The mansion of Grand Councillor Ronglu felt like a tomb. In the weeks since Cixi's fall, the endless stream of visitors—petitioners, allies, sycophants—had dried to a trickle, and then to nothing at all. He was a man politically adrift, the leader of a faction that had been utterly defeated, his power and influence rendered meaningless overnight. He spent his days in his study, surrounded by the ghosts of his former authority, his mood a bitter cocktail of resentment and despair. He was preparing for a quiet, ignominious retirement, a slow fade into obscurity.
So when his servants announced that Prince Gong was at his gate, requesting a private audience, Ronglu assumed the worst. The victor was coming to gloat, or perhaps to deliver the final, killing blow—a trumped-up charge of treason, an order of exile. He received his old rival in his main hall, his face a cold, proud mask, determined to meet his end with the dignity of his Manchu lineage.
Prince Gong entered alone. He was not dressed in the formal robes of a First Minister, but in a simpler, more private garment. He did not carry himself with the swagger of a conqueror. His expression was serious, businesslike. He offered Ronglu a bow of respect, a gesture that shocked the conservative leader to his core.
"Your Highness," Ronglu said, his voice stiff and formal. "To what do I owe this unexpected honor? Have you come to watch my household's assets be seized by your new audit office?"
"I have not come to gloat, Councillor," Prince Gong said, his tone direct, dispensing with the usual courtly pleasantries. "I have come to make you an offer."
He did not waste time. He laid out the proposal with a bluntness that was itself a form of respect. The new regency was establishing the Imperial Military Academy at Tianjin. It was to be the single most important institution for the future of the dynasty's defense. And they wanted him, Ronglu, to be its first Superintendent.
Ronglu stared at him, convinced he was hearing things, that the stress of his downfall had finally broken his mind. "This is a trick," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "A joke. You want me, a man who has opposed your every move, to be the headmaster of your barbarian school? You want me to teach our Manchu sons how to be more like the foreign devils?"
"I want you to be the man who forges the army that will prevent another humiliation like the Opium Wars," Prince Gong countered, his voice firm and steady. "I want you to be the man who ensures that the officers of the next generation are loyal, disciplined, and competent." He took a step closer. "I do not care about your past loyalties to the former regent. That chapter is closed. I care about your competence as an administrator. I care about your deep, unshakable loyalty to the Great Qing dynasty itself. And I care about your reputation. You are, whether I have always agreed with you or not, one of the most respected Manchu statesmen of our generation."
He laid out the logic of the offer, the same cold, brilliant logic that Shen Ke had presented to him. He explained how Ronglu's appointment would be a symbol of unity, a way to heal the bitter factional rift in the court. He explained how it would reassure the conservative members of the Imperial Clan, proving that the new military was not an anti-Manchu project, but a national one.
"The academy needs a strong hand," Prince Gong said. "It needs a man who understands discipline and hierarchy. It needs a Manchu patriot to ensure its graduates are loyal to the throne above all else. You are that man." He then added the final, crucial line, unknowingly echoing the philosophy of his true master. "The Emperor's new order is about ability, not faction. We are choosing the best man for the job. And you, Councillor, are the best man."
Ronglu was left speechless, his mind reeling. For weeks, he had been preparing for political oblivion. He had seen himself as a relic, a man whose time had passed, destined to fade into bitter obscurity. Now, he was being offered a position of immense, tangible power. Not just a title, but a chance to shape the very future of the empire's military, the bedrock of the dynasty he loved, however much he disagreed with its current direction.
It would mean swallowing a mountain of pride. It would mean abandoning his old ideological comrades in the conservative faction. It would mean publicly championing the very modernization efforts he had privately scorned. He would be called a hypocrite, a turncoat.
But what was the alternative? A slow, irrelevant decline into old age, watching from the sidelines as men he considered his inferiors remade the empire in their image?
He looked at Prince Gong, his old rival, and saw not a gloating victor, but a fellow statesman offering a genuine, if politically calculated, path back to relevance and service. His patriotism, his ambition, and his administrative pride warred with his conservative principles. The battle was short. His desire to serve, to still be a man of consequence, was stronger.
A long, heavy silence filled the room. Finally, Ronglu gave a slow, deliberate nod. "If the throne requires my service in this capacity," he said, his voice hoarse with a complex mixture of emotions, "then I am bound by duty to accept."
Prince Gong smiled, a genuine smile of relief and triumph. The final, most powerful piece of the opposition had not been broken, but co-opted. The alliance was made.
The news of Ronglu's appointment sent a new and final shockwave through the court. The conservative faction, their leader now co-opted by the enemy, effectively ceased to exist as a coherent political force. The path for the reforms was now completely clear.
In his study, Ying Zheng received the report from Prince Gong. He read of Ronglu's acceptance, and a cold, satisfied understanding settled over him. He had successfully neutralized the leader of the political opposition by making him a key, indispensable part of his own military machine. His control over the direction of the empire was now, in all practical terms, absolute.
He had the political will, embodied by Ci'an. He had the executive power, wielded by Prince Gong and Li Hongzhang. He had the control of the finances and the bureaucracy. And now, he had the administrative structure to build the army and the navy that he needed for the wars to come.
He walked over to the great map of the world that now hung on his wall. His eyes traced the sea lanes, the currents that flowed between the coast of China and the islands of Japan. All the pieces, both at home and abroad, were moving into place according to his grand design. The internal conflicts were settled. The age of external conflict was about to begin.