When people are struck by an accident they never anticipated, their vision narrows and their judgment falters.
And when such disasters occur one after another, panic is almost inevitable.
Even Lin Zexu was no exception.
As his ship hurried back toward Canton, almost as if fleeing the island, Lin Zexu gradually began to regain his composure.
And with it came a strange, nagging sense of unease.
…What is this?
Why is everything unfolding like this?
He had never truly believed that the opium could be confiscated during the negotiations.
Killian's accusation—that Qing must have had some other intention—had been impossible to deny.
Lin Zexu had known from the beginning that the amount of opium stored on Lintin Island was enormous.
In Canton it might have been possible to seize it.
But on an island effectively controlled by the British?
Qing simply did not possess the strength to confiscate those goods.
More importantly, unless a nation had lost its mind, who would hand over such vast quantities of merchandise simply because someone demanded it?
That merchandise represented money.
And an immense amount of it.
The justification for confiscation was not even particularly strong.
If opium had already entered Qing territory, then it could clearly be argued that the merchants intended to distribute it there.
But the goods stored on Lintin Island had not yet been transported anywhere.
Of course, everyone knew perfectly well where it would eventually end up.
Still, telling someone, "You intend to commit a crime, so we'll punish you in advance," was hardly convincing logic.
Which was why Lin Zexu's real purpose had been different.
The negotiations over opium were merely a pretext.
His true goal was to uncover evidence that Britain had dealings with Joseon or Japan.
But what had happened on Lintin Island…
That had never even crossed his mind.
"You idiots! Do you have any idea what you've done?!"
Lin Zexu's roar echoed across the deck of the ship.
"I told you to conduct a discreet investigation! And what did you do instead?"
"You murdered British merchants and burned their ships!"
"What you've done is nothing less than a declaration of war against Britain!"
To enter the territory of the opposing side during negotiations…
And then murder merchants and burn their ships?
Even if Britain arrived tomorrow with an army, Qing would have no grounds for protest.
"G-Governor! We've been wronged!"
"Wronged? How dare you say that when the evidence is so clear!"
"We only followed your orders and secretly searched their ships!"
"But suddenly the vessel caught fire! We barely escaped!"
"Murder? We never killed anyone!"
"What nonsense!" Lin Zexu snapped.
"So you're saying the British set fire to their own ships and made their own merchants disappear?"
He was about to continue shouting when he suddenly stopped.
At last, the strange sense of unease from earlier crystallized into a thought.
What if…
What if the British realized our intentions and staged this entire incident to frame us?
For months Qing had demanded proof that Britain traded with Joseon or Japan.
It would not have been difficult for them to deduce Qing's objective.
And since Qing vessels could never catch British merchant ships at sea, the only opportunity for inspection would come when those ships were docked.
Yet inspections in Canton would yield nothing.
If evidence existed, it would be at their base—on Lintin Island.
So perhaps the British had anticipated everything.
They set a trap.
And Qing had walked straight into it.
The idea was not impossible.
In fact, the more Lin Zexu thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed.
Even if his subordinates were reckless, would they truly go so far as to murder merchants and burn ships?
"If you really didn't kill anyone…" Lin Zexu muttered.
"…No. It doesn't matter."
"Once the evidence has surfaced, anything we say will sound like excuses."
"But Governor, we truly are innocent!"
Lin Zexu pressed a hand against his temple.
His head throbbed.
Should he really conclude that the entire incident had been staged?
But there was no proof.
And there was plenty of evidence suggesting his own men were responsible.
If he insisted it was a British fabrication, would anyone believe him?
Worse still, if he delayed matters under the pretense of an investigation and it later turned out his subordinates had been lying…
Then this would not remain their problem alone.
Lin Zexu himself would be finished.
What should I do?
Should I insist on our innocence?
Or… perhaps the better option is to take a firm stance instead.
If he hesitated and attempted weak denials, Qing might be humiliated.
Better to respond decisively.
After all, the emperor had authorized the use of force if necessary.
Even if his men had burned British ships, that could be framed as obedience to imperial orders.
They could simply say:
The British ships were clearly sailing to Joseon and Japan. When Qing attempted to inspect them, the British resisted, and fighting broke out.
If he presented it that way, would Beijing truly punish him?
He had only followed orders.
The more Lin Zexu considered it, the more logical the approach seemed.
Yes… better to claim this was the result of carrying out the emperor's command.
Yet one unresolved question remained.
The burned ships might be explained away.
But the opium.
Even if the British had staged the incident, why would they destroy their own opium?
That made no sense.
If only a portion had burned, perhaps it could be explained.
But nearly the entire stockpile on Lintin Island had been destroyed.
The losses suffered by British merchants must be astronomical.
If Britain merely wanted justification for war, the deaths of merchants and the burning of ships would have been sufficient.
There was no need to destroy the opium itself.
Which meant the possibility of a staged incident was not particularly high.
At least according to Lin Zexu's reasoning.
Neither British merchants nor the British government had any reason to ruin the opium trade.
They had spent years selling the drug enthusiastically.
Now that it was being banned, they were furious.
So why would they burn their own stock?
The logic simply did not add up.
"Could it be," Lin Zexu murmured quietly, "that His Majesty issued secret orders to someone other than me?"
Now the outline of the situation began to take shape.
If the emperor truly desired war…
If conflict was inevitable no matter what Lin did…
Then as a loyal subject, he could only serve the emperor's will to the best of his ability.
The confusion in his mind settled.
But the sense of relief he expected never came.
Instead, an immense pressure weighed upon his chest.
As the coastline of Canton slowly reappeared in the distance, Lin gazed toward the land with troubled eyes.
* * *
If you come to the nineteenth century, it's best to live with a nineteenth-century mindset.
If you try to judge this era using modern morals and sensibilities, the world looks less like a society and more like a den of psychopaths and sociopaths.
You'd go insane trying to maintain your sanity.
Compromise where you can.
Adapt where necessary.
That was the healthiest way to survive here.
But even then, there were certain things my instincts simply refused to accept.
For me, narcotics fell squarely into that category.
Even without invoking morality, drugs are never something that can be perfectly controlled.
Right now we were selling them abroad.
But could anyone truly guarantee that they would never flood Britain itself someday?
In the original timeline that never happened.
But with the butterfly effect in play, who knew what might occur?
I could not afford to treat the matter lightly.
And the result of that decision sat directly in front of me.
William Jardine.
He stared blankly across the table.
Not only had he lost his fortune.
He had been left with enormous debts.
I could easily imagine how he must feel after falling into ruin overnight.
But sympathy was one thing.
Business was another.
I looked at him calmly.
"How severe were the losses from the fire?"
"…Everything burned," Jardine muttered hollowly.
"Everything…"
"At best… perhaps a few dozen chests can be salvaged."
Out of thirty thousand chests.
That meant less than one percent remained.
In other words, everything was gone.
Other merchants had suffered catastrophic losses as well.
But Jardine had possessed more opium than anyone else.
His losses were unimaginable.
"I never imagined Qing would go this far," he said weakly.
"The governor keeps insisting he never gave such an order."
"That bastard is lying!" another merchant shouted.
"We all saw them loading our opium onto their ships!"
"Our merchant vessels burned! Our men disappeared!"
"Send warships immediately! Destroy their ports!"
"Isn't that your duty, Minister? To protect British citizens and their interests?"
"Yes," I said calmly.
"Of course."
"That is precisely why I asked to meet you."
"This war can no longer be avoided. But wars take time."
"Even if we win quickly, collecting reparations could take three or four years."
My gaze hardened slightly.
"My concern is whether you can survive until then."
"As I understand it, many of you owe substantial debts to the East India Company."
Jardine froze.
The color drained from his face.
The destruction of the opium stockpile was tragic.
But did anyone seriously think the East India Company would say,
"Oh dear, that's unfortunate. Take four years to repay your debts"?
Especially now that the Company had lost its trade monopoly and was desperate for profits.
"This… this happened because the government failed to protect us," Jardine stammered.
"So surely the government should support us until reparations are paid…"
"Perhaps," I said thoughtfully.
"But there is a legal question."
"Were you conducting legitimate trade?"
"Or were you selling goods banned by Qing law?"
"If the latter… the matter becomes more complicated."
They had traded illegal goods of their own accord.
And now they wanted the government to compensate their losses?
Even Jardine knew how absurd that sounded.
His hands trembled.
"Then… what should I do?"
"If I cannot repay my debts, bankruptcy will be the least of my problems."
Indeed.
Anyone familiar with the opium cartel and the East India Company knew how mercilessly they collected debts.
If Jardine returned to Britain now, he might not survive a month.
His body would likely be found floating in the Thames with a bullet in his skull.
"Well," I sighed.
"I feel rather responsible myself."
"If I had realized the Qing authorities would behave so irrationally, perhaps precautions could have been taken."
"M-Minister… if I return like this, I'm a dead man."
"Please… help me somehow…"
"In truth," I said slowly, "since I trusted Qing too much, perhaps it is my duty to accept some responsibility."
Jardine's eyes widened.
"Really? Thank you! Thank you, Minister!"
"But to do that," I continued calmly, "there are a few things I need to know."
Destroying the local merchants alone would not dismantle the opium cartel back in Britain.
Even if the Chinese operation collapsed, the network itself would survive.
And who knew?
In desperation they might even start selling opium within Britain itself.
If I was going to destroy them—
I would destroy them completely.
Including the politicians protecting them.
"Tell me," I said quietly.
"Who have the merchants been dealing with?"
"What connections exist in Britain?"
"And which members of Parliament or the cabinet have received your lobbying funds?"
Jardine stared at me in shock.
"…What?"
"I'm not asking out of curiosity," I continued calmly.
"If someone intends to kill you, I must know who they are."
"Whether it's another merchant… or a member of Parliament."
"How can I protect you if I don't know your enemies?"
Don't want to talk?
Then go run from your creditors until they catch you.
The war itself was already decided.
Britain would win.
What mattered was what happened after the war.
The opium interests would certainly not be pleased with me.
Many of them had supported sending me here to solve the opium problem.
Now the trade itself had been annihilated.
They would undoubtedly accuse me of diplomatic failure.
Demand my resignation.
But I had never intended to tolerate the opium cartel in the first place.
My Britain did not need drugs.
"Tell me honestly," Jardine whispered.
"If I give you that information… will I truly survive?"
"Of course," I replied.
"You may not return to the opium business."
"But the New World is full of opportunities."
"I will see to it that you start anew there."
Jardine stared at the floor for a long time.
Then, with a ragged breath, he nodded.
And one by one, the traces of corruption—filthy connections that would become powerful weapons after the war—began spilling from his lips.