Chapter 68
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 068
Chapter Title: Invisible Threat (4)
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The Qing Dynasty.
A name that sent shivers through every nation in the Far East.
A few years ago, that mighty Qing was ruled by an emperor named Daoguang.
Daoguang tried various measures in his own way to rebuild the Qing, which was devolving into a toothless tiger...
But the result was the First Opium War.
The Qing's decline wasn't something that could be fixed by one man quitting opium (though that alone made Daoguang superhuman) and preaching frugality. It was tied to the rise of Western powers and the massive shift in the world order, with the backward East left behind.
Daoguang agonized over his successor between his fourth son, Yizhu, and sixth son, Yixun, ultimately choosing Yizhu—the man who became the next emperor, Xianfeng.
One anecdote goes that Daoguang once took the two princes hunting.
Yixun showed off his superb horsemanship and archery before his father, but Yizhu said, "On this warm spring day, even beasts cherish their young. How could I shoot a child in front of my parents and disrupt the natural order? Besides, I have no desire to compete with my younger brother." He squeezed out the perfect score.
Another similar tale: In his later years, Daoguang summoned his two sons and asked how they would govern the nation.
Yixun immediately launched into a flawless presentation on reforms, but as soon as Yizhu heard his father say, "When I die, you will...," he threw himself to the ground in heaving sobs, capturing Daoguang's heart with his filial piety meta.
Both stories mean the same thing.
Yixun was smarter, Yizhu kinder.
This Yixun was none other than Prince Gong, the final spark of the Qing endlessly mentioned in alternate histories.
In any case, Xianfeng succeeded Daoguang and was immediately punched by the Taiping Rebellion and the Second Opium War.
Xianfeng fled in a panic to Rehe, where the imperial summer palace was.
Prince Gong couldn't follow the emperor.
Someone had to stay in Beijing and stamp the humiliating treaty.
As Beijing was trampled, Prince Gong unleashed his full abilities to somehow preserve the nation and secure as much dignity and benefit for the Qing as possible in the treaty.
Then, in the midst of negotiations...
Prince Gong found strange agreement with the Western powers led by Britain and France.
"The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom is too dangerous."
"Indeed. Can we really expect them to honor the treaties they've signed with us and the Qing?"
"Don't trust those heretical rebels—trust the Qing instead. With your help, we will modernize and reform."
In international society, yesterday's enemy becomes today's ally.
The Western powers, whose expectations for the Taiping had evaporated day by day, now pinned their hopes on Prince Gong and the Qing instead.
Prince Gong had his own problems too.
"Your Highness, if we sign this treaty as is, you will surely be executed!"
"Those of us who stayed in Beijing will be punished, while those who fled with His Majesty will be rewarded. Is this truly just?"
"You must make the decision to save the nation! For the sake of the ancestral temples and altars, it is you who must lead this country!"
Xianfeng was a good man.
But would his eunuchs and sycophants sit idly by?
"Your Majesty, that traitorous Yixun has sold the country to the foreigners—they must be torn limb from limb."
"Who knows what atrocities he's committed consorting with the Western barbarians? Your Majesty must eradicate them root and branch to protect the altars of the state!"
Even before the war, Yixun had been relentlessly checked. Despite Xianfeng's direct and indirect protection, he was losing limbs one by one.
Now war had broken out, and they'd lost?
In an absolute monarchy, the sovereign's authority and prestige were priceless.
Prince Gong might die.
No, he surely would.
"I will drive out the traitorous ministers who provoked war and fled under the pretext of serving Your Majesty, and thereby save the ancestral temples and altars!"
Finally, a secret pact was made.
The ministers left in Beijing, backed by the great powers, staged a coup. Prince Gong purged the opportunistic grandees lying in wait and seized full authority.
"Your Majesty! Your servant Yixun has—"
"Hee hee hee! Has my little brother come?"
"Your Majesty? Are you alright?"
"A worthless, incompetent fool like me became emperor, putting you through such ordeals. Ah... You should have been the one on the throne... What right did a wretch like me have to covet this seat?"
"Your Majesty! Brother! The court is clean now! Please govern with a righteous heart!"
"I'm sorry. I'm too scared and trembling to rule anymore. If you just took this seat—"
"Please execute me!"
But what the coup leader Prince Gong witnessed was his brother, stripped of all will, reduced to ashes.
The Xianfeng Emperor, the first Qing ruler to earn such a title, was lost to alcohol, women, and opium.
No matter how much the coup plotter Yixun urged him to quit debauchery and opium and rule again, Xianfeng wouldn't budge.
'We're fucked.'
Prince Gong couldn't ascend the throne.
More precisely, he mustn't.
Imagine the man who stamped the humiliating treaty—essentially a declaration of surrender—usurping the throne. No matter what reign name Yixun chose, the people of the Central Plains would call the new emperor "that guy."
Yet Yixun had grand ambitions.
"Chinese learning as the essence, Western learning for practical use! If we adopt the superior tools of the West, the Qing's revival is no mere dream!"
China had endless people and endless wealth.
The Western barbarians coveted that wealth, so as long as they could suck the sweet honey, they would never shake the Qing's temples and altars.
Under the banner of what Yixun proclaimed—the Self-Strengthening Movement—countless people dreaming of Qing innovation gathered.
Neither Xianfeng, Yixun, nor his other brothers had sons yet.
With Xianfeng so sunk in debauchery and opium, he surely wouldn't live long. If things stayed this way, Yixun could succeed him on the dragon throne.
He needed achievements.
To rebrand from "country-selling idiot" to "capable, prepared emperor," he desperately needed results.
"We need your help to suppress the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom."
"If you offer appropriate compensation, we too will aid in crushing the rebels alongside the Qing."
"For this nation to survive, the rebels must be crushed. It would hardly serve your interests if the Qing's prestige crumbled and this vast land became a sea of fire."
Prince Gong boldly tossed economic concessions as bait.
And one more thing.
"Joseon is non-negotiable."
"Are you joking? You yourself signed the treaty recognizing Joseon as an independent sovereign state."
"We ask for little. The empire needs prestige. If Joseon acts so insolently, the Han people of this land will doubt the court's authority!"
"And what do you propose?"
"We won't touch a hair of the concessions Joseon has handed to the Western powers. No—we'll hand over even more. We want just one thing: Recognize Joseon's independence formally, but strengthen our political influence there."
"We'll await instructions from our home government."
"We're not demanding immediate action or war! Ten years! To see results from our Self-Strengthening, we'll need a generous ten years at least!"
British diplomats clicked their tongues at the Qing's resolute will.
Whether Britain approved or not, the Qing clearly intended to crush Joseon just to survive.
Secure what could be secured.
Or turn this massive market into an enemy.
The choices weren't plentiful.
"Rest assured. Not a hair of your concessions will be harmed. In fact, once Joseon tastes bitterness, they'll have no one to trust but you—becoming governor-general of this country will be only a matter of time."
Alcock spoke soothingly, as if calming me.
Crush Joseon, carve up the remaining concessions into morsels and distribute them—with me first in line, naturally.
Mere acquiescence, and they'd hand over even more Qing internal concessions.
"Talks of concessions are already rampant. The Far East Colonization Company securing part of Qing railway lines, tariff benefits... Think about it. With Prince Gong—practically the Qing emperor—as your backer! You could suck up staggering riches from that vast Chinese land!"
His pitch was staggeringly tempting.
Business, corporations—who cares? If I could gorge like Kirby in the Qing, I might crack the global top 10 richest list.
I wouldn't even have to abandon Joseon.
My interests there would only grow, and the moment they realized they couldn't survive without British protection, this country would become my private property.
I tilted my teacup, pondering.
What reason was there to refuse?
My reputation? Becoming Joseon governor-general would skyrocket it—Cecil Rhodes was maybe 10% of my combat power.
"What's the home government's reaction?"
"Mostly positive."
Alcock hesitated briefly before speaking softly.
"You'll hear soon enough anyway, so I'll tell you. Your patron, Treasury Secretary Gladstone, is explicitly against this. He fiercely condemned selling out a small nation that trusts and relies on the British Empire for thirty pieces of silver."
"That's just who he is."
"But overriding the cabinet's decision will be tough. How long can a treasury secretary ignore a path to greater profits?"
Not wrong. Despite Gladstone's denunciations, the Opium Wars happened anyway.
Besides, the Qing wasn't declaring war now.
They'd start with diplomatic maneuvers and trade embargoes to restore prestige, bulk up until confident, then escalate to shows of force and provocations.
"It's not being decided today anyway, and home instructions haven't arrived yet, right?"
"Indeed."
"I'll think on it more. Who knows—Joseon might meekly accept Qing influence."
Alcock nodded. It was the more reasonable, plausible line anyway.
Leaving the legation, I hopped in a rickshaw and headed straight home.
"Back?"
"Yeah. Kinda tired."
Lizzy's belly was swelling more by the day.
Boy or girl?
"Shouldn't we start thinking of names? Got any ideas?"
"Henry for a boy, Mary for a girl."
"Ah, after your parents? Then if it's a girl, let me use Abby first."
I nodded at her suggestion to name her after her mother-in-law. Naming was easy.
I pressed my ear to her belly for a long while, stroking it gently.
"Something bothering you?"
"Feeling a bit unsettled."
"Tell me."
"A bigger opportunity came up, but taking it means betraying those who trusted me."
"What if you pass?"
"A bigger crisis might hit... Or someone else grabs it while I keep my hands clean."
An endless dilemma.
In this brutal imperialist era, applying ordinary morality to these people—big or small—ends with someone else's blood on their hands.
Maybe someone would say: You've already squeezed blood from countless nations—why feel squeamish now?
"Why agonize over that?"
"Oh? What's Miss Lizzy's answer?"
"Do what you won't be ashamed of before God."
As expected of a devout believer. A bit bland for a cold-blooded capitalist, that rustic—
"If I act with conscience, others just twiddle thumbs. So tie up minor qualms with Sunday prayer, then put bullets in the heads of those who lunge. Sending them off before more sins—won't they be grateful?"
Sorry. I mistook degenerate end-times New York Wall Street for this.
"Arty."
"Yeah."
She stared straight at me.
"Even if you graze like sheep and die, you're a sinner before God."
"True... That is true."
"So until you meet God, better to kill than be killed. Everyone grabs axes to fight for their families anyway."
Right.
Among opponents my weight class, who had a guaranteed heaven ticket? All the same scum.
"Whether the child here inherits a loser's Hudson River debts or swims in vast wealth and glory—that matters far more to me."
"...Yeah."
"So kill. Don't get killed. Okay?"
"What if I ship out far and miss the birth?"
"Come back. If it's for a massive haul, I'll allow it."
I'd brought home not a doe, but a lioness.
"Gotta head to China."
"Safe travels. I'll guard Hanyang."
Good.
With her pushing my back, no room for hesitation.
For my peaceful path ahead, time to stir some shit in the Qing.