Chapter 75
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 075
Chapter Title: Arthur Leigh, the Sinophile (6)
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- Are you an idiot or what? Did you swap your head out with a chicken's? Eat some Peking duck and accidentally switch skulls? Remember what you said just a minute ago about not mouthing off in an absolute monarchy?
Huh.
How could a mere sparrow presume to guess at the great phoenix's intentions?
Human Park In-ho.
Englishman life, second round already.
My accumulated experience and instincts are screaming at me.
Now's the time he'll strike.
The news of my visit to Prince Gong's residence is already common knowledge. Unless you're extraordinarily careful, there are no secrets in Beijing.
So the fact that I turned down his offer will spread like wildfire.
Prince Gong's only way to save face now is to proclaim, "This Asul is truly a gentleman; we couldn't bear to force someone who speaks of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom into our service."
And just moments ago, Prince Gong had all his schemes—rooted in Neo-Confucian orthodoxy—shattered by Arthur Leigh, the guardian of justice. Then he took a heavy counterpunch right after.
In mid-lane, if you get solo-killed, you usually back off. Prince Gong's never played in the canyon, but he's not dumb enough to charge in for revenge after eating one.
Proof? He didn't rage.
Sprinkle salt on a wound, and normally you'd get punched or kicked. But if the guy's a doctor, you grit your teeth through the scream. Doctors have authority.
It's industry standard for the top powerbroker in the Qing—still brimming with passion and inexperience—to get slapped by some punk he sees as far beneath him and go into "You're the first one to say that to me" mode.
- That metaphor's a bit weird.
It's the perfect one, you ignorant nag.
"I too... though I'd never dare utter it aloud, have lain in bed night after night, staring at the ceiling, harboring the very same thoughts."
His emotions weren't anger.
Regret.
Pain.
Anxiety.
Like baring your most private ailment to a physician, he didn't just speak to me—he whispered endlessly, as if confessing his sins.
How could Prince Gong not know the Qing is doomed?
He vomited it all out: his life, his decisions, locking his brother away and purging factions, the lazy Manchu elites who resisted reform, the pigheaded ministers. Endless griping.
"I've rambled on with useless talk far too long."
"I heard nothing at all."
"I've shown you my disgrace, so now there's nothing left to hold back, no matter what you say. Speak your piece—advice or remonstrance, whatever. I'll let everything said here flow away like water."
"My thanks."
The Meiji Restoration in original history.
And Joseon's massive transformation unfolding right now, in real time.
They succeeded, but why did Joseon and the Qing's reforms fail in the original timeline? What's the root cause?
According to future knowledge from YouTube Shorts, you can't just suck up tech while keeping the Eastern worldview intact. To survive in a world dominated by capitalism and imperialism, you need full Western-style modernization.
But I can't tell Prince Gong that.
What if he has a sudden epiphany from my advice, succeeds in the Self-Strengthening Movement, and the Qing skyrockets like a beast? Even ignoring that slim chance, it's more prophecy than prediction—and it'd trash the solid Confucian scholar identity I've built.
So there's only one thing to say.
True reform in the three Eastern kingdoms isn't about how much Western culture you import.
"All reforms demand blood."
"Blood."
"The entrenched elites usually oppose reform, and even those without power but with something to lose resist it too. So real reform means slaughtering the old regime's power holders and shoving what they clutched into everyone's mouths."
"Not very scholarly talk."
"It's also why ancient dynasties all flourished at the start."
Meiji Restoration.
Choshu and Satsuma domains allied with anti-shogunate factions, toppled the shogunate, created a whole new Japan.
Heonjong's Joseon.
King Heonjong, backed by the British Empire, allied with anti-establishment figures, crushed the Andong Kim Clan, created a whole new Joseon.
They could brand all old institutions and norms as corruption and obsolete, confiscate the elites' power, and make it their foundation.
But what can Prince Gong do?
"The Great Qing can't do like Joseon. It's because Manchus and Han are divided. Thus, Your Highness can't unleash merciless reform like in Joseon."
You must eradicate the monopolizing old forces and seize their power as reform's fuel.
But Qing's elites are Manchus and gentry landowners; stripping Manchu power endangers the dynasty itself, and you can't touch the provincial powers. Who's blocking Taiping right now?
"...I suppose so."
Prince Gong grimaced like he'd swallowed bitter medicine, but he didn't snap.
"Then one final question. If spilling massive blood like Joseon is impossible, what's the path forward for the Great Qing? You must have a plan, or you wouldn't say it like that?"
I nodded after deep thought, and Prince Gong's face lit up.
"Out with it."
"I'm afraid you'll punish this lowly one if I speak."
"I'll hear you out without bias. Don't worry."
"Your Highness should die."
After what he'd just said, he didn't flip out. Instead, he nodded, gesturing for me to continue.
"Complete the great undertaking of the Foreign Office, and all the empire's landowners will curse Your Highness, plot to drag you down. Their loyalty will flock to Prince Chun, rallying the opposition."
"If Prince Chun topples me to calm the people and claims the Foreign Office's fruits, the Manchu-ruled Qing survives—that's what you mean."
"It's the only way the Great Qing endures. Not for Your Highness to survive, though."
"My path to survival?"
I lacked the guts to snark, One question, you said? My nerves were shot already, half out of my mind.
But this Arthur Leigh—if I pull off another splashy performance—
- Cut the crap, asshole.
"Abandon the Foreign Office. Keep close those who study the sages' words. Crush all who cry for change and reform, sell more concessions to the Western powers, borrow their troops. Do that, and Your Highness will enjoy wealth and honor till your dying day."
"In exchange, I'll die, and the nation crumbles miserably."
He muttered, lifting his empty teacup to his lips.
"You saw this far, so you gave Prince Chun the same advice?"
"I merely, as one scholar, couldn't ignore a plea for help."
"You're worthy of the title gentleman. My lot is a sinking ship—I'll not propose you die with me to etch a name in the green annals. Withdraw now. I crave liquor, not tea."
Prince Gong grinned.
Astonishing.
"Your Highness has set your will?"
"Nothing changes. I'll prove your sly words are nothing but a merchant's empty ravings."
He'd resolved.
To burn the Qing's final flame gloriously, perishing nobly.
Choosing a wretched fall, reviled as a traitor by all, over a future of luxury as the world's top powerbroker.
For this great loser, I bowed deeply with sincere respect and slowly withdrew.
Since my birth in this horrific 19th century, no one had sat across the chessboard from me. Kim Ja-geun? He didn't even know the game existed before his skull cracked.
But now.
For the first time, Prince Gong sat opposite, making his move.
Vowing to smash all my plays, crush every piece for the Qing's survival and revival.
Perhaps.
There was a path riding with Prince Gong, remaking the Qing into some bizarre dual empire, altering history.
But no need to glance at untaken roads.
Blood boils.
Heart pounds.
A worthy foe to stake everything against—I'll do my utmost for his ruin.
Prince Gong will die by the blade of Joseon I've forged.
The flames of the Crimean War were slowly, steadily creeping toward the Pacific.
Learning Americans had sent Perry's expedition to force Japan open via gunboat diplomacy, Russia promptly dispatched Admiral Yevfimiy Vasilyevich Putyatin's fleet to Japan. Their goal: Japan's ports too.
'If Japan falls into American hands, the Pacific's blocked off!'
But the Tsar's expedition soon faced dire straits.
Japan twisted every which way to avoid treaties. Especially since that wicked grimoire called Ira had addled Japanese brains, making them far warier of Russia—their talks dragged on, brutal and protracted.
And to top it off, the Crimean War erupted.
"There! I smell Ivan over there!"
"Kyyaaahoo!"
"Grab a Russki, and booze, meat, bounty, and discharge await!"
Russia's fleet negotiating in Japan was no secret; the British-French alliance had their necks in sights.
The delegation that came to bully Japan now huddled under shogunal protection.
Meanwhile, the empire-builders Britain and France moved far swifter.
"Sign!"
"Japan... shall... open... its ports..."
Those knocking on the shogunate's door didn't just threaten no Russian alliances—they demanded war cooperation. Powerless, the shogunate meekly stamped the treaty.
Other squadrons prowled Pacific high seas, combing everywhere for unlucky Russian ships; separately, the allied main force struck Sakhalin and Kamchatka, dotted with Russian settlements.
And one more.
"War?"
"Indeed. Russia bullies the weak, so to safeguard world peace, we must reluctantly resort to force."
Those who went to Japan instead hit Joseon, requesting war support. Debtor-court Joseon replied, "We'll handle supplies, but direct combat's impossible."
Instead.
"If you hire Joseon men as laborers, that counts as supply support—we won't object."
"Our thanks, Your Highness. The British and French Empires won't forget this."
Truth be told, Joseon laborers weren't especially needed.
Cheap Chinese coolies abounded; no reason to cherry-pick Joseon stevedores unless for port loading/unloading.
So the court's reply wasn't just about manual labor.
"From this moment, you're with the glorious British East India Company!"
"You got drafted?! I came to earn money!"
"You maggots graduate today! You're Her Majesty's proud army now!"
News of Brits lavishly hiring mercenaries spread nationwide via Joseon's proud postal service, to every remote valley.
The moment the 1st Joseon Infantry Regiment formed under the East India Company forces.