Chapter 78
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 078
Chapter Title: Cataclysm (3)
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Kingdom of Joseon, Hanyang.
British Legation in Joseon.
"We lost?"
"Shh. Keep your voice down."
At Consul General Alcock's rebuke, Daniel Leigh swallowed the urge to bellow "You fucking idiot bastards!" and glanced around instead.
He looked every bit the savage Anglo-Saxon on the hunt for something to smash—and since Alcock himself had reacted the same way upon first hearing the news—he quickly pulled out a bottle of brandy and handed it over.
Brandy was the perfect remedy for when your body ached or your mind reeled.
Daniel downed the prescription without hesitation.
Otherwise, the profanity bubbling up inside him would have exploded.
The Anglo-French allied fleet of six ships had set out to seize the tiny Kamchatka outpost of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky.
For some two thousand marines and sailors to take a village that small should have been a walkover.
But they failed.
Excuses poured out: the harbor at Petropavlovsk had atrocious natural defenses, coastal batteries were entrenched in hard-to-breach positions, and so on.
But the bottom line was one.
"How badly did they have to fuck up—"
"Talk like that outside, and we'll be fighting among ourselves before we ever face the Russians."
"This is insane."
Everyone knew the truth.
Daniel was a parachute drop.
The reasons he held a position in Joseon far above his station boiled down to two.
First, he was Arthur Leigh's one and only brother.
Second, the British Empire's prestige blanketed the heavens.
But they lost?
Not to some fortress like Sevastopol in a brutal siege, but to a backwater cluster of huts that the mighty British Empire couldn't even crack?
"Joseon might defect—"
"That's nonsense. I've got my brother there."
Alcock had barely opened his mouth when Daniel cut in rudely, flooring the accelerator.
"As long as my brother's around, you can set aside any worries about Joseon."
"You're young; you don't get it yet. We should be the ones fretting about him falling from power."
"Cut the bullshit, Consul General. Are the redcoats in Yongsan just toy soldiers?"
Daniel twirled his wrist, and it cracked sharply.
"He came into the world on the same boat as me, but that guy's a real monster. If it looks like he's about to get chased out, he'll bolt straight to Yongsan, rally the troops with cries of 'Rescuing His Majesty from the traitors!' and occupy the palace."
"......"
"Joseon is a rock-solid ally. As long as my brother and I are here, that's not changing."
Alcock nodded.
In an absolute monarchy, what mattered wasn't rank or title, but the king's favor.
As long as these brothers stayed close to Joseon's interests and power, the British Empire's influence wouldn't waver.
"So, may I ask why you brought this up to me directly?"
"The defeated allied force is heading for Joseon."
"That won't do."
Daniel, who had been cursing up a storm moments ago, turned dead serious.
"Joseon not betraying us is one thing; public sentiment shaking is another entirely! Send them to Vancouver!"
"Vancouver's 3,200 miles away—about 5,100 kilometers. Jemulpo's just 2,400 miles—around 3,800 kilometers. Jemulpo's the logical choice."
"Not Jemulpo. If you're so hung up on logic, send them to Wonsan or Dongnae instead. No need to loop all the way around the peninsula; it's much closer."
Daniel had picked up one life lesson from his not-so-short time in Joseon.
Joseon people were starved for gossip.
Considering their new favorite pastime was reading newspapers to trash-talk people and gossip via letters, the news of these stragglers would spread like wildfire anywhere they landed—not just Wonsan—within three days. Still, it might buy some time to steady the public mood.
"Wonsan doesn't even have decent docks yet—"
"You think Jemulpo does? If ships are the issue, they'd have to go all the way to Hong Kong."
They bickered, but there was no helping it. The expedition was already en route to Joseon.
"And one more thing I'd like to request."
"What else?"
Instead of sparring further with this headache of a kid, Alcock cut straight to the chase.
"We need to deploy the Joseon sepoys."
"Send those guys, and they'll all die for real."
"They've got to earn their keep. Aren't mercenaries there to be cannon fodder?"
"The East India Company troops need company orders—damn it."
Seeing Alcock produce a document that screamed official orders, Daniel shut his mouth.
"Got anything else to say?"
"......I'd recommend reinforcing the unit."
"Take that up with the company, not me."
Sent right back at him.
"Looks like things are about to get busy, so I'll take my leave."
Daniel stood up immediately.
His head throbbed.
The shit those idiots had shat was backing up all the way to Hanyang.
Daniel resolved to put the Lamp Fairy telegraph service to good use right away.
[Little brother, we're fucked]
The damp-from-humidity telegraph message was dispatched to China at that very moment.
Securing a foothold in Shanghai was important for me too.
This Shanghai had been seized by another rebel group called the Small Swords Society—separate from the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. What was with all these damn rebels?
- It's the end times.
Fair enough. China right now really did feel like the degenerate age of the Dharma.
But even with Shanghai in rebel hands, no foreigner execution party kicked off.
Whether Taiping or Small Swords, the Jiangnan locals had all witnessed the Anglo-French forces trounce the Qing army in the last Opium War. No one dared mess with the concessions that were basically their turf.
And that wasn't all.
The Westerners coming this far to Shanghai were mostly merchants, and if they sold opium, why not weapons? Rebels loved these anything-for-a-price traders; they were sweet as honey.
Thus, as president of Leigh & Gladstone Company, I had to boost sales too. Time to peddle some guns.
And one more thing.
That famous pile of ashes had become rubble amid the Taiping rebels' rampage.
- Ahh...
Was the jar holding the jar ghost made there too? If it had any sentimental attachment or hometown pride—
- As if!
Hmm. No.
Jingdezhen had been a porcelain paradise since the Song Dynasty—early 1000s AD—churning out pottery nonstop ever since.
I couldn't fathom what the Taiping bastards were thinking smashing it, but their ten thousand kilns lay in ruins. Maybe wrecking ancient heritage was a Chinese hobby.
"Looking for porcelain artisans?"
"If you've got any refugees, introduce them to me, Arthur Leigh. I'll reward you handsomely."
Here, I'd teamed up with Joseon merchants.
Yi Sang-ok's death notice had made my heart sink, but instead of tearing into a cannibalistic festival of infighting, the Joseon tycoons pledged to march toward prosperity under the leadership of the great scholar Arthur Leigh.
What could they do, anyway?
I'd snatched up all their river and sea ships, the red ginseng monopoly was now mine, and their once-laughable peddlers had joined the postal service under my wing, eating government rice and puffing up with pride.
Plus, they'd learned that selling red ginseng in Jiangnan jacked up prices several times over, and with Joseon-Qing trade still cut off, they needed British firms as middlemen. They were stuck with me for the foreseeable future.
And anyone could see this was a golden opportunity.
As of 1854, Joseon's porcelain tech had declined sharply.
Most commoners overwhelmingly used brassware, and yangban prized Chinese or Japanese porcelain far more. Even the royal porcelain was all made in China?
With Jingdezhen in ashes before Western imports flooded in, bringing back its artisans to produce domestically would yield a massive hit product.
And to complete my final mission, I headed alone to Shanghai's bustling Huangpo River.
The designated spot.
The designated date.
The designated sampan.
"Sir. You dropped your wallet."
"Ah, thank you."
I "accidentally" dropped my wallet, and a ragged-looking man picked it up and handed it back.
"That would have been trouble if I'd lost it. Let me reward you."
"No need! Really!"
"Wait just—"
As we haggled over the money, the man sidled up and whispered in my ear.
"The commander has decided to follow your advice."
"......"
"Thank you. May the Lord bless you."
"I'll count on your continued help."
Done.
Shi Dakai—the Taiping's greatest general—would act on my advice for Sichuan.
If the Heavenly Kingdom's ace holed up in Sichuan for a self-reliant holdout meta, who could crush the rebels easily?
Sichuan was tough for foreign aid, sure, but money-mad Brits would sort it out. I trusted their gold worship implicitly.
Tension eased, I headed straight back to my lodgings.
"Fuck."
Only then did I realize my wallet was really gone. Must have dropped it for real during that little show.
The money didn't matter, but it held a few notes that would spell trouble if seen, so I rounded up my men and returned to the rendezvous spot.
"Anyone see a wallet dropped around here?"
"Ah, you're the wallet's owner!"
As my group hit the Huangpo riverbank to inquire, a grubby-looking boy approached and held something out. My wallet, no doubt.
"I yelled that you'd dropped it, but you hurried off without hearing, so I couldn't catch up."
"That was half a day ago... You've been waiting here since then?"
"Yes!"
I checked the wallet; nothing missing.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Me? Ye Chengzhong..."
- Grab him. Jackpot. No, a keeper!
I'd heard this story in China.
A legendary Chinese tycoon's anecdote.
A boy who returned a Western merchant's lost wallet.
"You live around here? Family?"
"Orphan... Came here to work as a servant to survive..."
"The money in here could've set you up for life?"
Whoops.
Too blunt with the guy who returned it.
"Just returning it to its owner; no need to peek inside."
"Huh."
I stroked my chin thoughtfully.
"I need a reliable errand boy. Want to leave this place with me?"
"M-Me? I just do odd jobs at the sundries shop up ahead."
"You've already earned my trust. That's enough. Folks know the name Yi Asul far and wide—"
"You're that Yi Asul? I'll follow you! Give me any order, and I'll do it!"
Thank goodness.
Live righteously, and heaven repays the virtue.