The Dog and the Monkey (2)
Late December 1911.
We were aboard the Jingfeng Line, the train running from Fengtian to Beijing, and had just passed through Shanhaiguan.
Yuan Shikai.
The last powerful minister of the Qing — and soon to be Grand President of the Republic of China.
And a few years from now, the demented old man who would shout Doesn't it feel like my era has arrived? and crown himself the last emperor in Chinese history.
Of course, that imperial enthronement would fail spectacularly, like a dog, and he'd end up dying trapped inside the coddling ChatGPT Matrix his own son had simulated for him — but for now, this was, in name and in fact, his era.
Which meant this was an invitation from that very man.
"What do you think it's about?"
"About what, sir?"
"What do you mean, about what? Obviously the reason he's inviting us."
Zhang Zuolin asked, chin propped on his hand as he gazed out the train window.
"Checking whether his rear is truly secure, I'd imagine."
"Hm. So that's it."
"This is a man who survived decades in the Forbidden City, back when it was the Empress Dowager Cixi's den. He doesn't fight a single battle he isn't certain of winning."
Right about now, Beijing's hardline pro-resistance faction was probably being quietly pushed out, its key posts handed over to more conciliatory men willing to make concessions.
Because that made them easier to swallow later.
And with a bunch of rebels back in the Northeast — his rear — having just smashed their skulls in and seized genuine military authority, of course he'd want to look us over.
"So we just grovel at Yuan Shikai's feet and hammer in an oath of loyalty, then?"
"Thaaaaat part I'd need to think over."
An oath of loyalty to Yuan Shikai, huh.
As far as I knew, after he pulled off the political scheme of a lifetime — the coup that toppled a dynasty — by scraping together the last guns of his life, every fart he ever squeezed was pure garbage.
Just like every would-be dictator who showers foreign governments with the national treasury to buy their recognition, Yuan Shikai did exactly the same.
Handouts to Britain, handouts to France, handouts to Russia, handouts to Japan, handouts to America... what's left after all that?
What's left? Obviously nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Sadly, Yuan Shikai was no regressor — no status window, no interdimensional subspace pouch — so there existed no possible way to plug the hole in his ledger.
What's that? He survived decades as a politician inside that ghost-infested hellhole of a Forbidden City — how could he eat a country alive like that?
There are very few politicians who actually know how to govern. They're just good at playing politics.
Anyway. With that future all but written, going all-in on Yuan Shikai stock here? That's hella risky.
"In my opinion, the best thing for us is for Yuan Shikai to think we're utterly, absolutely beneath his notice."
"Why is that?"
"Because then we can build our strength in the Northeast."
Yuan Shikai is the next holder of power. True.
But all he could lean on was the six divisions sworn to him personally.
No wonder his regime barely lasted four years.
He had no imperial legitimacy to borrow authority from, no long-entrenched national prestige, and the seat he sat in had never once existed before — a throne with no roots at all.
Granted, if somebody on the continent right now shouted Hey, Yuan Shikai, who do you think you are, you arrogant bastard!, he could snap back you insolent little whelp and have them cracked in half. But this wasn't Valhalla or Fimbulwinter — you couldn't solve everything that way.
"Naturally, he'll govern Zhili around Beijing himself, and North China, and Hubei with the Hanyang Arsenal. But what about the places he cares less about?"
"So he has no choice but to subcontract. I see."
"And Colonel, if you were Yuan Shikai, who would you hand that subcontract to? A clever man? A brilliant one?"
Zhang Zuolin thought for a moment, then shook his head side to side.
"No. Absolutely not. What if they plant a knife in the back of my neck while I'm at it? He'd hand it to the most wretched, groveling son of a bitch he could find."
"Exactly. From the moment we arrive in Beijing, we have to become fools and morons. That's what I'm saying."
"So we put on a show?"
"That's right."
Dumb and Dumber.
Fools and morons.
Pat and Mat.
Liu Bei dropped his chopsticks and threw a whole panic dance in front of Cao Cao — what, we can't do the same?
The train that had traveled the Jingfeng Line came to a stop at Beijing Station.
"......"
"......"
The agents of the Beiyang Army's Military Detective Corps stared silently at the train — or rather, at its first-class cars.
The men who would one day be reborn as the secret police known as the Bureau of Military and Political Justice.
Criticize Yuan Shikai anywhere, and they'd materialize the next day, clap you in irons, drag you off, and pour malatang broth up your nose — the terrifying mainland edition of the Gestapo, of the KCIA.
Their chief, Lu Jianzhang, was nicknamed the Butcher — a butcher who carved up people. Need I say more?
"Miss nothing — not a single move, not a single word. Any bastard who slips up, I'll fillet him myself."
"Yes, sir!"
The door of the passenger car opened, and several men stepped down into the net of the agents' surveillance.
"BWAHAHAHA! So this is Beijing, the heart of all under heaven!"
"H- hihihit, Colonel! Look over there!"
"HOLY — what a beauty! Beijing must have beauties tripping people at every step!"
"WOOHOO! What a parade!"
"EHEHEHEHE!!!"
What in the world is wrong with those morons?
"Ranks and faces match our records. That's Zhang Zuolin."
"The one beside him looks like Lee Tae-oh as well."
"Seriously? The dispatch said the 'Yue Fei of the Northeast' and a Guan Yu or whatever. That's it?"
"Shh. They're moving."
The Military Detective Corps agents slipped into the crowd undetected and tailed Zhang Zuolin and Lee Tae-oh.
The pair left the platform, moved to the carriage stand, flagged down a carriage, loaded their luggage into the back, and climbed aboard.
"Welcome, sirs! Where shall I take you?"
"To the brothel district."
"Oh my. Broad daylight already? You soldiers certainly don't believe in restraint, do you!"
The coachman chuckled and flicked the reins.
The agents watching the scene traded glances and muttered among themselves.
"...Captain."
"What is it?"
"Those bastards... those aren't actually human, are they?"
"...Can't argue with that."
"They say he's an ex-bandit. Old habits die hard, I suppose."
"Doesn't matter. It's the General's order. Keep the tail going."
They too boarded a carriage and drove toward Beijing's pleasure quarter.
Before long, the sweet smell of food and the fragrant aroma of liquor settled into their noses, and the sight of powdered women coquettishly latching onto the arms of passing men settled into their eyes.
"Hey! Proprietor!"
"Y-yes, sir! You called, officer?!"
"Where's your most expensive room?"
"The top floor, sir! Shall we prepare it right away?"
"Proprietor. Think you can satisfy me?"
"Our house is the finest in all Beijing! Of course, sir!"
"Good! Send up the prettieeest girls you've got!"
"And for the drinks, shall I bring—"
"Ay-ay-ay! You old fool. You expect me to spell that out too?"
"F-forgive me! I'll see to everything myself, quick and clean!"
Zhang Zuolin and Lee Tae-oh disappeared into the largest courtesan house of them all.
"Do we go in as well?"
"...No need for that. Wait outside."
"Ah..."
"What. Disappointed?"
"N-no, sir! Absolutely not!"
"EHEHEHE!"
"WOOHOOHOO!"
"...How many days has it been with those two now?"
"Five, already."
"Don't those bastards ever get tired?"
Those characters from Fengtian.
Uniforms aside, they were pure-blooded bandits through and through.
"When the sun hits high noon, they gather up their dropped belts, stagger back to the hotel to sleep it off, and come nightfall they're swaggering around again, dropping their belts and diving into courtesan houses... They don't even consider leaving the district, those bastards."
"You'd think a ghost who starved to death without ever tasting rice cake had possessed them. Are all Manchurians like this?"
"Word is they gamble inside the houses too."
By this point the Detective Corps agents were utterly at the end of their rope.
They were supposed to tail these bastards because they might pose some threat? Honestly, wouldn't it be far more productive to plant spies near Sun Yat-sen's Tongmenghui crowd at this hour, or sketch out an assassination plan?
In the end, unable to bear it any longer, they went to Lu Jianzhang, the deputy commander of the Detective Corps.
"So you propose we stop the surveillance altogether?"
"We believe it serves no purpose, General Lu."
"Do the others feel the same?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Hmm."
Had anyone else said that to him, he'd have barked you little shits will jump when I say jump — but the subordinates standing before him were all men he could trust.
"If you asked me to assassinate that Sun Yat-sen bastard instead, I'd follow the order gladly. But shadowing those scoundrels while they chase skirts, indefinitely? Frankly, my stomach turns."
"I'll raise it with the top."
"Thank you, sir!"
So Lu Jianzhang went to Yuan Shikai himself.
"Your Excellency, in my judgment those men are nothing but idle loafers."
"Hm. Is that so?"
"Yes. Simply pitiful, low-grade nobodies. I don't believe they warrant concern."
"It's not that I doubt you, but I'd still like to lay eyes on them myself."
"Shall I arrange a meeting in the near future, then?"
"That works. Let me see... bring them to the Haiyantang."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"Huuuurgh— huk— ghhhaaaagh—"
Am I going to die by liquor bottle?
Age at death: twenty-two. Place of death: a courtesan house. Cause of death: acute alcohol poisoning.
Hearing it out loud, I'm just a worthless piece of trash, aren't I?
My mouth was so parched from all the liquor I'd poured down it that it kept smacking dry.
I think my lips were more cracked than the surface of Mars.
"W- wawawater..."
"Shall the girl pour it for you?"
"No."
"My, what a shy gentleman."
A courtesan swayed over with a water bottle and filled my cup. Service industry kindness really does scale with the money, as always.
Although — something soft kept brushing up against my arm? Could you maybe clear that away, miss?
I'm a man too, and I'm trying my damnedest to hold onto my last thread of sanity. Why must you test me like this?
"What's this, you're up?"
"...Look at the state of you. Seriously."
Zhang Zuolin, his face plastered with a good dozen lipstick marks, shuffled over clutching his clothes.
"What? Is something on my face?"
There was so much smeared on it that instead of pointing, I flattened my palm and swept it up and down in front of my own face.
"My face is the problem?"
"...I mean, it's not wrong?"
"Go pound sand, you brat."
"Yes, yes. So please go wash up already."
"Hm. Too much trouble."
"Oh, come on."
"So how long do we have to keep up this circus? Not that I'm complaining about the perks, but my body's starting to ache all over, I'll have you know."
"Couldn't say. It ends whenever Yuan Shikai summons us—"
- knock, knock, knock.
- Officers, sirs. It's the proprietor. Letters have arrived for the two of you, and I've come to deliver them.
"Come in."
The master of the courtesan house entered respectfully and handed us two neatly wrapped letters.
Packaging that looked expensive to any eye, paper that gave off a faint, fine fragrance.
"...Looks like our moment has come."
"Heh. Excellent. Let's go."
"They've arrived?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. However..."
"However what? Out with it."
The agent hesitated before confessing.
"The smell of alcohol is, ah, overwhelming. Shall we send them back and have them come tomorrow?"
"Never mind. Show them in."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
Even after the agent withdrew, however, Yuan Shikai spent quite a long while waiting in the receiving parlor inside the Haiyantang.
"Why on earth are they not coming?"
"Th-that is... it appears Zhang Zuolin and Lee Tae-oh have been so dazzled by the treasures and scrolls lining the path to the Haiyantang that they've stopped to gawk the whole way."
"What? Ah — heh heh heh."
Yuan Shikai burst out laughing.
When he'd received that telegram, he'd thought them rather sharp fellows — but in the end, they were just opportunistic, petty little men trying to cozy up to a seat of power.
Yuan Shikai rose from his seat, opened the parlor door, and stepped out toward the outer corridor of the Haiyantang.
"WOOOOW!"
"This is jade? And here I thought it was cabbage!"
Two men gawking at everything like country grandpas on their first outing, gasping in awe despite themselves.
Yuan Shikai watched them — so absorbed in the treasures that they hadn't even noticed his arrival — and gave a short cough.
"Ahem, hm."
"Hm?"
The two men, faces pressed against the glass display cases, turned their heads, spotted Yuan Shikai, and—
"Y- Your Excellency!"
"We greet the Prime Minister, Your Excellency!!"
The pair scurried down and prostrated themselves, then performed three full kowtows on the spot.
Do these people not know that the three great bows are a rite reserved for the Emperor alone?
Every single thing they did was so crude it went past distasteful — a veritable textbook of the small-minded man.
But for the wily old fox that was Yuan Shikai, hiding such contemptuous feelings was laughably easy.
"You there. How long do you intend to keep an old man waiting?"
"Y- Your Excellency! We are poor men of the Northeast — the dazzling splendor of this Forbidden City momentarily blinded our eyes!"
"Forgive us with your life!!"
"Forgive with your life? Get up, both of you. Anyone watching would think you were performing an exorcism."
"Y- yes, sir!"
Only their uniforms were newfangled. Everything about their behavior was pure country bumpkin.
Irritated, Yuan Shikai flipped open his pocket watch and checked the time.
The prospect of holding a discussion with these characters before his next engagement gave him nothing but headaches.
"......"
"...Hm?"
Déjà vu.
Yuan Shikai lifted his gaze from the pocket watch to Zhang Zuolin.
"......"
As the gold-cased, jewel-studded watch slid smoothly through the air, Zhang Zuolin's eyes followed it.
"Heh heh. Tell me, Colonel Zhang."
"Y- yes, Your Excellency."
"Fond of watches, are you?"
"I- I'm ashamed to admit it."
"No need to be."
Yuan Shikai unwound the chain and held out the pocket watch to Zhang Zuolin.
"You've come a long way to Beijing. Take it as a keepsake."
"O- ooooh! To bestow such a treasure upon us!"
"And the young friend back there — have him pick out something he'd like as well."
"I- I'll take the wristwatch, sir!"
Wow, these bastards — you tell them to ask, and they actually ask?
Truly country bumpkins, the pair of them.
If these are the caliber of small-time schemers I'm dealing with, I need hardly worry at all.
"Here. Give this friend a good one."
"Yes, sir!"
As Zhang Zuolin fondled his pocket watch like a pet turtle and Lee Tae-oh ran his fingers over his new wristwatch, Yuan Shikai spoke.
"The situation in the Three Eastern Provinces was perilous, but by pressing it down with military force we have, thankfully, secured today's peace. Continue to strive, and devote yourselves to the happiness of the people of the Three Eastern Provinces. I place great expectations in you both."
"Thank you, Your Excellency!"
"Zhang Zuolin — I hereby appoint you formally as Division Commander of the 27th Division and promote you to Brigadier General. Serve with your very life henceforth."
"Could there be any hesitation!"
"We shall never, ever betray Your Excellency's expectations!"
"Hey, Lee Tae-oh. You want this thing?"
"The pocket watch? It looks incredibly expensive — are you sure?"
"Hmph. Look how convoluted the thing is. Strap it on and go ride a horse, it'd break on the spot. And if it's just going to sit in a cabinet, what's the point of owning it at all?"
"Ooh, if you insist, I'll polish it up nice and sell it."
Man, forget the watch — how much are the jewels alone worth?
"God, conning people is exhausting work."
"Honestly, we could go professional. You and me."
"I want to get back to Fengtian already. However sparkly it all is, home is best. Home."
"Ugh, the moment we're back there's a mountain of work waiting for us."
"Oh? Plotting something else, are we?"
"I did say I'd build an army that could hold its own against the Western powers. Time to start making good on that."