Chapter 183
Chapter 183
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 183
Chapter Title: Burning World
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The reason the Qing had set the date of their invasion of Japan to June in the solar calendar had, of course, little to do with Venus.
It stemmed from utterly practical considerations.
Looking at a map alone, since they had already firmly recaptured the Ryukyu Kingdom, the best option seemed to be island-hopping like stepping stones from there all the way up to a landing at Kagoshima.
But while that might be safe, it was laborious and slow. If they could strike straight at the enemy's vital artery, nothing could be better.
The Emperor's edict had cleaved straight across the sea, subduing the island chain—so the army would do the same.
Provided it was fast enough. If it dragged on too long, the troops would be decimated before they even made landfall.
That's why the moment was ripe, with these powerful tailwinds blowing.
At this time of year, they could cover the distance from Hangzhou to Nagasaki in just four days.
Before the "red-haired barbarians" started rampaging, official trade voyages had followed this route—and only at this season—for precisely this reason.
As Kim Unhaeng always said, this was why you couldn't carelessly open trade with foreign countries without proper countermeasures. Trade routes could turn into invasion paths in an instant, and merchants became guides just as quickly.
Strangely, the red-haired pirates who haunted this direct sea lane were nowhere to be seen right now.
The Qianlong Emperor had wisely driven out the Westerners with his foresight, but even without that, it was only natural that no sane person would dare defy the might of this heavenly army.
The westerly winds of the summer of 1761 blew toward Japan, carrying something far more horrific than fine dust.
The shogunate's response to Satsuma, which was clinging desperately to their coattails, was to do their best for now and hold the line themselves.
Whether this meant the shogunate simply didn't want to help Satsuma was unclear—but even if they had immediately resolved to defend Satsuma at all costs, the Qing army was too fast.
In every way but the fact that the path lay over sea rather than land, it was just like the Manchu invasion of Joseon.
Even centralized Joseon had been overrun before it could mount a defense; there was no way feudal Japan could achieve such swift consensus and mobilization.
The Satsuma leadership, who—like 500 years before—could only pray for a kamikaze to rise up, finally faced reality when the true "divine wind" delivered the Qing army right to their doorstep.
Lord Shimazu Shigehide, who had no heirs yet, couldn't even deploy Japan's traditional ultimate technique: "seclusion."
Shigehide squeezed out the best strategy he could muster.
"Pull all the ships back first. Charging them is like throwing eggs at a rock. We'll fight on land. Send out every samurai—no, arm the peasants with spears too!"
The Satsuma forces that marched out like this soon exchanged suspicious glances.
'This is just like 500 years ago for real?'
The warriors advancing after smashing a few scout ships and skewering Japanese heads on their spear tips had long sidelocks.
They weren't Jurchens.
In the Qianlong Emperor's Ten Great Martial Feats, following the liberation of Ryukyu, the vanguard for the extermination of Satsuma—just as in the Kamakura era—were Mongols.
500 years ago, they had shaken the world; 300 years ago, they had captured a Chinese emperor; and now, they formed the Qing's strongest cavalry force, the Mongol Eight Banners. The Japanese trauma was fiercely triggered.
But Japan had advanced in the meantime.
The people of Kyushu were no longer the primitive tribes from Kublai Khan's time.
A few brave samurai swung their blades.
"Matchlock squads, fire!"
From the matchlock units hastily assembled under the command of the unorthodox scholar Shimazu Shigehide, the arquebuses roared.
But the Mongol Eight Banners advanced with their vanguard wielding thick wooden shields as per doctrine. A few fell, but most suffered no significant damage.
Flags began waving here and there among the Mongol ranks, who sneered mockingly at the Satsuma troops.
Those bastards were already cowed. For a warrior, reading such momentum was essential, and every adult Mongol male was a seasoned fighter.
They charged with beastly roars indistinguishable from the animals they rode.
Horse archery swept through the Satsuma lines, followed by lancer charges from horseback, then hooves trampling the infantry. It was an assault worthy of those who represented the final glory of cavalry.
A few samurai tried to showcase Satsuma's proud Jigen-ryu swordsmanship, but swordplay was generally not a counter to cavalry. The Mongols simply speared the samurai through or shot them down with arrows.
Three hours later, Satsuma's full force of 10,000—many of them peasant levies—was routed by the vanguard of 5,000 Mongol Eight Banners. The peasants all fled.
And then the remaining 25,000 began landing in succession.
The Qianlong Emperor hadn't sent the Mongol Eight Banners as vanguard simply because they were strong in battle.
If Mongols were just strong, Inner Mongolia would never have submitted to the Qing, nor would the Dzungars have been crushed. The Mongols' true specialty lay not in combat prowess.
The Mongols' greatest talent was ethnic annihilation, NTR included.
As carbon capture devices of nature, reducing population and erasing civilization, no group excelled them.
The eco-warriors who boasted of delaying global warming by 200 years through 700 million tons of carbon reduction were outraged at these Japanese who reveled in pollution and destruction.
Breathing was a grave sin. It emitted CO2, after all.
Soon, they began prohibiting respiration from every living thing walking on two legs in Kagoshima.
The westerlies lasted only about a month.
Once they died down, the voyage from Hangzhou to Kyushu would take at least a fortnight, or a full month if delayed.
So if the Qianlong Emperor planned to sustain the war for over a month, intermediate supply bases were essential.
Ryukyu was out again. Most of its land had been turned into sugar plantations under Satsuma's tutelage, leaving no surplus grain production.
This was where the "Number One Nation" came in.
Surprisingly, few countries in this world surpassed Joseon in grain reserves relative to population.
Joseon's current relief grain stockpile was about 9.3 million seok on paper. Even Joseon wouldn't inflate their ledgers a hundredfold, so accounting for losses, they could spare around 80,000-90,000 seok—1-2% of the total. That would sustain 30,000 troops for four months if rationed carefully.
Over the past three years—or even before, through tribute envoys and trade ships—Joseon had been dealing with the Qing, so no one opposed selling rice now.
Chundangdae's logic of "not friends with the Jurchens, but enemies of the wokou" had proven effective when they deployed the kimchi bombers.
That was precisely why the sale of dozens of warships had gone through. Shimazu Yoshihiro shouldn't have fought so hard in pointless wars like the Imjin War.
Besides, Joseon itself found it hard to openly maintain direct trade with Japan from Jeju under these circumstances. They were secretly keeping Ulleungdo routes open for relay trade, but they clearly needed alternative sources.
Thus, Crown Prince Yi Hwon's royal edict came down without issue.
"From each province, contribute one percent of relief grain to the four southern maritime garrisons."
Kim Unhaeng wasn't about to sit this out.
He wasn't meddling in overseas expansion out of spite.
He feared it might threaten his vested interests and the royal authority (which owed him Chief State Councillor). Trade with the Qing had solid precedent, so no worries there.
The king, Yi Hwon—who found Kim Unhaeng's power useful—assigned inland transport of the relief grain to Chunsik Express.
Park Mun-su, Joseon's last conscience, suggested forming a new transport army instead, but Yi Hwon rejected it, eager to toss Kim Unhaeng a bone. Overland haulage without even bandits made snubbing Chunsik Express irrational anyway.
Elated, Kim Unhaeng grabbed Park Jiwon, who happened to be in Seoul.
Park Jiwon, formerly Jeju Customs Subcommissioner, had resigned due to his grandfather Park Pilgyun's death and was just out of mourning after a year.
He was dreaming of returning to Jeju as a civilian with his newlywed wife and adorable daughter for a farming healing life.
But his nefarious friend stood diametrically opposed to such noble values as healing.
Forgetting Park Pilgyun's favors, Kim Unhaeng threatened the grandson.
"I, as a former secret royal inspector, know that pasture of yours didn't fall from the sky. Oh, I'm not trying to shake you down. It's for raising 'the nation's horses and dogs.' The customs office can foot the bill for that. Not like nothing slips out from there."
Park Jiwon wasn't the type to do that normally.
As county magistrate of Ani, he was the kind of scholar to forgo even legitimate profits from relief grain arbitrage.
But close ink turns black. Regrettably, Kim Unhaeng was right.
Protesting "You're the real culprit" would be pointless.
Park Jiwon hadn't jumped into fire to save the king or charged enemy lines to rescue princes.
"......What do you want me to do?"
"As expected, you listen. Nothing much—just take one person I recommend and return as subcommissioner to watch my back. You know Siknidang (Lee Jaemun) from the envoy?"
"Yes. But private merchants can't trade from Jeju."
"That's why I'm asking you. A subcommissioner makes it official. Do well, and I'll not only get your whole family there but clean up that pasture issue spotless. How could I ignore you, for your grandfather's sake?"
In the end, Park Jiwon swallowed his tears and took up customs again.
Chunsik Express, tasked with grain transport, lost an astonishing amount of rice. Inevitable in premodern logistics.
And Lee Jaemun suddenly procured rice somewhere and sold dried noodles from Jeju.
During the envoy with Kim Unhaeng, he'd drawn inspiration from the massive noodle preserves prepared for the Dzungar campaign.
In the north, noodles and dumplings were preferred over rice. Northern troops cheered for the taste of home.
Humans aren't animals satisfied with full bellies alone. Qing commanders, flush with silver, lavished it on golden chariots to boost morale.
Even Park Mun-su fell silent in pained resignation.
If silver kept flowing, they could issue high-denomination notes—another fix for the war economy.
While Joseon basked in prosperity, the rest of the world burned.
In original history, Northeast Asia had been eerily peaceful at this time—that was all.
Among them, the European theater of the Seven Years' War, dubbed the "Pommeranian War," was reaching its climax.
The climax looked just like the World Wars to come.
Meaning Germany was starting to shatter even more spectacularly.
Prussia had gained some momentum early this year, but when Russian forces captured Kolberg, breaking through to the Baltic and easing chronic supply woes, the tide turned again in a flash.
Around then, Frederick began wearing a poison-laced necklace.
William Pitt, Earl of Chatham—Britain's wartime leader—wished Frederick would hurry up and swallow that pill and pass command to someone competent.
He unleashed the words Ming officials had wanted to hurl at Joseon during the Imjin War.
"Those bastards lose every fight, then beg for reinforcements and cash! There's a limit to shamelessness!"
And that wasn't all. The East India Company had somehow lost two warships needed for invading the Philippines and got booted from China.
Excuses harping on "China's treacherous ambush" weren't worth reading. No navy was invincible, not even Britain's.
Under William Pitt, the British government had splendidly crushed France, securing Canada and North America de facto—but elsewhere, from Germany to the East India Company, no one performed.
At that moment, Pitt's political rival, Lord Bute (John Stuart), was visiting his office.
Stuart sipped some Chinese tea, soon to become scarce.
"Then pull out of Germany."
"You think I'm doing this for love of Germans? Don't you know beating France requires backing Germany across Europe?"
"I don't see it that way. France is crippled just from our wins in India and America. The Duke of Edinburgh (George III) agrees. No point pouring resources into hopeless Germany."
Pitt ground his teeth.
His position was shaky enough already.
King George II was on his deathbed, and heir presumptive George III favored John Stuart over Pitt.
One misstep, and Pitt's wartime achievements would vanish.
Pitt countered.
"It's not over yet. Russia's Elizabeth is in poor health. Hah—probably that tuberculosis from her Tatar line. If she drops dead suddenly, her successor's the fool Peter. Prussia would collapse in moments."
"Oh, splendid idea. Guess I should pray to God instead of pondering statecraft and diplomacy."
British sarcasm flushed Pitt's face.
But before he could shout, Stuart added something undeniable.
"Elizabeth won't go that easily. My personal intel says her health has improved remarkably."
"What? TB patients don't recover!"
"Something about good medicine imported from Choson, east of China. Anyway, she's more vigorous now—even rumors of a new young favorite."
Pitt struck back.
"Mystical Eastern potions! Impressive. India has plenty like that."
Unlike Pitt's hopes, Stuart didn't flinch.
"Apparently different. The Empress, impressed by Choson medicine, imported other treatments too—including electrotherapy. As you know, even Europe's finest doctors acknowledge it as scientific."
Distance distorted the facts a bit.
Under Qianlong's anti-Western policy, the Russian delegation had been expelled like other Europeans.
Only Jesuits lingered to tweak calendars.
The returning Russians had bought Kim Unhaeng's Chunsik Armor from Beijing.
Elizabeth, already feeling red ginseng's effects, tested it promptly.
But the core held: all St. Petersburg marveled at Choson science, boosting envoy Kropotov's position for an alliance.
William Pitt, versed in every British accomplishment, was stunned.
"A dubious nation harboring such advanced science...? Impossible."
"It exists. You must not have read East India Company reports properly. Why else get ambushed by the Chinese fleet? They were heading for Choson."
"Why would EIC?"
"Asking me? Geopolitically vital to China from its presumed location alone—but clearly prosperous and scholarly. They'd defend it. EIC eyed it for the same reason. Point is, Russia won't change soon."
Pitt suppressed his boiling rage.
Intel on Russia or EIC affairs proved him behind Stuart.
Stuart rose, soothing Pitt.
"Not total retreat. Shift from Germany. Those lost ships Pensher and Argo were scouts for Philippines, no? With Spain cozying to France."
Britain's top gain in the Seven Years' War: Philippines and Cuba. Seeds of Spanish colonial downfall.
"And?"
"Assemble a grand fleet this time. Let Frederick play soldiers in his shrunken Brandenburg. We subdue the Chinese Emperor, grabbing Choson, Philippines, all Asia at once."
"Ch-China?"
"Yes. They can't just sit after attacks. Some fear the giant, but India proves China crumbles under pressure."
He spoke like the next prime minister already.
And Pitt had no way to refute such arrogance.
In October of the year George II died, Frederick felt spiritually dead too.
Britain issued an ultimatum: make peace with Russia immediately, or withdraw all troops and funding from Europe.
Russians surged toward Berlin like Attila's Huns.
Fleeing to Rome like ancient Germans? That (Holy) Roman Empire was his foe too.
Frederick tried "more time and funds," but the British were adamant.
Peace meant shrinking from enlightened monarch to Potsdam village head. Saxony, Silesia, East Prussia—all gone.
"These dog-worse British dare backstab me!"
It was all their "slander from behind." Not his incompetence.
Frederick hurled the poison necklace away and stomped it in fury.
One consolation: on the earth's opposite side, ignorant British were suffering thanks to someone he didn't know.