The safe house in Washington D.C., a discreet brownstone in a quiet, respectable neighborhood, was an island of British calm in a sea of American chaos. Here, far from the screaming headlines and panicked political furor emanating from St. Louis, Michael Abernathy was dissecting the first fruits of his treasonous new alliance.
His top field agent, a man named Davies, had arrived just after dawn, having taken the overnight train from the disaster at the World's Fair. He was a good agent, unflappable and precise, but even he seemed shaken by the events.
"It was chaos, sir," Davies reported, sipping a cup of strong tea Abernathy had poured for him. "The shot came out of nowhere. Root went down. The President's men swarmed him. I've never seen the Americans so rattled. The entire fairgrounds is in lockdown."
"But you were successful?" Abernathy asked, his voice calm, his focus absolute.
"Yes, sir," Davies replied. He reached into his coat and produced a thick, sealed envelope. "The handoff was perfect, just before the shot. Exactly as planned."
Abernathy took the envelope. It was heavy, the stationery of the finest quality. It bore no name, no address. This was it. The first intelligence "payment" from his new, high-level asset, Yuan Shikai. He dismissed his agent, and once he was alone in the quiet, sunlit room, he broke the seal.
Inside was a multi-page report, written in a confident, elegant hand. It was Yuan's preliminary analysis of General Meng Tian. As Abernathy began to read, his blood ran cold with a thrilling, professional excitement. This was not the dry, speculative data of a field agent. This was a character assassination of the highest, most intimate order, a masterpiece of truth and lies woven together so seamlessly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
The report began with what Abernathy knew to be the truth. Yuan accurately, and with a strategist's eye, described Meng Tian's "unorthodox" battlefield tactics. He detailed the general's shocking willingness to deceive the Emperor with falsified after-action reports, painting a picture of a man whose loyalty to his own men and his own methods superseded his loyalty to the throne. He described, with what seemed like grudging admiration, Meng Tian's deep, personal code of honor, an almost naive belief in martial virtue that often put him at odds with the brutal, pragmatic realities of the Qing court. This section alone was a goldmine, confirming that Meng Tian was exactly the kind of honorable, conflicted man who could potentially be leveraged, broken, and turned.
But it was the second half of the report that was the true prize. Here, Yuan moved from factual analysis to poisoned speculation, addressing the very question that had haunted Abernathy for months: the source of Meng Tian's genius.
The General's strategic intuition, Yuan wrote, is undeniable. It is also, I have come to believe, profoundly unstable. He is subject to sudden, unexplained collapses, often at moments of great stress. These episodes are frequently accompanied by physical symptoms, such as severe nosebleeds, that are consistent with a man suffering from a deep, neurological affliction.
Abernathy's heart began to beat faster. This was it. The nosebleeds. The same symptom associated with the Emperor.
While some in the court whisper of a 'divine gift', the letter continued, I believe the truth is more medical, and more alarming. The General is a man of immense pressures. I fear his mind has created a kind of second sight, a strategic hallucination, to cope with these pressures. He is a brilliant but dangerously unpredictable man who, I have come to suspect, believes himself to be guided by voices, by spirits, by some external force that is a product of his own fractured psyche. He is a flawed vessel, a cracked mirror that reflects a brilliant but distorted picture of the battlefield. His genius and his madness are two sides of the same tarnished coin.
Abernathy put the letter down, his mind racing. It was perfect. It was a lie wrapped in a truth. Yuan was cleverly framing Meng Tian's supernatural power not as a divine gift, which would make him a rival to the Emperor, but as a sign of a deep, psychological instability. It was a diagnosis designed to discredit, to pathologize, and to neutralize.
But for Abernathy, it was the ultimate confirmation. Yuan's description of Meng Tian's "affliction" was a perfect match for the known weaknesses of the Emperor. His "second dragon" theory, the wild speculation born from a flicker of data on a machine in London, was now a hard, verifiable fact, delivered from the hand of an impeccable inside source.
He now understood the immense, terrifying value of his new asset. Yuan Shikai was not just a political traitor. He was a key, a guide to the new, supernatural world that had so abruptly revealed itself. He was providing the very weapons Abernathy needed to fight this new kind of war. Meng Tian's code of honor was a lever. His rivalry with Yuan was a wedge. And now, his supernatural "instability" was a critical, exploitable weakness. They could use this information to design a psychological campaign to manipulate the General, to prey on his doubts, to break his loyalty to the Emperor.
Abernathy moved to the secure telegraph room and began to draft a top-secret, heavily coded message for the Prime Minister in London. His fingers flew across the key, his mind clear and focused.
Have made contact with asset YS in America. First intelligence package received. Authenticity confirmed. Asset has provided preliminary data on subject MT. Our 'second dragon' theory is now considered fact. MT possesses abilities analogous to Emperor, but appears mentally and physically unstable under pressure. Asset YS is volatile but of immense, perhaps decisive, value. The Americans have lost control of the situation following an attack on their Secretary of War. Recommend proceeding with Phase Two of our new strategy. Opportunity is significant.
The message was sent, a quiet declaration of a new secret war. The partnership with the Americans was now officially a sham. He was on his own, playing a more dangerous, and far more rewarding, game.
He returned to the study and, with a pair of silver tongs, picked up Yuan Shikai's handwritten report. He held it over a heavy glass ashtray and lit the corner with a match. He watched as the elegant, treasonous words curled, blackened, and turned to weightless, gray ash. He had just accepted, and now destroyed, a piece of intelligence that made him, and by extension the British Empire, a direct conspirator in Yuan Shikai's schemes. He had officially chosen his pawn.
He summoned his own top agent, Davies, back into the room. He gave him a new set of orders.
"The situation in St. Louis has changed," Abernathy said, his voice cold and precise. "The Americans have moved both Chinese delegations to a secure location. I want you to find out where. Use our assets in their military intelligence. Bribe someone. I want to know the layout of the estate. I want to know the guard rotations. And most importantly, I want a covert watch maintained on General Meng Tian. Do not engage him. Do not approach him. His psychological state is now our primary target. I want to know what makes the honorable man break."