Pyongyang was no longer a city of celebration. The joyous chaos of the previous night had been replaced by the terrified chaos of a routed army. The streets were choked with the broken remnants of the Gongzi Army, men whose fine uniforms were now torn and stained with mud and blood. They had staggered back from the ambush site in a state of shock, many of them having thrown away their weapons in their desperate flight. They were no longer soldiers; they were a frightened, demoralized mob, and their fear was contagious, spreading through the city like a plague.
In the governor's mansion, which had been commandeered as the army's headquarters, General Wei Rugui sat on the floor in a corner, staring blankly at the wall. His magnificent uniform was ripped, his face was caked with dried blood from a shallow head wound, and his eyes were hollow, reflecting the utter destruction of his army and his pride. He alternated between long periods of catatonic silence and sudden fits of rage, muttering about treachery and Japanese sorcery.
Captain Jiang stood before him, his own uniform dusty but intact. He had managed to extract the last of his Imperial Guard detachment in good order, their disciplined fighting retreat a lone island of competence in an ocean of failure. His report was blunt, factual, and merciless.
"General, initial estimates indicate we have lost at least three thousand men killed or captured. Possibly as many as four thousand. We have lost all twelve of our field artillery pieces and the vast majority of our supply wagons. The army is no longer a coherent fighting force." He paused, letting the grim reality sink in. "Japanese skirmishers are already engaging our rearguard at the city's southern gate. Their main force is advancing cautiously. They will have us surrounded and under siege by morning."
General Wei did not seem to hear him. "They rose from the earth itself…" he mumbled, shaking his head. "A thousand guns firing as one… unnatural…"
"They rose from well-prepared trenches, General," Jiang corrected him, his voice cold and devoid of pity. "They used modern tactics, fire discipline, and superior artillery sighting. We were defeated by a smaller but better-led and better-trained army."
Just then, a terrified telegraph operator burst into the room, his face pale. He ran to General Wei, nearly tripping over a discarded helmet.
"General Wei! Sir! The telegraph line to Port Arthur is still open! We must send a message! We must beg for reinforcements! For immediate naval support to evacuate us! We must tell the Emperor what has happened!"
The mention of the Emperor seemed to shake General Wei from his stupor. He looked up, his eyes filled not with a commander's resolve, but with a child's terror. Send a message? Admit to the Emperor that his glorious army, ten thousand strong, had been shattered in a single morning? That his boasts of a victory parade had turned into a catastrophic, humiliating defeat? He couldn't. The shame was too great. The thought of the Emperor's cold, disappointed eyes was more terrifying than the entire Japanese army. He simply stared at the wall, paralyzed by his own failure.
The telegraph operator looked around desperately. "We must send for help!"
Captain Jiang stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "I will dictate the message," he said, his voice calm and authoritative.
The operator, relieved to have someone, anyone, take charge, rushed to his small, clicking machine. "Ready, Captain!"
Jiang took a breath. He looked at the broken General Wei, then at the terrified faces of the other surviving officers in the room. He thought of the Emperor's final, private instruction to him before the fleet had even sailed from Port Arthur. The words had been whispered in a secure room, a command known only to him. "General Wei is a fool, but he is a necessary fool. He will lead my men to disaster. When he does, you will report his failure to me, and only to me, by private courier. Do not allow him to call for help. A lesson is not learned if the student is rescued before the test is complete. The price of their education must be paid in full."
Captain Jiang turned to the telegraph operator, his face a mask of cold iron. "Send this message," he said, his voice ringing with an authority that no one dared question. "To the Viceroy's Office, Port Arthur, for immediate transmission to the Grand Council. Message begins: 'Engaged large enemy force south of Pyongyang. Fighting was fierce. Have conducted a strategic withdrawal back to the city to consolidate our forces. Situation is stable. Holding Pyongyang. Awaiting further orders.' End message."
He walked over to the General's discarded field desk, picked up the general's personal seal, and pressed it onto the message form. "Sign it with the General's seal."
The other officers stared at him, their mouths agape. "Stable?!" one of them, a colonel, finally sputtered. "Captain, have you lost your mind?! We are on the verge of annihilation! We are trapped!"
Captain Jiang turned to face the colonel, his hand resting lightly on the butt of his Mauser pistol. His eyes were as cold and dead as a winter sky. "The General is indisposed," he said softly. "Those are his orders, which I am relaying on his behalf. Do you wish to question them?" His cold, unwavering gaze promised death to anyone who dared to argue. The threat was unspoken but perfectly clear.
The colonel swallowed hard and looked away. The telegraph operator, sweating profusely, began to tap out the monstrous lie.
Back in the quiet serenity of his study in Beijing, Qin Shi Huang was meeting with a grim-faced Li Hongzhang and Meng Tian. The air was heavy with unspoken questions. The Emperor held the freshly decoded telegraph from Pyongyang in his hand.
"Majesty, what does it say?" Li Hongzhang asked, his voice strained. "The lack of news is unsettling. 'Situation stable'? What does that mean? Should we not send the fleet back to Pyongyang to provide fire support? The Second Army is ready to embark from Tianjin to reinforce them."
QSH listened patiently. Then, without a word, he crumpled the yellow telegraph paper in his fist and tossed it into a nearby charcoal brazier. It caught fire instantly, turning to black ash.
"It means," the Emperor said, his voice utterly flat, "that General Wei is a fool whose pride is greater than his sense of duty. He has failed his army, and now he lies to his Emperor to save his own face."
He turned to Meng Tian, who had been standing silent and impassive. "Captain Jiang's private courier bird arrived an hour ago. It flew through the night. It carried the real report." QSH's voice was as cold and devoid of emotion as a coroner's report. "The Gongzi Army has been shattered. Ambushed south of Pyongyang. They have lost over three thousand men, dead or wounded, and all of their artillery. They are trapped in the city, and the Japanese are preparing for a final assault. Captain Jiang estimates they will be overrun within days."
Li Hongzhang looked horrified. The color drained from his face. "Three thousand men! Majesty, this is a catastrophe! We must save them! We must send reinforcements now!"
"No."
The word was absolute, dropped into the room like a block of ice. QSH turned to face his elderly minister, his eyes merciless.
"They are the price," he said. "They are the price of arrogance. They are the price of incompetence. They are the price of an army that has forgotten how to fight a real war. Their deaths will be the lesson that burns the foolish pride out of every other general in my army. Their sacrifice today will save us thirty thousand lives a year from now. An army that does not fear defeat cannot achieve victory."
He let the brutal logic hang in the air for a moment before turning to Meng Tian. The time for lessons was over. The time for war had come.
"General," he commanded. "The lesson is complete. The First Army is now bloodied and humbled. It is time for the real war to begin. Ready my Imperial Guard. The ones you have trained personally. We are going to Port Arthur. I will oversee the next phase of this war myself."