Using Barbarians to Control Barbarians (2)
Prince Gong continued to summon James Serget to private banquets afterward.
No one could fail to grasp what it meant for a prince—and the very heart of the Self-Strengthening Movement—to invite a Westerner to his table.
The news naturally reached Empress Dowager Cixi, the true power behind the throne alongside Prince Gong.
“Prince Gong has been meeting that Westerner called Serget quite often, has he?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I hear he even served him Beijing roast duck last time. And he always offers mapo tofu and that fiercely spicy red-broth hotpot…”
“Is he not simply tormenting the man?”
Even Cixi knew Westerners could not handle spice.
Serving mapo tofu or red-broth hotpot—dishes she herself found difficult—could only be interpreted as deliberate humiliation. Pretending to draw the Westerner close while actually shaming him.
She had not thought Prince Gong the sort to do such a thing.
“According to the reports, this Serget eats mapo tofu at the level of a native Sichuanese. The Prince found it so remarkable he had it recorded. Yesterday they discussed the difference between Ma Su and Deng Ai.”
“…How peculiar.”
Even as a woman, Cixi knew the names. One was the fool who trusted theory alone, camped on a mountain, and lost his head. The other was the brilliant general who crossed treacherous terrain to strike the enemy’s heart.
A Western merchant—an orangkae—understood the distinction well enough to discuss Three Kingdoms history in depth?
Cixi’s long, slender nails traced the surface of her teacup.
“Prince Gong’s behavior is too light to dismiss as mere curiosity about an eccentric. That fastidious man would never invite a Westerner into his private chambers simply for conversation.”
“Yet, Your Majesty, the rumors say the man genuinely admires Central Plains culture…”
“Foolish talk.”
At the Empress Dowager’s icy rebuke, the eunuch An Dehai pressed his forehead to the floor.
“Prince Gong is using the Self-Strengthening Movement as pretext to borrow Western strength and strengthen his own position at court. To such a man, a wealthy Westerner who speaks the language and understands money must appear an irresistibly tempting prize.”
Cixi never underestimated Prince Gong. She assessed him with ruthless objectivity, which was precisely why she now felt the need to prepare countermeasures.
She was using him to weather the national crisis, yet she watched more vigilantly than anyone lest he grow too powerful.
And now he was consorting not with the British or French ministers, but with some unknown American magnate.
“Investigate this man more thoroughly. Is he merely a rich merchant, or does the American court stand behind him? Determine whether the eastern wind he brings is a gentle breeze or a typhoon that will swallow us whole. Report everything.”
“It shall be done. I will have our people in the Zongli Yamen extract the most detailed information possible.”
Once her trusted eunuch had withdrawn, Cixi remained alone, gazing at the richly embroidered silk curtains.
Point-man Serget.
Her eyes darkened as she calculated how far the ripples from this strangely named Westerner might spread.
The young emperor was still a child, and the Taiping Rebellion had lost its momentum; it would end within a few years. For now the crisis kept her and Prince Gong from open conflict, but how long could that fragile balance last?
Prince Gong’s decision to keep Serget close was likely a calculated move to deepen ties with the West.
“Given his nature, he will probably use Serget ruthlessly and drain him dry. If I hint at that possibility, I may yet turn it to my advantage—using one barbarian to control another.”
Within the palace, rumors began to spread of a Westerner who was obsessed with Sichuan cuisine, who delighted in Li Bai, Du Fu, and the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and who respected Chinese civilization.
The man himself had given the matter no thought whatsoever.
* * *
Once Serget became acquainted with Prince Gong and shared several meals, every business meeting suddenly flowed with effortless ease.
“Oh, Lord Serget! My cousin lives in Sichuan. I must treat you to authentic local dishes sometime…”
“Lord Serget! Her Majesty the Empress Dowager has sent you this bolt of silk as a gift.”
Invitations to dine poured in from every direction, and now even Cixi herself was sending subtle presents—clearly less a gesture of goodwill than a reminder that she was watching.
Prince Gong, of course, was fully aware of her suspicions. Far from retreating, he ostentatiously invited Serget to yet another private banquet.
It was a mixture of princely pride, quiet defiance toward the Empress Dowager, and the desire to display a Western magnate as his own follower.
“Serget, I have prepared baijiu this time. A liquor that carries the very essence of the Central Plains, quite different from Western whiskey or wine.”
“Oh! The famous Fenjiu! I am honored to taste the spirit distilled from the soul of grain.”
In his previous life he had longed to try this legendary spirit. Now he tasted it directly.
The sixty-percent alcohol burned down his throat like fire.
“Hah! That intensity, that purity! Completely unlike Western liquor—this is the very spirit of the Central Plains.”
“Hahaha! I knew you would appreciate fine drink. These days I live for our conversations.”
Prince Gong, thoroughly pleased, refilled Serget’s cup.
As the atmosphere warmed, Wenxiang, seated nearby, spoke carefully.
“Your Highness, the Ministry of Rites has sent word. Envoys from the Eastern Kingdom will soon depart. They should arrive early next year, so we must coordinate the schedule.”
“Ah, that time already? Very well. Tell the Minister of Rites I wish to see him.”
Prince Gong’s expression grew subtly strained.
Serget asked with feigned ignorance.
“The Eastern Kingdom… which country do you mean?”
“Ah, our tributary state to the east—Joseon. Together with Annam in the south and Ryukyu in the east, they form a loyal fence around the Great Qing.”
“Oh! Sending envoys to congratulate the new Son of Heaven on his accession. Truly, the prestige of the Central Plains remains unshaken.”
Without being asked, he had rattled off Vietnam and Okinawa as well. It was easy to see how precarious the Qing’s position had become.
Prince Gong’s wry smile stemmed from the headache of calculating how much the treasury could afford to spend on entertaining these envoys.
After being humiliated by Britain and France in the Opium Wars and seeing the national coffers drained by the Taiping Rebellion, every coin spent on tributary missions felt like a painful waste.
Yet neglecting them would damage the Celestial Empire’s dignity—a true dilemma.
Serget tossed out the question as if it were idle curiosity.
“By the way, Your Highness, does Joseon consume much cotton cloth?”
“Hm?”
Prince Gong sipped his wine in silence for a moment, then chuckled.
“A true merchant, aren’t you? Everything in the world looks like money to you. Unfortunately, Joseon does not import cotton. Every household has its own loom and weaves its own cloth. Besides, they are desperately poor—there would be little profit.”
“Hmm…”
“If there were money to be made there, do you think the English would have stayed quiet? No matter how hard their home government tried to restrain them, they would already have rushed in with eyes bloodshot.”
He was not wrong—about official trade, at least.
But as a Qing prince, could he not employ more creative methods?
“Still, it seems a waste to let the opportunity rot. Once the factories we are building in Shanghai begin production under the new treaty, goods will flood the market.”
“That is true, but… Joseon is a country that clings to isolation.”
“Isolation that applies only to the West, surely? They would never dare close their doors against the Great Qing.”
He had learned that much in national history class. He would never again underestimate Korean compulsory education.
Prince Gong’s expression showed he was already calculating possible gains.
“As Your Highness knows, forty-nine percent of the joint-venture factories belongs to the Qing. Selling the cotton cloth produced there to Joseon could generate quite a handsome side income.”
“……Oh?”
“Joseon may lack silver, but surely they have other local products?”
Yes—ginseng, for example.
Exchange vast quantities of cotton for ginseng, then sell the ginseng for double profit.
“It may not yield national-level gains, but it would serve perfectly as Your Highness’s private slush fund.”
A massive, easily replenished source of off-the-books money.
For Prince Gong, already needing to secure funds beyond Cixi’s surveillance, no words could be sweeter.
“A plan worth considering. Securing an additional revenue stream for the future is never a bad idea.”
Truly pleased, Prince Gong personally lifted the bottle and refilled Serget’s cup.
“As expected of a merchant—your eye for profit is something I cannot match. Hahaha.”
“You flatter me. I must demonstrate my usefulness to Your Highness, with whom I will share great endeavors.”
In truth, Serget was not making the proposal solely for Prince Gong’s benefit.
Entering Joseon through the back door of the Qing was far safer and faster than knocking directly.
After all, the raw cotton for the cloth Prince Gong would sell came entirely from Serget’s own plantations.
The more Joseon’s people developed a taste for Qing cotton, the fuller his own pockets would grow.
If the domestic cotton industry suffered and anti-Qing sentiment rose, that would be Prince Gong’s problem.
Western cotton would dominate the Joseon market eventually anyway; it was better for everyone if the relatively more conscientious Serget moved first.
After concluding their discreet transaction, Serget returned to the legation, where the British and American ministers greeted him with beaming smiles, unaware of the details.
“Ah, Advisor Serget! Thanks to you, the negotiations are proceeding smoothly.”
“As expected of a nobleman’s son-in-law. You’ve managed to charm those arrogant, fastidious Qing officials!”
Even Britain, the world’s mightiest power, could not have forced such a high-stakes agreement through so quickly without leverage.
The Qing could have dragged the matter out indefinitely if they chose.
In that sense, the treaty’s rapid conclusion was almost entirely Serget’s achievement.
This was why everyone scrambled to build guanxi when doing business with China.
Having connections at the highest levels made all the difference.
And in this case, the connection was none other than the empire’s most powerful prince.
“This success is not mine alone. It is thanks to the trust you both placed in me.”
“Hahaha, and modest as well. Let us continue draining silver from the Qing together.”
Even though Serget had done most of the work, the two ministers would still claim enormous credit.
Minister Bruce opened a bottle of his prized whiskey to celebrate, and Serget gladly joined another drinking session.
“What are your plans now, Advisor Serget? Will you go to Shanghai to inspect the factory site before returning home?”
“I should. But now that I’m here, it feels a shame to visit only the Qing. Since I’ve come this far, I might as well take a look at Japan as well.”
The British minister suddenly burst into hearty laughter and shook his head.
“Hahaha! Advisor Serget, you know the Qing well, but Japan not at all.”
What nonsense. Serget spoke Japanese, knew the difference between unagi and anago, and could explain the distinct eel-preparation methods of Kanto and Kansai.
Being called ignorant of Japan by an Englishman was absurd, yet Bruce began lecturing him with a grave expression.
“Both the Qing and Japan are arrogant fools, but the Japanese are more cunning. They are desperate to give us no opening for interference.”
“Hmm…”
“Regrettably, Japan will be difficult to penetrate for the time being. We are watching, of course, but one needs a crack before one can drive in a wedge.”
“Still, Japan is in the midst of the Bakumatsu chaos. I feel there should be a way in.”
“Ah, it is not as simple as it sounds. Politics, Advisor Serget, is not as neatly calculable as business.”
Apparently eager to display the wisdom and authority of a British minister, Frederick Bruce insisted that on this point, at least, his word was final, and began explaining the complexities of international affairs to the younger man.
Exactly two days later—until the urgent report arrived that Japanese samurai had hacked British tourists to death with swords.