Loyalists in Victory, Rebels in Defeat #3
The Japanese army was essentially disbanding in Busan. They were being loaded onto transport ships one by one and shipped back to Japan. There hadn't been any formal prisoner negotiations between the two nations, but the Supreme Leader had simply said to send all 600,000 of them home nicely if Japan turned a blind eye. What good were they doing here anyway besides eating rice? At this display of Korea's "Oriental magnanimity," Japan shed tears. Deep down, they had thought their country was finished.
But Korea didn't stop at mere mercy. They also informed Japan that Britain was officially demanding compensation for the sunk fleet and unofficially for handing Hong Kong back to the Zhonghua Republic on a whim. At this further consideration, Japan wept again. They didn't need it.
The silver lining was that the Supreme Leader seemed like a "pro-Japanese" sort—no major punishments in store for Japan. They couldn't fathom why Japan, with its massive torpedo boat fleet, had groveled before Britain the whole time, but it made sense enough that those boats couldn't even reach London. What could you do when even the owner admitted defeat?
Japan was in the position of being held accountable for blackmailing—no, attempting outright treason against—Korea. Then came the negotiation letter.
Japan would compensate Britain for the sunk fleet and the gold vanished from Hong Kong's bank vaults, then make peace. All treaties between Japan and Korea to date would be terminated, but a new one negotiated if possible. A straightforward proposal with no extraneous demands. Not even a peace treaty. If Japan agreed, they'd even acknowledge that Japan hadn't been at war with Korea at all.
With Britain harping on about the "Japanese-Korean War," the Supreme Leader thought: 'Why leave any such record? Who benefits? Just the damned British.'
Since Britain insisted, the Supreme Leader decided to oppose it outright. Facts and truth meant nothing in this world. Fabricated records became the facts. So the Supreme Leader reframed the war as "mutiny by rogue naval and army elements." And if the nation's leader said so, it was so.
Japan's proclaimed War of Liberation? Reduced to a mutiny among Japanese marines aboard ship. The 600,000 in Busan? Just tourists. There for the rice—and history would record it thus.
Thanks to the Supreme Leader's determination to erase such records, Britain could do nothing. At best, they pocketed some cash. Ordinarily, the treaty would bristle with poison pills: "No navy beyond this limit," "Reconstitute your government," "Open your markets," "Lease your ports." The Supreme Leader axed them all.
'Take all the reparations you're owed. In exchange, no war between Korea and Japan ever happened?'
Macdonald had no choice but to accept the deal. 'Korea seems to have a special fondness for that eastern island nation.'
Regular ships and the Qing navy got the chop too—just take your money and go, courtesy of Korean generosity. It grated on him.
It was summer. The center of the world: one island nation. Prime Minister's residence. The British PM and Ambassador Macdonald, temporarily recalled home per instructions. They exchanged notes on their predicaments—letters alone couldn't convey the full picture.
"So they cut it all?"
"Just told us to take a fat pile of reparations and go."
"And took nothing for themselves?"
"Yes, sir."
The PM reached for a cigarette first. "Defensive. Obsessively so."
"Yes. And they seem to like Japan, too."
"Japan?"
"Yes, treating them with special care."
"Huh. Maybe... But I've got a different picture in mind."
The PM laid out a comparison: Britain's gold reserves versus coal flooding the market.
"That Supreme Leader seems worried about this."
"...Gold shortage?"
The PM nodded slowly. "Trying to bulk up somehow. Even using jabs of mercy."
"Not incomprehensible."
"But that's not all the signs. Markets are still booming. Long-overdue boom. Everyone's happily burning cash on smokes."
"Most dangerous time, then?"
The PM nodded even slower. "They seem to think Britain faces an economic crash."
"Genius investor's instinct?"
"Perhaps."
Macdonald sensed that "perhaps" was no perhaps. Otherwise, the PM wouldn't have summoned him.
"The Supreme Leader's reach exceeds my expectations. Or maybe his footprint's just that big." The PM pulled out a detailed list of the Supreme Leader's investments. "He's long cultivated local partners worldwide, ramping up production of iron, coal, sulfur, lead, rice, wheat, sorghum, rubber, oil, and more."
"These fueling the current boom?"
"Individually small-scale. But grasp the elephant's trunk, and you move the beast."
"Varied small investments, but he knows where that trunk is."
"This growth doesn't add up otherwise."
"Better intel than we thought."
"Haven't pinned that down. Nor who's backing him." The PM tapped the map. "But his moves scream preparation for a world-class depression."
And a "world-class depression" meant Britain's, typically.
But Macdonald had doubts. "Those raw materials he's investing in—aren't they the first to tank in a depression?"
"If you think normally, yes."
"But flip it: call them bombs. He's planted fuses worldwide."
"Neighbor blows up. Another one. What about us...? Panic spreads."
"Not chasing profits, then?"
"His style prioritizes growth and equity grabs over quick returns. Cheap resources flood in, mimicking boom for now..."
"But crippling our ag and light industry."
"Most liquid sectors crumble first. If trends hold."
Insolvency despite profits loomed.
"Then we stop it now?"
"Pull the plates mid-party?"
"If needed."
"No. We need to torch the party—and fuel to keep it burning." "America and Germany are closing fast. This might be our last shot." "Secure mass gold, and we extend this party—Britain's party."
"Credit creation more vital than ever."
The PM finally pointed to Korea. "That Supreme Leader's delivering our gold from around the world. But it stinks a bit."
"Why do his private gold mines worldwide churn it out like printing presses, yet in 'Korea'—that behemoth he controls—no gold shows? Why does Korea use scrap paper from some tissue factory instead of the 'Korean pound' we minted?"
The PM's trade balance figures showed Britain profiting clearly from Korea pre- and post-independence guarantee. But growth lagged other nations. Volume surged, oddly. Each item had excuses: "Physical goods yield better margins than gold." But overall, Britain had shockingly low profits from Korea. Worse than under the Qing.
The PM had his answer. "He's hoarding gold for the crash. America, wherever."
"Wasn't that obvious?"
"No. Not this scale."
"Hoarding enough to worry about Britain's crash."
"How much?"
"Dunno. 3,215 troy ounces? Nah, at least 6.5 million."
"One thing's sure: it'd help us."
"Fetch it?"
"Not yet."
Given Britain squeezed some gold from Japan, he didn't seem to want Britain's crash. Quite the opposite. Adjusting reparations quietly withdrew plates unseen. Those "bombs" were his assets anyway. Trustworthy, even. That obsessiveness suited a partner. Account for it being his wealth, and he'd hand over just enough gold when Britain needed it.
But the PM—no, every Briton—hated it. Russia already stuffed 30 million troy ounces in their coffers, tough enough. Now Korea too? Russians were always like that, but Korea joined global trade then stiffed Britain?
"Better: elevate the new party guest to lead."
No first guest refuses the host's dance invite. Amid Europe's yellow peril hysteria, Britain fittingly elevated the yellow race to the stage. As the opening line hinting at the Great Game's finale.