London, the British Empire.
Westminster.
"Woooooo!"
"Show them no mercy!"
"Make Qing apologize!"
The furious shouts of the crowd echoed so loudly that even within the stone walls of Parliament they reached the ears of the members.
Citizens filled with anger roared outside.
Yet the expressions of the parliamentarians inside were surprisingly calm.
After all, those voices were not directed at them.
"The minister in Canton has sent another report," one official announced.
"Qing initially promised a full investigation into the incident, but their position suddenly changed. It appears the decision came directly from the Qing emperor."
"They refused to investigate?" someone scoffed.
"Then that's practically an admission of guilt."
"Not quite," another replied.
"It seems more like: whether we did it or not, what exactly do you intend to do about it?"
A ripple of laughter spread across the chamber.
"Well, well. Remarkable."
"I never imagined they would respond like this."
The Lintin Island fire had shocked the British public.
According to the reports circulating through the newspapers, Britain had attempted peaceful negotiations.
Qing, however, had ignored those efforts and continued their unreasonable pressure.
Eventually they burned the merchants' property, destroyed British ships, and several men had even gone missing during the incident.
The British Empire had rarely been treated so brazenly.
To many members of Parliament, the situation felt almost… refreshing.
The details of the incident had already spread throughout the nation through newspapers.
Public opinion demanded punishment for Qing's barbarity.
Even statements from Prime Minister Robert Peel and Queen Victoria had accelerated the mood.
Newspapers printed headlines such as:
— Queen Victoria urges the Prime Minister to prioritize the safety and property of British citizens.
— The Crown vows to ensure an environment where citizens may pursue their livelihoods without fear.
Articles like these appeared day after day.
The public applauded the young queen's bold and proactive attitude.
Of course, not everyone in Parliament viewed this favorably.
"Qing aside," one member remarked cautiously, "is it truly appropriate for Her Majesty to comment publicly on political matters? The Queen is young. Perhaps the Prime Minister should guide her more carefully."
"That may be true," another replied, "but the country is facing both an economic downturn and rising tensions with Qing. The people are anxious."
"Reassuring the public is also the role of the Crown. Whether this counts as political interference is… somewhat ambiguous."
"Besides, this meeting was not convened to discuss the royal family."
In truth, even Robert Peel had not expected the Queen's remarks to receive such widespread attention.
The original goal had merely been to demonstrate that the government was taking proactive action.
How things had spiraled beyond that was something Peel wisely chose not to mention.
Queen Victoria, however, had seized the moment.
She appeared at public events almost daily, speaking with citizens and narrowing the distance between Crown and people.
Her popularity rose rapidly.
She listened carefully to concerns about the ongoing economic downturn and expressed sympathy for the hardships citizens faced.
Had an older monarch acted this way, it might have seemed calculated.
But a young queen, newly crowned, acting out of apparent sincerity?
The public adored her for it.
And Parliament believed she meant well.
In any case, with the monarchy acting so decisively, Parliament could hardly lag behind public sentiment.
Members from both parties, from both the House of Lords and the House of Commons, demanded a firm response.
The cabinet immediately began examining the legitimacy of war.
Today's session would present their conclusion.
"Returning to the matter at hand," Peel announced, "the Cabinet has unanimously concluded that Qing's provocation cannot be ignored."
"The Foreign Office, the War Office, and the Treasury all agree that diplomatically and militarily there are no obstacles to this war."
"The First Lord of the Admiralty has also confirmed that the Royal Navy is fully capable of conducting the campaign."
With the cabinet's decision finalized, only one step remained.
A vote in Parliament.
Once approval for war and military funding was granted, the British Empire would enter conflict with Qing.
"We will proceed to the vote shortly," Peel said.
"Before that, are there any questions?"
Almost immediately, Charles Wellesley raised his voice.
"Will there be a formal declaration of war?"
Peel shook his head slightly.
"The declaration has effectively already been made—by them."
"What remains for us is deciding how to respond."
"Fascinating," Charles Wellesley murmured loudly enough for the chamber to hear.
"A few months ago we asked Minister Killian Gore to attempt provoking Qing diplomatically."
"And yet somehow… the result arrived this quickly."
A few appreciative chuckles spread through the room.
"Indeed," another member said.
"Perhaps the decision to entrust Asian affairs to the Earl of Arran was wiser than we realized."
"When the Prime Minister first appointed him Foreign Secretary, I had my doubts."
"But in hindsight it was extraordinary foresight."
In truth, the request Parliament had made of Killian had been nearly unreasonable.
To obtain a diplomatic justification for war?
Even the Whig Party, which had strongly supported the idea, had not truly expected results.
If such a task were easy, Britain would not have struggled with the opium dispute for years.
According to the reports, the opium trade itself had suffered catastrophic damage.
But the strategic advantages Britain could now extract far exceeded those losses.
Most members of Parliament saw little downside.
Only those closely tied to the opium merchants felt otherwise.
Others quietly believed the situation had improved.
After all, as William Gladstone had once warned, waging war merely to defend opium sales had always felt morally uncomfortable.
But now the opium itself had been burned.
Britain could no longer sell what no longer existed.
The merchants' losses were regrettable.
Yet from a broader perspective, the situation could still be turned into advantage.
Most importantly—
It was not their money that had burned.
Encouraged by the approving murmurs around him, Charles Wellesley spoke again.
"Prime Minister, then who will command this war?"
"We have decided to entrust command to Charles Elliot, currently stationed in Canton, together with Admiral George Elliot."
Charles Elliot had long served in the navy and possessed extensive experience in the region.
His cousin George Elliot was a veteran officer who had fought under Admiral Nelson during the Napoleonic Wars.
"And once the war approaches its conclusion," Wellesley continued, "someone must handle the negotiations."
"Will Minister Killian remain responsible?"
"Of course," Peel replied.
"This incident alone proves that Asian affairs are best entrusted to him."
"Do you object?"
"Not at all," Charles Wellesley said with a slight smile.
"I believe it is an excellent choice."
If Killian successfully concluded both the beginning and the end of the conflict, his position as Foreign Secretary would be unassailable.
And as many members had already noted—
Whenever Asian matters arose in the future, his opinion would carry tremendous weight.
Britain's expansion in Asia was inevitable.
This war might become the perfect opportunity to strengthen their influence there.
With France and Russia also eyeing the region, the British public would certainly support it.
"If there are no further questions," Peel said, "we will proceed to the vote."
"Mr. Speaker."
At Peel's request, the Speaker of the House of Commons rose and announced the voice vote in solemn tones.
"Members will now state their position on the motion to dispatch naval forces against Qing under the command of Charles Elliot and Admiral George Elliot, and to appoint Foreign Secretary Killian Gore as chief negotiator."
"Those in favor?"
"Aye!"
"Aye!"
"Aye!"
The responses erupted instantly.
The overwhelming majority of members shouted their approval.
Opposition was barely audible.
Seeing no need even to count carefully, the Speaker declared the motion passed.
And so—
The inevitable war between the strongest power in Europe and the strongest power in the East had begun.
* * *
News that Qing was preparing to fight Britain spread rapidly across the northern frontiers.
Soon the rumors reached even the distant land of Joseon.
From Qing's perspective, they could not risk Joseon intervening on Britain's behalf.
So several units stationed in Liaodong moved toward the Korean border as a warning.
The court in Joseon erupted into chaos.
Officials of the Six Ministries scrambled to determine what sort of nation Britain actually was and how powerful it might be.
At the same time, they nervously watched Qing's troop movements.
"Why is Qing moving soldiers toward our border when their war is with Western barbarians?"
"Do they think we would side with those barbarians and attack them?"
"Honestly, how little must they think of us to behave this way?"
"Even if it is Qing, should we not protest such an insult?"
"Apparently they still believe that the barbarian official named Killian Gore has close ties to Joseon."
As debates grew increasingly heated, the news eventually reached even the ears of royal relatives occupying minor posts.
Among them was Yi Ha-eung, the Heungseon Prince, who oversaw records concerning members of the royal clan.
"Qing is going to war with Westerners?" he asked in surprise.
"That's correct," an official from the Border Defense Council replied.
"And Qing believes we might assist the barbarians, so they are moving troops near the border. The court is in turmoil."
"I heard rumors before, but it's actually true?"
"Indeed. And this isn't the first time. Previously they even demanded information about a Western leader named Killian Gore, claiming he might be of Joseon origin."
"They suspect some kind of connection."
"A Western leader… born in Joseon?" Yi Ha-eung chuckled.
"That sounds like a rather poor joke."
To him, it sounded more like Qing was searching for excuses to pressure Joseon.
"There are many Western powers," Yi Ha-eung asked.
"Which one is Qing fighting?"
"A nation called Britain. Among the Western barbarians, they are said to be the strongest."
The official then explained, as far as reports described, how the conflict between Britain and Qing had begun.
Yi Ha-eung listened thoughtfully.
"Hm. If the story is true, the British do seem to have a point."
"If their merchants were harmed, retaliation would be expected."
"But traveling for months by sea just to wage war? That seems rather foolish."
The official laughed.
"Exactly. After such a long voyage their strength would be exhausted before battle even began."
"They're barbarians after all—acting purely out of anger."
"Well," Yi Ha-eung said with a shrug, "even if Qing is not as strong as it once was, surely the dynasty of the Central Plains will not fall to barbarians who arrive after a six-month voyage."
Suddenly, an old memory flickered through his mind.
Long ago someone had spoken passionately about how far Western technology had advanced.
He could no longer remember the man's face.
Or even his name.
But he was certain that man had Western blood.
What had he said?
The details were vague now.
Something about how dismissing Western technology might lead to disasters—just as the Central Plains had once fallen to northern tribes.
Yi Ha-eung clicked his tongue and laughed softly.
Surely Qing would not lose.
Within a year, he believed, news would arrive that British soldiers had been crushed and driven back.
I wonder if that fellow is still alive.
He could not recall the man's name or face.
But suddenly he found himself curious.
He had heard the boy had left somewhere long ago.
If he was still alive, he probably was no longer in Joseon.
A strange encounter from childhood.
For Yi Ha-eung, that memory held little significance.
Nothing more than that.