The docks at Port Arthur were a churning sea of color and noise. The disciplined silence of a naval departure was gone, replaced by the boisterous, chaotic energy of a land army convinced of its own invincibility. Ten thousand soldiers of the "elite" Gongzi Army, the personal army of General Wei Rugui, were embarking on a fleet of transport ships. They were not grim professionals heading to war; they were men heading to a festival, a victory parade that simply required a short sea voyage to attend.
Their new winter uniforms were immaculate, their banners bright and gaudy, and many had tied red prayer ribbons and good-luck charms to the barrels of their rifles. Their laughter and boasts echoed across the harbor, a symphony of overconfidence.
"Did you hear the latest from the teahouse?" a young soldier with a wispy mustache asked his friend as they hauled a crate of ammunition up a gangplank. "They say the navy sunk the entire Japanese fleet with a single broadside! Admiral Ding is a god!"
His friend, a corporal, spat on the ground. "A god? He just pointed the guns where the Emperor told him to. It's the Japanese who are cowards. I heard their soldiers are no taller than my shoulder and fight with bamboo swords. They probably all drowned because they didn't know how to swim!"
An older sergeant, a grizzled veteran of a dozen campaigns against bandits and tribal rebels, overheard them and let out a booming laugh. "Hah! You boys are right to be cheerful! This won't be a war. It's a victory tour! We march to Hanseong, the little King of Joseon gives us a feast and a chest full of silver, and we come home covered in glory before the first snows fall. The hardest part of this campaign will be dealing with the terrible Korean food!"
The sentiment was pervasive. From the lowest private to the highest commander, the Qing land army was drunk on the navy's victory. They saw the Battle of Pungdo not as a well-executed tactical victory against a specific target, but as definitive proof of Japanese weakness and cowardice.
Aboard the flagship of the transport fleet, a converted merchant steamer named the Heping, General Wei Rugui held a council of war in the grand saloon. The air was thick with the smell of sweet wine and arrogance. General Wei, a man whose physical courage was matched only by his strategic ignorance, was puffed up with pride. He had lobbied furiously for this command, and now, he saw himself as the man who would deliver the final, glorious blow.
"Gentlemen!" he announced, raising his cup. "The Son of Heaven has granted us, the Gongzi Army, the ultimate honor! After the navy's magnificent victory at sea, it falls to us to deliver the death blow on land! Our objective is simple, a glorious charge! We land at Pyongyang, brush aside any remaining Korean rebels who have foolishly aligned themselves with the Japanese dwarfs, and then begin our grand march south to Hanseong!"
His subordinate commanders, mostly men cast in his own mold, cheered and raised their cups. Only one man, a thoughtful, cautious Colonel named Feng, dared to raise a point of concern.
"General," he began, choosing his words carefully. "Our intelligence reports on the enemy's disposition are… sparse. We know the Japanese landed a small force at Incheon before the naval battle. We do not know their current strength, their location, or their morale."
General Wei laughed, a loud, dismissive sound. "Strength, Colonel Feng? They are a scattered remnant! A few thousand men at most, leaderless and utterly demoralized now that they know their main army is at the bottom of the sea. What can they do? They will likely flee back to the coast the moment they hear our drums! What can a few Japanese dwarfs do against ten thousand of my finest soldiers, the pride of the Great Qing?"
Another man at the table, a young, stone-faced captain, did not join in the laughter. He wore the stark, unadorned uniform of Meng Tian's Imperial Guard. Captain Jiang was his name, and his official title was "Imperial Liaison," a direct link to the throne. In reality, he was QSH's eyes and ears, a silent observer sent to witness what the Emperor already knew was coming.
Captain Jiang spoke, his voice quiet but firm, cutting through the jovial atmosphere like a cold knife. "General Wei, His Majesty's written directives were clear. We are to land, establish a fortified perimeter around Pyongyang, and conduct thorough reconnaissance of all routes to the south before any major advance is to be considered." He met the General's gaze without flinching. "He specifically warned against underestimating the enemy's resolve, citing their desperation as a potential force multiplier."
General Wei's jovial expression hardened. He was not used to being lectured, especially by a junior officer young enough to be his grandson.
"Resolve?" he scoffed. "The resolve of drowned rats? Captain, I appreciate the Emperor's caution. It is wise for a young ruler to be prudent. But he is in Beijing, surrounded by maps and scrolls. I am here, on the verge of battle. I have been fighting and winning wars for this Empire since before you were born. We will not win glory by digging in the dirt like the navy boys during their endless training at Tianjin! We will win it the way soldiers are meant to—with a swift, decisive, and glorious advance! The men's spirits are high. We must strike while the iron is hot!"
He turned to his other commanders, seeking their support. "Am I wrong? Shall we cower in Pyongyang, waiting for ghosts, or shall we march on to Hanseong and end this war?"
A chorus of "March on!" and "To Hanseong!" filled the saloon. The glory-hungry generals were unanimously with him.
General Wei gave Captain Jiang a condescending smile. "The council has spoken. We march at dawn from Pyongyang. We will be in Hanseong within the week, and I will personally present the captured Japanese regimental colors to the Emperor. That will be a far greater tribute than a letter confirming we have dug a fine trench."
Captain Jiang said nothing more. He simply gave a slight, formal bow and returned to his seat, his face an unreadable mask of discipline. He knew his true orders were not to advise or to argue. His orders were to observe, to record, and to report on General Wei's inevitable, catastrophic failure.
Two days later, the Qing army landed at the port of Pyongyang. It was completely unopposed. The city was calm, its Korean inhabitants watching the arriving Chinese soldiers with a mixture of fear and relief. The lack of any resistance was seen as the ultimate confirmation of their beliefs.
That evening, General Wei stood on the captured city walls, looking out over the Korean countryside as the sun set. He felt like a conqueror of old.
"You see, Captain Jiang?" he said to the young officer who stood silently beside him. "What did I tell you? Not a single Japanese soldier to be found! They have run back to their islands with their tails between their legs! This campaign is already over."
He turned to his aide, his chest puffed out with pride. "Prepare the men to march south at first light. Send a telegraph to the Viceroy's office in Port Arthur. Inform the Emperor that Pyongyang has been secured without a single shot fired and that the glorious advance on Hanseong begins tomorrow!"
As night fell, the sounds of celebration echoed through the streets of Pyongyang. The Qing soldiers, convinced the war was a formality, drank, gambled, and sang songs of their own impending glory, completely and blissfully unaware of the ten thousand enraged Japanese soldiers and their perfectly sighted artillery pieces waiting for them in the hills just a day's march down the road.