While Beijing celebrated, the Hall of Mental Cultivation was an island of deep, resonant silence. The city was a sea of noise—firecrackers popped in the hutongs, merchants hung celebratory red lanterns, and the teahouses buzzed with jubilant stories of the great naval victory. But within the Emperor's private chambers, there was no celebration. Victory was not an end; it was merely a transition, a violent gearshift in a vast and complex machine.
Qin Shi Huang stood before a simple porcelain basin of water set on a rosewood stand. He was not looking at his reflection, but through it, as if the water were a portal to some other place. Meng Tian stood guard by the door, a silent, granite statue, his presence a comfort and a reminder of the battle that had just been won.
"The city celebrates, Your Majesty," Meng Tian said, his deep voice a quiet rumble. "The people are hailing you as a military genius, a true Son of Heaven who has restored the honor of the Middle Kingdom."
"The people celebrate a battle," QSH replied, his voice soft, his gaze still fixed on the water. "I am planning a war that will last for a generation. This victory was easy, Meng Tian. It was a victory over an enemy blinded by their own arrogance. We did not defeat Japan at Pungdo. We defeated their pride. The next battle will be harder. We have woken them up. Now they will be careful. Now they will be furious."
He reached out a hand and slowly lowered his fingertips toward the basin. The moment his skin was an inch from the surface, the still water began to tremble. With a sharp hiss, it flashed into a cloud of steam, vanishing completely and leaving the porcelain bowl dry and warm. His control over his power, the dragon's spark, was more absolute than ever, but he felt the familiar coldness coiling inside him. It was a hungry thing, a power that fed on conflict, on rage, on the raw emotion of conquest.
This power, he thought with a chilling clarity, it feeds on this. On war. On conquest. I must be careful it does not consume the purpose for which I wield it. It was a fleeting moment of profound self-awareness, a quiet acknowledgement of the internal war he fought even as he waged his external one.
A eunuch announced the arrival of Li Hongzhang. The elderly statesman entered, and Meng Tian discreetly withdrew to the antechamber. Li Hongzhang looked older, more weary than QSH had ever seen him. The weight of his years seemed to have doubled overnight. There was no joy of victory in his eyes, only a deep-seated trouble.
He performed a deep, formal bow. "Your Majesty. The victory was total, as the telegraphs reported. The foreign legations have accepted our version of events, for now. Your edict was a work of diplomatic genius." He paused, hesitating, as if uncertain how to proceed.
"You look troubled, Minister Li," QSH said, turning from the empty basin. "A victory for the fleet you built should be a cause for celebration. Speak freely."
Li Hongzhang took a deep breath. "Majesty, it is because it is my fleet that I am troubled. I have received a full, detailed report from Admiral Ding. He is… conflicted. He reports that your… observer… General Meng, gave a direct order to fire upon a surrendering vessel. To refuse rescue to drowning men." The old statesman looked up, his face etched with genuine pain. "Majesty, this… this is a stain on the honor of our new navy. It is a barbaric act. It is not how civilized nations are meant to conduct warfare."
QSH's face remained impassive, but his eyes grew cold. The brief moment of introspection was over, replaced by the unyielding will of the Emperor.
"Civilized nations?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with a dangerous irony. "Pray tell, Minister Li, which civilized nations are you referring to? Do you mean the British, who force-fed our people opium from the barrels of their guns to steal our silver? Do you mean the French, who, with the British, looted and burned my ancestor's Summer Palace, a treasure of our civilization, and carried its wonders back to their museums as trophies?"
He began to pace, his small form radiating an immense, intimidating energy. "Their 'civilization' is a weapon, Minister. A silken glove they wear over an iron fist. Their 'rules of war' are luxuries for the strong, a code of conduct they invented to keep the weak in their place. They are rules designed to be broken whenever it suits their interests. I will not fight my wars by their rules, Minister Li. I will fight them by my own."
He stopped and turned, fixing Li Hongzhang with a gaze that seemed to peel back the layers of the old man's soul. "The rule is simple: Victory. Absolute. Unquestionable. Unmerciful. The message sent at the Pungdo Islands was not for Admiral Ding's personal honor. It was a message for the Prime Minister in Tokyo and for the Queen in London. It tells them that we are not a nation to be trifled with. It tells them that the price of opposing us is not honorable defeat, but total annihilation. It is a message written in a language they understand far better than any treaty or diplomatic note."
Li Hongzhang, though cowed by the sheer force of the Emperor's will, was a statesman to his core. He had one final, practical concern. He bowed his head again. "I… I understand, Your Majesty. Forgive my foolish sentimentality. But this victory, as glorious as it was, has created a new and unforeseen problem. An internal one."
"Explain."
"The army, Majesty," Li Hongzhang said. "The generals of the land forces, particularly the old guard in Manchuria and along the coast. They have heard the news. And it has filled them with a new and dangerous arrogance. They speak of the Japanese as cowards and fools. They believe the war is already won. They are petitioning Prince Gong daily, demanding a swift, glorious invasion of Korea. A grand march to Hanseong to accept the Japanese surrender."
QSH fell silent, a thoughtful, dangerous look on his face. "I see," he said after a long moment. "So, we have cured them of their endemic fear, only to infect them with a plague of overconfidence. The very disease that led the Japanese to their doom at Pungdo." He walked back to the world map, his eyes tracing the coastline of Korea and the Liaodong Peninsula. A new plan was already forming, another intricate series of moves in his grand strategy.
"An army that has not bled cannot comprehend the true cost of war," he mused. "They see only the glory of a distant naval victory. They have not yet tasted Japanese steel." He turned back to Li Hongzhang. "Then we shall have to provide them with a lesson. A lesson in humility."
His voice became crisp and commanding. "Summon General Wei Rugui from his garrison at Port Arthur. He and his so-called 'elite' land forces are filled with the most pride. They will be the first to land at Pyongyang. It is time they, and all of China, learned that a wounded tiger is the most dangerous beast of all."
Li Hongzhang's eyes widened. He understood immediately. The Emperor was going to use his own overconfident army as bait, sacrificing a pawn to teach a kingdom-shaking lesson. The price of victory, he was beginning to realize, was often paid in the blood of the victors themselves. He was serving an Emperor who saw his own armies not just as weapons to be wielded against the enemy, but as clay to be molded, broken, and reforged in the fires of a war he controlled from every conceivable angle.