its literary moniker in 1841. No wonder his name spread across Britain and the world.
Having risen to fame through the Opium War, it was only natural he'd seek out the boy rumored to have survived and returned from that distant Chinese soil.
The moment he heard the rumors of the "surviving child," Gladstone sent a letter right away. At the same time, he gathered every scrap of information about the boy.
But what on earth was the problem?
Was it the meddling yellow press? When he pieced together the rumors, they were utterly bizarre and utterly unbelievable.
[Reads books before the age of one.]
[Understands the Bible at three.]
[Learns Latin at five.]
[Traverses China and Joseon at seven, mastering Chinese, Korean, Classical Chinese, and local Confucianism.]
The kid was clearly bright, but these stories were too outlandish. How shameless were this country's papers, chewing over an orphan boy like this just to sell copies?
And finally, today.
Gladstone stepped into the club room where Arthur Leigh was staying.
"Hello, sir. A pleasure to meet you."
"Oh, no need for such formality."
"Let me take your hat and coat."
As the boy scurried over, Gladstone surveyed the room. Objectively, it wasn't all that spacious for even one child.
Curious.
That was his first impression.
A painting hung on one wall, exuding an exotic Eastern charm. Gladstone wasn't much of an expert on Eastern art, but the vigorous strokes in black ink felt enigmatic yet fresh. The Classical Chinese inscription in the blank spaces and the red seal added an abundance of foreign allure.
Once his eyes adjusted to the room's oddities, more novelties caught his attention everywhere.
On the desk sat Western pens and books alongside Eastern brushes, a fine-looking stone, Eastern volumes, and British newspapers, all neatly arranged.
The wardrobe was the same. Amid ordinary clothes, his gaze inevitably drifted to the black-lidded hat brimming with exotic flavor.
Gladstone thought idly.
The boy had spent half his short life in a strange world, the Far East.
Was this child closer to British or Chinese?
"May I offer you some tea?"
"Oh, my. Thank you."
The boy fetched a tea set and brewed some. It was clearly something from China or Joseon.
Savoring the aroma and taste for a moment, Gladstone slowly broached the subject.
"To endure such hardships at your young age and remain so composed... Impressive."
"My late father told me to become a gentleman. I have to stay strong."
"Indeed. Your father, watching from heaven, must be proud."
Diving straight into business would be ungentlemanly. Gladstone offered ample kind words to spare the boy's feelings, praised the tea again, and only then got to the point.
"You might not know this, but your uncle here strongly opposed the recent war with China."
"Yes, I read about it in the papers. They called it the 'Opium War,' right?"
"Yes. A truly horrific and immoral war... My abilities fell short; I couldn't stop it."
He wielded his emotive voice and well-honed oratory for an audience of one.
"Hearing you'd returned safely set my mind racing. You said you weren't mistreated there?"
"Yes. I received much help, and overall, it wasn't bad."
"But would we Christians, we Europeans, have done the same if a Chinese man washed up here? I wonder."
Hypocrites who preached the Lord and morality with their lips.
Barbarians ignorant of His teachings yet paragons of virtue.
Gladstone's long-cried irony had living proof before him.
"Since we won the war, the harm these ruthless Europeans will inflict on poor Asians will only grow. I believe free trade would make us—and them—happy. But with opium smugglers rampant, shouting about free trade... Don't you pity those people?"
"It would break my heart if those innocent folks suffered."
Just as he'd hoped.
The boy's kind heart and compassion were stirring.
"So, will you help stop bad people from tormenting China?"
"Is there something I can do?"
"Of course."
"What?"
"For instance, you could weave your experiences into a book. Publicize their noble character and customs, expose the evils Europeans commit—and right-minded Britons would support us."
Free trade is right.
But opium smuggling isn't "free."
Public opinion now favored giving those insolent Chinks a good thrashing. But if he could foster sympathy, couldn't he flip the board?
Unexpectedly,
though,
the boy shook his head.
"Sorry. That might be tough."
"Eh...? Why?"
"I'm too busy."
The boy stretched out his slender arms.
"Dad said when I grow up, I have to go to Eton or Harrow."
"No need for a wretched place like Harrow. Eton will do."
An Eton-Oxford scion responded on reflex.
"Yes! I want to go to Eton! But they say it costs a fortune."
"Don't worry. Sponsorship will—"
"So right now, I'm translating Chinese classics into English. They promised good money. And if I translate enough, a university will take me later."
Translating?
Gladstone glanced between the sinuous Classical Chinese brushwork and the English in other books.
"This... isn't study material? You're translating it?"
"Yes. I looked at others' translations—they're all wrong. So I'm redoing them. But that would leave no time for the book you mentioned."
"Translating scholarly texts is undoubtedly noble. But while you're at it, the China and Joseon that showed you kindness might suffer greatly."
Should he appeal more to the boy's sympathy or prod at the Eton tuition angle?
As the young MP juggled equations in his head,
the boy nodded.
"I'll write the Opium War book someday. Just not now."
"Why?"
"Because I need it when I sail back to Joseon."
"You'll need it then? Ah, to show the Far East folks?"
"No. To secure investment and build a merchant ship."
Gladstone blinked.
The boy had shifted to a posture that was... rather cheekily cocky.
"If free trade hits Joseon too soon, what'll be left for me to profit from?"
An illusion flickered: a boxer hurling a glove at him from the boy's form.
He felt possessed.
People in the 21st century are so civilized they sometimes delude themselves that the 19th was on the same level.
But scenes like hawking opium or grave robbers brazenly claiming "archaeology" reveal their civilization is barely Escape from the Planet of the Apes ape-tier.
Take Gladstone, the living conscience of the British Empire.
The man has money.
Lots. A decade ago, when Britain abolished slavery, his dad was one of the big shots—owning around 2,500 black slaves, give or take.
How pricey slaves are as movable property? Just look at Joseon. The guy was a livestock conglomerate.
- But slavery's abolished now, right?
How dare a civilized nation like Britain let state power trample private property? Naturally, the government bought them out.
And filled the gap with Indian "laborers." I didn't dig deep, but their conditions? Paradise, obviously.
If Gladstone's conscience matched 21st-century standards, he'd have fits over slavery or debt bondage variants. But 19th-century conscience apparently greenlit debt slaves. What can you expect from the era?
Only I can save Joseon.
I have to be governor to stop Joseons from scraping by on three cups of tea a day, slaving 18 hours in factories...!
- This punk's straight-up calling himself governor now?
Ahem. Misunderstanding. Call it "Western Knowledge Dissemination Advisor."
"I received the same education as Joseon's young king. It differs somewhat from Britain's, but I've absorbed a fair amount of the knowledge and scholarship needed to govern and manage a state."
"Is that so? Explains it... Ha."
Despite the shock, he recovered quickly. Darn. A bit more daze would've made it easier. As expected of a heavyweight—from the seedling stage.
"No need to treat you like a child, then."
"Correct."
"What do you want from me?"
"First, get me into Eton."
"Consider that pocket change. Payment for startling me. And next?"
- Cool customer.
He probably didn't want to sour things when the kid was volunteering to join his old-boy network. Likely banking it as subtle future debt.
"Until I come of age, keep other flies off Joseon."
"Tell me more."
"Joseon's extremely isolationist. Unless you're starting another war, they won't open up easily."
But I've got this.
I skipped the brag. Too try-hard.
"Hold it for you?"
"Why smash the lock when you have the key? Better for national interests."
"And how does opening their ports serve the British Empire's interests?"
"You're asking me? Didn't you preach the futility of unjust wars?"
Feel the sting of your own famed reputation, tai chi style.
High-seas robbers who think kicking in doors and shaking down homes is profit enough might disagree. But Gladstone, who'd railed against thuggery, couldn't afford to haggle Joseon's opening coldly. Strip the packaging, and he'd confess to being a pirate too.
"Beyond my power, it seems. Anything else?"
"Invest a bit."
"Invest..."
"Joseon trade. I'm confident. I know exactly what sells there and what to bring back."
He pondered briefly.
Then downed the cold tea in one gulp.
"You're a tiger cub, aren't you?"
"Thank you for the compliment."
"Ever thought of entering politics?"
The answer I'd awaited.
I recited the response I'd rehearsed endlessly.
"Once I've solidified my reputation as the foremost Far East expert."
Gladstone extended his hand.
I shook it.
Deal sealed.