At the Grand Encampment of Tianjin, Commissioner Qiying of the Great Qing Dynasty found himself utterly enthralled—bewitched, even—by the disarmingly logical rhetoric of Arthur Lionheart.
"We are the victors," Arthur Lionheart had said confidently. "But the peace of our nations, Commissioner, comes at a price. Peace is never free."
Qiying had taken the freshly drafted Treaty of Tianjin—that thinly veiled ultimatum—and treated it as though it were a priceless relic. He immediately dispatched it toward Beijing on an express courier, urging Emperor Daoguang to "make a swift and wise decision, lest complications multiply."
To Qiying, this treaty was nothing short of a miracle amid national humiliation—a rare act of benevolence among "unequal treaties."
No land cessions.
Assistance in banning opium.
Promises of technological support.
Aside from the slightly exorbitant indemnity in silver, it was practically a dream.
Qiying convinced himself he had achieved a diplomatic masterpiece—something worthy of future historiographers.
Arthur Lionheart, observing this naïve gratitude, allowed himself a faint, cold smile. He did not bother correcting the man. To pacify Qiying was to pacify Daoguang; the treaty's acceptance was inevitable. The machinery of politics had already begun to turn.
He left General Yili and the majority of the sailing ironclads stationed in the outer sea of Tianjin—maintaining military pressure under the polite pretext of "awaiting His Majesty's gracious reply."
Then, he made a decision that stunned every British officer.
Late one still night, under lamplight, Arthur Lionheart summoned General Yili and the ship captains.
"General," Arthur Lionheart said, gesturing to the nautical charts, "this task I entrust to you. You will watch the Qing closely. Permit them to send their pleadings, their foods, their petitions—but under no circumstances allow any of their vessels to approach our main fleet. Should they attempt even the slightest maneuver, you will 'communicate' your disapproval using the language of the 120-gun batteries."
"Yes, Your Highness!" General Yili saluted sharply. "Then… where will Your Highness go?"
A slow, foxlike smile touched Arthur Lionheart's lips.
With a single finger, he traced a long arc across the map—from Tianjin, eastward across the sea, toward a narrow island nation.
"While we await the Emperor's reply," Arthur Lionheart said lightly, "I find myself without occupation. Thus, I intend to personally command the Queen of Vengeance and the three fastest steam frigates in our fleet, and pay a visit to a small place called 'Japan.' There are… commercial matters to discuss."
"Japan? Y–Your Highness, you intend to sail for Japan?!"
General Yili nearly choked. "But that—that was never included in our expedition plans! And that nation is said to be even more isolationist than the Great Qing! They have remained shut away for over two centuries!"
"All the better," Arthur Lionheart replied with a knowing smile. "Nations that hide themselves are nations ripe with dormant opportunity. And while every eye on the continent watches our affairs with the Qing… we shall slip quietly into Japan and claim their 'first encounter' with modernity. A feint to the east, General, and a strike to the west."
"But… the language barrier—"
"Who told you there is one?" Arthur Lionheart interrupted with effortless confidence.
He had already made preparations.
Through the Royal Promotion Association, he had summoned a certain "guest" from Macau.
A Prussian missionary named Karl Gützlaff—Chinese name Guo Shili.
A linguistic prodigy beyond comparison.
Fluent in Mandarin and Cantonese.
Cast ashore once in the Ryukyu Islands.
Traveled as far as Edo Bay.
And most importantly: fluent in Japanese.
Historically, he would have served as interpreter during the Opium War. This time, however, Arthur Lionheart had intercepted him early—securing him as a personal secret weapon.
Even if Arthur Lionheart don't possessed linguistic mastery cinese, a statesman did not dirty his own hands in routine translation. He required intermediaries—instruments—properly loyal and utterly convenient.
"Do not trouble yourself, General," Arthur Lionheart said, placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "Every detail has been arranged."
He straightened and addressed the captains:
"My orders are as follows: The flotilla will resupply at once. We depart at midnight. Absolute silence—no Qing official must suspect our movement."
He turned toward the cabin windows, where the moonlight cut across the deck.
"Destination—"
His eyes glinted.
"—Japan. Edo Bay."
General Yili watched Arthur Lionheart's calm profile and silently crossed himself. He felt a sharp, unbidden pity for the isolated island nation that had never before seen ships like theirs.
A premonition told him:
That unfortunate archipelago was about to suffer a calamity it had never imagined.
Ten days later.
Japan — Edo Bay.
The day was tranquil—just as it had been for centuries.
Within Edo Castle, the people lived their ritualistic lives. Samurai patrolled the avenues with twin swords; merchants tabulated their ledgers; fishermen rowed their small wooden boats over the shallows, casting their nets with age-old rhythm.
None of them knew that a force—like a storm of iron—was beginning to descend upon them from beyond the horizon.
An old fisherman, squinting at the line where sea met sky, rubbed his eyes furiously.
There, in the distance…
A colossal, smoke-belching… black beast.
A ship—larger and darker than any vessel he had ever imagined—charging across the waves without sails.
Behind it followed three smaller smoke-belching beasts, arranged in a disciplined formation, speeding toward the mouth of Edo Bay with unstoppable momentum.
"D-Demon! A demon appears at sea!!!"
The fisherman shrieked like a slaughtered boar, abandoned his nets, and paddled his tiny boat toward shore with frantic strokes.
His cry rippled across the coast like a stone cast into still water—panic surging instantly through Edo Bay.
Every boat turned and fled.
Along the shoreline, the samurai and shogunate soldiers saw the "monsters" nearing. Their jaws slackened.
The lead vessel—the Queen of Vengeance—towered like a drifting citadel, dwarfing even the Tenshukaku of Edo Castle.
Their worldview shattered.
"Wh-What… what is that?!"
A young samurai cried out, so terrified that his katana slipped from his trembling hands and clattered onto the sand.