Chapter 234
Chapter 234
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 234
Chapter Title: Reestablishing the Great Ming (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Mediating reconciliation with the Ming people or whatever—it all boiled down to surrendering to the Joseon army that had seized Tianzhou.
To speed things along, Yi Jaeun drove the nail in preemptively.
"If you don't like it, go surrender to the hundred thousand Qing troops heading this way right now."
Washington recognized that he was in a dilemma so dire even Guan Yu or a horse-riding brute wouldn't know how to compare it—unless pulling from novels, which were his only reference.
Both front and rear were blocked. Fleeing to a third area was impossible. He'd burned every surrounding region outside Tianzhou himself.
Escape by sea was off the table too. The fleet left in Tianzhou had been subdued, and the frigates patrolling nearby had all been taken by Admiral Henry Potter to surprise Tianjin.
Right now, not a single European allied warship remained along China's southeast coast. They had all followed Joseon's proposal for the operation...
A second shock hit Washington.
'The Tianjin assault... and even talk of hostages... it could all have been Joseon's ploy from the start. No, it must have been. Are you telling me the forty thousand-strong European allied forces were played by a single vassal tribe of China?'
He had no idea what devilish history book had led them into this vicious trap.
But if the worst-case scenario held true—if all the European allies' recent military actions had danced in the palm of Joseon's hand—then the war was lost in itself. Ship sizes and soldier gear no longer mattered.
This expedition was a failure.
In that instant, Washington felt detached from the urgent crisis, floating above it all.
A numb realization washed over him.
'What am I even doing here?'
If the hundreds of thousands of dying southerners heard that, they'd each take a bite out of him—exactly one bite each—but that's truly how he felt.
This war had nothing to do with him at its core. He'd just stepped up because the British officers back home were so incompetent.
Washington was merely a mercenary who'd joined for a bit more land.
Britain had won the colonial theaters of the Seven Years' War seven years ago, yet still ceded vast American interests to France. Partly due to defeats in Europe from Prussia, partly to focus on the popular war effort.
Because of that, Washington and his militia hadn't received the Virginia lands they'd been promised. Complaining to the homeland wouldn't secure slave-owning status for all his hundreds of men.
So Washington and his men came east.
The massive rewards in the Orient could make it so, as Earl Lord John Campbell had tempted him, that "you couldn't go anywhere in Virginia without crossing his land."
He'd once dreamed of becoming Governor-General of British Joseon or Guangdong, but Virginia's pastoral farms suited his tastes better.
He had to return to that beautiful homeland with the rewards promised to his men.
To that peaceful land where the crisp crack of whips rang out as black slaves brought in the fruits of sacred labor.
To a fulfilling life defending against Indian raids that shattered that peace—slaughtering their women and children, skinning them, asserting rightful dominion over the Lord's granted soil.
Even the great George Washington of the world couldn't think of a way to make that happen now.
But one thing was certain.
To chase even a sliver of possibility, he had to survive first.
Washington's sharp mind drew a rational conclusion even in this mess.
He couldn't read the twisted snake-pit minds of these Joseon bastards, but if the Joseon army's hopes lay in annihilating Washington's force, Yi Jaeun wouldn't have bothered coming.
They could just lock Tianzhou's gates and leave them be—Washington would be ground to dust amid the Qing's hundred thousand. So if surrender was inevitable, the Joseon side that seemed willing to spare him was better.
Joseon hated Britain for some reason. Yet they seemed inclined to let Washington live.
And he had no reason to die for King George III.
Combining those two sparked it: from Washington's lips flowed a great declaration of independence ten years early.
"I... am not British. I am Virginian."
The British land forces had been planning to withdraw even before Yi Jaeun arrived anyway. Accepting his proposal, Washington retreated like the wind.
From the Qing perspective, it looked like Washington was holing up in Tianzhou. With no other options, that made sense.
Qi Doway Mingshu was a brilliant general beyond question. He knew all courage held value only when calculated and unleashed.
Unlike his lion-like charge moments ago, he now calmly rallied his troops.
"The Westerners' cannons are huge. No telling what traps they've laid in the city, so we wait for the main army first."
He had no intention of imitating this nation's founding emperor, killed by cannon fire charging a fortified city with prepared artillery.
Instead, Mingshu set his men to harvesting the heads of fallen Europeans littering the battlefield. He never forgot the expedition's goal: crossing the continent.
Thanks to that, the British escaped unscathed to Tianzhou.
Meanwhile, in Tianzhou, things had wrapped up.
Having secured Jupiter and occupied the Jianqing Palace, Kim Eungseok turned the tables, holding French officers hostage while facing off against the French troops outside.
Meanwhile, Han Jungnyang, having sorted the British fleet, unleashed his soldiers like a locust swarm.
The French didn't wrestle with Washington's intense dilemmas.
Just as they would at Sedan a century later, or Compiegne two centuries on, they crisply raised their hands.
This was élan vital in surrender—sustaining life dynamically. Not six weeks, but six hours.
The Jianqing Palace's European finery was thoroughly looted by the Joseon troops. Battle-axes, regalia, jade thrones, flags, hats, instruments—all barbarian customs unfit for a Great Ming emperor.
George Washington breathed easier seeing the French surrender and disarm like his own men.
That gave him courage to speak to Han Jungnyang of the Southern Seas Division.
"Please return at least the officers' swords. Honor those who surrendered honorably."
Hearing "honorable surrender," Han Jungnyang looked as if he'd been called a "proud eunuch."
"Even the English castaways from long ago spouted such nonsense, but is there such a thing as an upright surrender in this world? Defeated generals get beheaded by law; if the commander falls, the deputy follows. Yet surrendering without paying for your crimes is humiliation worse than defeat! You barbarians cooked up this childish game—claiming it's 'courtesy' just to loot carefree without fearing for your lives!"
He glanced at his men.
"We gave them warm rice and wine thinking they'd repent in quiet submission, and now they creep back up. The old saying rings true: 'Keep inferiors too close, and they grow insolent' [Near them, they become disrespectful—Analects]. Strip their clothes and confiscate their liquor. And give them the slop from those English sailors earlier!"
Washington was stunned. Desperate to avoid British naval penalties, he poured out his eloquence.
"If Joseon fights the Qing, why disarm the British army? Wouldn't it be better to ally with Tianzhou's Joseon forces now and repel the Qing together? With thirty thousand Joseon troops under European command for defense, we could easily repel three times our number. Our officers' experience beating a hundred twenty thousand Qing would greatly aid as Joseon advisors!"
His logic was utterly reasonable. If Joseon planned to hold Tianzhou against the Qing, disarming a potential European ally was self-sabotage.
But Han Jungnyang kindly corrected Washington's false premise.
"That'd be true if we were fighting the Qing."
Washington's face flushed crimson. He whipped around to Yi Jaeun.
"Such brazen lies! That man clearly said Joseon would invade the Qing!"
Yi Jaeun, grasping the words without a translator, flashed a meaningful smile. Han Jungnyang mirrored him, propping his chin and gazing down at Washington.
"Right. Kim Chunsik said that. But he never said 'here.'"
Washington stood dumbfounded, mouth agape. In that moment, two burly Joseon sailors clamped his shoulders from both sides.
Ships of the line were enormous.
Their overwhelming size offered many advantages in battle, but they weren't only useful for fighting.
All nine ships of the line captured by the Joseon army this time were used to transport Tianzhou's "Ming officials and citizens."
The thirty thousand Joseon troops, with the Heaven-Earth Society out front, bustled through the streets. But they had no need for barbarian tactics like smashing homes and dragging out civilians.
"A hundred thousand Jurchens are outside the walls!"
"They say they'll slaughter all the rebels in Tianzhou!"
Dismissing it as rumor would prove foolishly shortsighted.
From the dynasty's founding to its fall, the Qing response to rebellion was invariably massacre. The Record of Ten Days in Yangzhou might be dubious, but the Dzungar, Shandong, and later Taiping slaughters showed consistent policy. Possible only because they saw China as the Other.
Tianzhou's people trembled in terror. Fleeing meant outrunning Jurchen cavalry—hard enough—and even then, the Westerners' scorched southeast coast offered no food.
Caught between Jurchens and Westerners, humanity's survival hung by a thread.
But then Joseon, hope of human morality, stepped up.
"How could we abandon the Great Ming's people? Just as Emperor Wanli once shipped a million seok of grain to save Joseon, we shall now save the Great Ming's descendants. From elders to children, board the ships—all of them!"
The Joseon troops' boldness left even the British navy unable to protest commandeering their ships for goodwill.
The Ming people desperately scooped up every household treasure and flooded the harbor.
Once aboard, they'd be in Joseon hands anyway, so it was like outsourcing the looting without wasting manpower or time. Of course, the ever-moral Han Jungnyang dubbed it "passage fare."
Tianzhou had been the Ming capital for less than three years. War and chaos kept its population modest, so they crammed everyone aboard before the Qing main force arrived.
Those distrusting the Joseon fled; with streets emptying out, Han Jungnyang went to Jupiter aboard his flagship, the Namhae Iljeonseon (formerly HMS Panther).
He knelt and bowed before the emperor.
"Your Majesty, the vile Western barbarians threaten your subjects, and this so-called palace they've built in Tianzhou lacks legitimacy—it's a laughingstock for the world's scholars. We shall escort the Son of Heaven to a proper capital."
Jupiter couldn't even nod. Han hadn't expected a reaction anyway, so he withdrew.
Then he asked Kim Eungseok,
"What's the wind doing?"
"Southeast, sir. But... are you really going through with it?"
Han Jungnyang's face hardened.
"It's Admiral Kim Chunsik's order. How could there be any other word? A city defiled by barbarians is just fodder for the next ones."
Washington's capture surprised even Kim Unhaeng, but post-Tianzhou plans were set before departure.
The liberation detachment had scant food but ample powder from Noryangjin's Park clan. Carefully placed powder, oil, and straw bundles ignited a massive blaze in the barely formed Great Ming Second Empire capital.
Mingshu raced over at the sky-piercing flames and smoke, but by the time they neared Tianzhou, it was too late.
Instead of fighting the Qing, the Joseon army took everyone, torched the city, and sailed off.
So the Joseon incursion might as well never have happened.
Fuca Fuhang's main force arrived around then.
Fuhang ground his teeth at reports of dozens of "Western warships" leisurely sailing far off.
"Those vicious Western barbarians only know killing and burning! When cornered, they torch the city and flee! Even the old Dalian (Mongols) or Red Turbans didn't defy heaven like this!"
The troops brimmed with righteous fury, flexing their arms. People are bravest when not fighting, after all.
But commander Fuhang had reports to write. He quickly crafted a fitting narrative.
As far as Fuhang knew, the Western army had fully withdrawn from the continent.
His Zhili forces had achieved their objective. Another merit shone on the emperor's ten great campaigns.
But Fuhang still faced a massive task.
How to march this huge army—without starving—out of the scorched Jiangnan coast and back to Beijing.
Retracing steps exceeded supply limits. Tianzhou, their breather, was ashes.
Detours demanded grain and fodder resupply.
And only one place had the admin and wealth for that now.
Fuhang decided.
"Can't relax yet. The grain ships went east, so we march east too. Take canals from Shanghai and Hangzhou north!"
He dispatched his fastest courier east.
Recipient: Governor-General of Min-Zhe, Li Shiyao.
Hong Daeyong's friend Lu Wei in Hangzhou—like most Qing outsider scholars who'd mingled with Joseon elites—harbored deep resentment toward the Jurchens.
The early "resist Qing, exterminate Manchus" slogan revealed southerners' mindset.
Lacking any sense of belonging to the Qing ironically enabled such rhetoric.
If they saw it as their country, they couldn't say that. Joseon righteous armies guarded ancestral shrines, not "helped Joseon."
In other words, exterminating Manchus meant no more "resisting Qing."
Lu Wei stormed back to his Hangzhou home, fuming.
Yan Cheng and Pan Tingjun, staying there—fellow Hong Daeyong friends—greeted him worriedly.
"The Governor-General (Li Shiyao) still stubborn?"
Lu Wei bellowed,
"Stubborn would be lucky—he's terrified and clueless now. Get this: he asks if we local gentry can't just gather grain!"
True enough, Li Shiyao was in chaos after Fuhang's letter.
'Western barbarians pacified; we'll tour east to reassure the people then return. Governor-General, prepare army provisions.'
Others might relax, but not Li Shiyao.
If Fuhang arrived and probed his defeats—especially generals who'd fled Henan and Hubei—Li was dead.
Yet he seemed to think full cooperation on supplies would save him. Yan Cheng and Pan Tingjun were dumbfounded by the sheer idiocy.
"When have Jurchens ever judged Chinese fairly? If sheltering fugitives, go all in—or lick the Manchu emperor's boots from the start. What nonsense is this?"
"Jurchen troops did nothing while Jiangnan burned, and now they'll ravage the Huai-Hai (here, Hangzhou, Shanghai, Ningbo etc.) lands the Governor-General barely held!"
The do-nothing Zhili army's arrival meant massive plunder in Shanghai-Hangzhou.
So the three scholars had steadily rallied village elders to subtly urge rebellion on the Governor. But Li kept dodging.
Lu Wei turned to the fourth man in the corner.
He probed, almost urging,
"Can't blame him blindly. Even if he cries for justice, no one to rally, no court to restore—what can he do? That's why Daeyong Hong said Joseon would help..."
The other two followed his gaze. The young scholar under their stares smirked beneath his Joseon gat.
Park Jiwon, Jeju magistrate, who'd sailed with Han Jungnyang's fleet, then slipped away mid-voyage onto Joseon merchant ships as a stowaway.
He'd delivered Hong Daeyong's letter, turning Hangzhou's sentiment anti-Qing via these three.
Park Jiwon said calmly,
"Kim Chunsik's schemes never falter. Even Western scriptures say, 'Blessed are those who believe without seeing' (Matthew)—why so impatient?"
Lu Wei started to retort, but a servant boy burst in panting.
"M-Master!"
"Can't you see I'm with guests?"
"N-No, sir... dozens of Western battleships entered Goryeo Port (Joseon trade harbor in Hangzhou)!"
The three leaped up. Only Park Jiwon sat smiling serenely.