The pre-dawn blackness over the sea was absolute. The great invasion fleet, a silent, sprawling behemoth, had extinguished every lantern, every binnacle light, and muffled its engines to a low, throbbing whisper. It crept toward the unseen coast of Japan like a hunting beast. On the crowded decks of the transport ships, tens of thousands of soldiers stood in taut silence, the only sounds the creak of leather, the soft clink of metal, and the gentle lapping of waves against the hulls. The boisterous confidence of Port Arthur was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp-edged tension that was far more potent.
Inside a cramped, stifling landing barge swaying in the dark water beside a large steamer, Colonel Feng, now a common soldier in the vanguard, gripped his rifle until his knuckles were white. The men around him, a mix of his own disgraced officers and hardened soldiers from the Second Army, were shadows in the gloom, their faces invisible. He could feel their fear; it was a palpable thing, a living presence in the small, crowded space.
"I can't see anything," a young soldier next to him whispered, his voice trembling. "Are they waiting for us on the shore? Are their cannons aimed at us right now?"
"Quiet," Feng hissed, his voice a low, steady growl that carried no trace of his former arrogance. The fires of Pyongyang and the Emperor's brutal judgment had burned all of that away, leaving only a core of hard, functional resolve. "Check your rifle. Check the man next to you. No talking. Listen only for the signal from the flagship. Your fear is useless. Your training is all that matters now."
He was no longer a general playing at war. He was a soldier, a survivor, and the Emperor's lesson had been well and truly learned. Fear was not a weakness to be hidden; it was a tool to be honed, a whetstone for focus.
On the bridge of the flagship Hai-lung, QSH stood beside Admiral Ding, his eyes fixed on the faint, dark line of the coast that was just beginning to separate itself from the blackness of the sea.
"The first wave will launch in five minutes," Admiral Ding reported, his voice low. "The tide is with us. They should reach the beach just as the first light breaks."
"And the bombardment?" QSH asked, not turning his gaze.
"My cruisers are in position," the admiral confirmed. "They will begin firing on your signal. As you commanded, it will be a curtain of fire, not a sledgehammer. Shrapnel and high-explosive shells to suppress any defenders on the beach, but no solid shot. We will clear the beaches for you, but the roads and villages beyond will be left intact for our advance."
"Good," QSH said. He raised a small, silver whistle to his lips. He did not shout a command. He blew a single, sharp, piercing note that cut through the pre-dawn quiet.
It was the signal. Across the fleet, the silent work began. Ropes creaked, barges were lowered into the water, and thousands of soldiers began their descent into the bobbing craft. Moments later, a series of dull, coughing roars echoed from the line of Qing cruisers. A curtain of fire arced through the sky, the shells screaming toward the shore. They exploded not in massive, cratering blasts, but in sharp, air-burst flashes that peppered the coastline with thousands of deadly steel fragments. It was a terrifying, impersonal steel rain designed to kill men, not destroy fortifications.
The first wave of infantry, with Colonel Feng at the prow of the lead barge, surged toward the shore. The small boats slapped against the waves, drenching the men in cold saltwater. They crouched low, rifles held high, their hearts pounding in their chests. They were the penal vanguard, the men with no honor left to lose and everything to prove. They expected to be met with a wall of rifle fire, a line of waiting Japanese soldiers ready to fight and die for their sacred soil.
The flat bottom of Feng's barge scraped against sand. The ramp slammed down. "Go! Go! Go!" he roared, his voice raw. "Spread out! Find cover! First squad, left flank! Second, right!"
He charged into the knee-deep water and onto the wet, dark sand, his men spilling out behind him. They were met with… nothing.
The beach was deserted. The only sign of life was a small fishing boat hastily abandoned at the water's edge, its nets still trailing in the surf. In the distance, the faint lights of a small village flickered, and they could hear the panicked cries of a few locals fleeing into the woods. The landing was completely, utterly unopposed.
For a moment, the soldiers stood there in stunned disbelief. They had prepared for a bloodbath, for a desperate fight for every inch of sand. The sheer anticlimax of it was disorienting.
Colonel Feng's voice, hardened by his recent humiliation, cut through their hesitation. "Don't gawk at the scenery!" he bellowed, kicking a young soldier who was staring at the empty beach. "Dig in! Now! Form a perimeter at the high tide line! The enemy can appear at any moment! Do not believe your eyes! Believe your training!"
The discipline, burned into them through weeks of brutal, repetitive drills, held. The men, shaking off their surprise, fell to their knees and began to dig frantically into the soft sand with their hands and bayonets, creating shallow pits from which to fight. They formed a long, curved defensive line, just as they had practiced a hundred times on the shores of Port Arthur. Instead of a triumphant cheer, the first sound of the Qing army on Japanese soil was the scraping of steel and the grunting of men preparing for a battle that had not yet come.
As the sky brightened, more waves of troops hit the beach. The landing was a model of logistical efficiency. Whole companies disembarked and were immediately directed to their pre-assigned positions, expanding the beachhead with every passing minute. Engineers, wading through the surf, began constructing makeshift piers from pontoon bridges, allowing the larger ships to unload artillery, horses, and supplies directly onto the shore.
Meng Tian, his massive frame a reassuring presence amidst the organized chaos, personally led a patrol of a hundred cavalrymen inland. They moved cautiously up the main coastal road toward the distant city of Nagasaki.
An hour later, a rider galloped back to the beach, where QSH had established a command post on a small dune. "A report from General Meng!" the rider announced.
QSH took the message. Meng Tian's report was brief and to the point. "Your Majesty, the road is clear. We have encountered no resistance. We have captured several local officials who were attempting to flee. They are in a state of shock. They had no warning of our arrival. Their nearest army garrison is within Nagasaki itself, and according to the prisoners, they have not yet mobilized. The local defense force consists of a few hundred police and retired samurai."
QSH allowed himself a small, cold smile. "Predictable," he said to Li Hongzhang, who stood beside him. "They fortified the harbor against a naval assault, never dreaming we would be bold or foolish enough to land an entire army on an open beach." He turned to the generals of the Second Army, who were now assembling before him.
"The beachhead is secure. The element of surprise is ours. There will be no rest. There will be no delay." His eyes fell upon Colonel Feng, who stood at attention with the rest of the vanguard, awaiting orders. "The penal vanguard will lead the march. You have landed on this beach. Now you will earn the right to leave it."
He pointed down the road toward the distant haze of the city. "We take Nagasaki before they even realize the war has come to their doorstep."