As the nineteenth century moved toward its midpoint, Britain's ruling elite possessed an unshakable confidence in their country's strength.
They had defeated Napoleon, a man who had once seemed impossible to overthrow. Even India—once considered a mighty power in the East—now appeared pitifully weak in comparison to Britain's growing might.
In both the West and the East, no nation seemed capable of matching the British Empire.
Yet being the strongest did not mean Britain could simply wage war against anyone it pleased.
Even in Europe, powerful states like France and Russia still existed—countries that might not defeat Britain outright but could certainly inflict severe damage.
And in the East, there remained the Qing Empire, a vast realm with an estimated population of nearly four hundred million.
Many argued that Qing China, like India, had fallen behind the times.
But in Parliament, there were still many voices urging caution.
"Do you know how large the population of Qing China is?" John Russell demanded loudly from the Whig benches.
"Four hundred million. Four hundred million! That is twenty times our own population—even if you include Ireland and Scotland. No matter how advanced our technology may be, we cannot treat such a nation lightly."
In recent weeks, debates about the possibility of war with China had become increasingly frequent.
The trade deficit with Qing continued to grow, and the opium trade—once a convenient means of balancing it—had been banned.
The East India Company and the opium merchants relentlessly pressured the government to pursue a military solution. They lobbied aggressively, and many members of Parliament sympathized with them.
Not merely because of money.
But because they genuinely believed war might be necessary to defend Britain's national interests.
"Russell's concerns are understandable," another voice replied, "but population alone does not determine a nation's strength."
Surprisingly, the speaker was not a Conservative but another Whig—Henry John Temple, Viscount Palmerston.
Although a nobleman, Palmerston held an Irish peerage and therefore sat in the House of Commons rather than the Lords.
In that sense he resembled Killian Gore.
But unlike Killian, Palmerston had been born in Westminster and had scarcely visited Ireland at all.
As a result, he enjoyed little popularity there—especially compared to figures like Daniel O'Connell and Killian himself.
Nevertheless, Palmerston's sharp analysis and keen political instincts were steadily increasing his influence within the party.
His disagreement with Russell was not a matter of factional rivalry.
On the question of war with Qing, opinions were deeply divided across both parties.
It had become almost routine to see Whigs opposing Whigs and Conservatives supporting them.
"Lord Palmerston," Russell continued, "I am not suggesting we would face all four hundred million people at once. But such a population means an enormous pool of manpower. If we deploy troops to China, our expedition might number no more than twenty thousand men. They could easily field one or two hundred thousand. Have you considered the scale of losses we might suffer?"
"If we weigh profit and loss," Palmerston replied calmly, "then war becomes even more necessary."
"Qing China maintains protectionist policies purely for its own benefit. Such nations must sometimes be forced open through harsher means."
He glanced toward the Conservative benches.
"Surely the Conservatives would agree? Even Foreign Secretary Killian Gore's paper on free trade argues that global prosperity depends on establishing an international free-trade order."
"So nations that refuse to join that order must be compelled to do so?" Russell asked.
"If someone refuses to take medicine that would benefit them," Palmerston said with a shrug, "is it not the duty of responsible adults to make them swallow it?"
Then he turned toward the Conservatives, inviting their response.
But just as the Whigs were divided, the Conservatives were far from unified.
The first to speak was William Gladstone, who had clearly been waiting for the opportunity.
"If I may add something," Gladstone said sharply, "I fail to understand why we are discussing war purely in terms of profit and loss."
"In fact, I cannot even accept that the possibility of war is being discussed at all."
"What exactly has China done wrong?"
"Have they invaded other nations like Napoleon? Have they threatened Britain directly?"
"The refusal to open such an enormous market," someone retorted, "is itself a threat to our economy and industry. Their restrictions on trade cause enormous losses for British merchants."
Gladstone frowned.
"Our merchants reside within Chinese territory. They conduct trade under Chinese law. If those laws restrict trade, how exactly does that make China guilty of wrongdoing?"
"I do not claim to understand the full military consequences of war," he continued. "But launching one simply because we were forbidden to sell opium will bring a disgrace far greater than any profits we might gain."
Even though no vote on war was imminent, the debate grew increasingly heated.
Three camps had clearly emerged.
One, represented by Gladstone, insisted war without moral justification was unacceptable.
Another urged caution, warning that Qing China was a powerful empire.
The third argued that Britain must pursue its national interests—even if war became necessary.
None of them showed the slightest willingness to compromise.
Palmerston shook his head impatiently.
"The harm caused by opium," he declared, "is less than that caused by whisky."
"Then perhaps you should switch to opium instead of whisky, Lord Palmerston," someone replied dryly.
"I prefer whisky," Palmerston said. "But that is irrelevant."
"What matters is that this Parliament must place the interests of the British Empire above all else."
"Alliances and enemies are secondary matters."
"There are no eternal alliances. No eternal enemies."
"And certainly no eternal codes of honor."
"There is only national interest—and pursuing that interest is our duty!"
"I cannot agree," Gladstone shot back. "War must always be a last resort. To speak of it so casually damages the dignity and prestige of this nation."
"We should pursue diplomacy and peaceful negotiation."
"Diplomacy?" Palmerston said with a smirk.
"An excellent point. After all, the Conservatives claim they are pursuing diplomacy right now."
"Did they not send that remarkably young minister to Asia in an unprecedented appointment?"
"When exactly will we see the results of this diplomatic effort?"
Palmerston clearly thought he had delivered a devastating blow.
But the Prime Minister—who had remained silent until now—immediately rose.
"I had intended to address that matter today," Robert Peel said calmly.
"I wished to inform the House about the report recently received from the Foreign Secretary."
"The document is extensive, and we needed time to consult relevant experts before presenting it."
"Has a report arrived from Canton?" someone asked.
"Yes. I will summarize it briefly."
"The full report has been made available to both Houses. Any member who wishes to examine it in detail may do so after the session."
Peel placed several sheets of paper on the desk before him.
Even the summary alone filled nearly ten pages.
According to the report, the situation in Canton had reached a state of extreme tension.
"The meeting transcripts attached suggest a cordial atmosphere between the governor and Minister Killian," Peel explained.
"At first glance, it might appear that a peaceful resolution is possible."
"But the central government in Beijing appears to have no such intention."
"You mean Qing China intends to fight us?" someone asked incredulously.
"They believe Britain poses a threat to their political system."
"The report explains the East Asian concept of the Celestial Order—the hierarchical relationship between China and surrounding states."
As he spoke, aides distributed excerpts from Killian's report to the assembled members.
The heading read:
"The Political Order of East Asia Centered on the Son of Heaven."
The document explained in detail the tributary system and the worldview that shaped Qing diplomacy.
It also warned that Beijing increasingly viewed Britain as a threat to that system.
"Mr. Gladstone," Peel said calmly, "if Qing authorities threaten British merchants or attack our ships, and British lives are lost—would you still oppose the use of force?"
"…If they initiate violence, we must respond," Gladstone admitted reluctantly.
"But unless China has completely lost its reason, I see no cause for such actions."
"We sent Minister Killian precisely because of his familiarity with the region," Peel replied.
"Yet the Qing appear to have interpreted that gesture as a threat."
"It seems our ways of thinking differ so profoundly that we cannot judge their actions by our own standards."
Some members still hesitated.
Russell remained especially cautious.
"I respect the minister's efforts," he said. "But if war breaks out because China attacks first, that still represents a diplomatic failure."
"And if such a war inflicts catastrophic losses on Britain—who will bear responsibility?"
Peel nodded.
"That concern is addressed in the latter portion of the report."
"It contains detailed military analyses of how Britain should respond if Qing forces resort to violence."
Russell narrowed his eyes and began reading.
"Comparison of armaments and combat effectiveness between Qing forces and British forces…"
As he read further, his skepticism slowly gave way to astonishment.
According to Killian's report:
British warships possessed rotating artillery capable of firing from multiple angles.
Qing vessels, by contrast, were largely wooden junks.
Their cannons had less than half the range of British artillery, significantly lower accuracy, and far slower reload times.
Most importantly, Qing cannons could not penetrate the iron reinforcement of British warships except at extremely close range.
Russell stared at the document.
"…Is this accurate?"
"China's technology is inferior—that much we know. But the gap is this large?"
Until now, many military experts had testified that Britain held superior forces.
But none had provided such detailed comparisons.
And the final conclusion in Killian's report shocked the chamber.
One newly designed iron steamship—HMS Nemesis—could potentially destroy thirty Qing warships on its own.
Two ships of similar capability could defeat twenty-five Chinese vessels with ease.
Silence filled the chamber.
"Then… Qing China is nothing more than a paper tiger," someone muttered.
"So who was it that said we would suffer enormous losses in such a war?"
"At this rate, if China slapped us across the face, we should bow ninety degrees and thank them."
Russell gradually fell silent as Peel continued presenting excerpts.
By the end of the session, he had no arguments left.
When the debate finally concluded, members from both parties rushed toward the Prime Minister.
"Prime Minister! Where can we read the full report?"
"I must see it as well!"
"I sit on the Foreign Affairs Committee—I should examine it first!"
Moments earlier, these same men had argued fiercely over whether Britain should wage war with China.
Now they all shared the same thought.
If only Qing China would strike first.
Once a great empire that had dominated Asia and even intimidated the West…
Now it appeared little more than a firefly before the full moon of the British Empire.
"In that case," Russell said excitedly, "should we not encourage our minister to provoke stronger hostility from the Chinese?"
"With his talents, he is surely capable of handling such a responsibility!"
The chamber erupted in laughter and applause.
Only Gladstone looked on with an expression of disbelief.
And with that, the parliamentary session ended in an atmosphere of remarkable harmony.
* * *
At the same moment Parliament was thrown into turmoil, Kensington Palace remained peaceful as ever.
"Your Majesty! A letter has arrived!"
Queen Victoria had been enjoying afternoon tea—a fashionable new habit among the British elite—when Killian's letter was delivered.
"…Hmm? A letter?" she said lightly.
"I told him not to bother writing if he was busy with official duties."
"And yet he insists on sending them regularly."
She glanced sideways at Baroness Lehzen, who was sharing tea with her.
"What do you think? Minister Killian writes so diligently."
"Oh my," Lehzen smiled. "It seems the minister holds Your Majesty in very high regard."
"Doesn't he?" Victoria replied with a sigh. "Honestly, it's rather troublesome."
She turned toward the woman seated opposite her—Killian's mother, Cecilia.
"Does he write to you often as well?"
"Not particularly," Cecilia replied. "I've received two letters so far. Perhaps once every few months."
"Really?"
Victoria hid her smile.
She did not bother mentioning that she received one every month.
Naturally, she also neglected to mention that she had been the one encouraging him to write.
"Well then," she said casually, "I suppose I should include a small comment in my reply."
"What elegant prose will he have written this time?" she wondered aloud.
"Minister Killian's loyalty truly seems remarkable," Lehzen said.
"Indeed," Victoria replied. "Sometimes I think he goes a bit too far."
"Once a month would have been plenty, but lately he seems determined to write every two weeks."
She carefully opened the envelope, trying not to look too eager.
The last letter had arrived only two weeks ago.
Perhaps he had grown impatient being away for so long.
That would be a promising sign.
She unfolded the page.
"Since it has only been two weeks since my last letter, I will omit the usual personal updates.
Rumors will soon spread that war with Qing China may be possible.
When that moment comes, Your Majesty should always place the safety of your subjects and the dignity of the British Empire above all else.
If you do so, all will praise Your Majesty's decisive leadership."
That was the entire page.
Victoria blinked.
Then she reached into the envelope for the second sheet.
Nothing.
She shook the envelope.
Still nothing.
Perhaps it was written on the back?
She flipped the page over.
Blank.
"…Huh."
Her eyes slowly returned to the line on the page.
"I will omit the usual personal updates."
Omit the usual updates.
Omit them.
A vein throbbed faintly at her temple.
What kind of method is that? she thought furiously.
Skipping the updates because you wrote two weeks ago?
Seeing her frozen expression, Cecilia tilted her head.
"Your Majesty… has something happened to Killian?"
"Oh—no, nothing like that," Victoria said quickly.
"He only mentioned that life abroad has been exhausting lately."
"I was simply worried."
"There's no illness, so please don't be concerned."
There was no way she could admit she had just received a three-sentence letter after making such a fuss about it.
She quickly folded the paper and slid it back into the envelope.
If war really was coming, the least he could have done was write a proper message.
At least a few words of concern.
Thank goodness she hadn't proudly shown the letter to the others.
With a quiet sigh, Victoria pushed away the cake she had been enjoying moments earlier.
The jam-covered pastries she loved so much suddenly held no appeal.
Instead, she reached for a glass of cold water and drank it in one long gulp.