Admiral Yang Fang, Commander of the Hunan Fleet, brimmed with confidence.
It was not mere arrogance. He had achievements to his name, and the Son of Heaven himself had entrusted him with the heavy responsibility of repelling the foreign barbarians.
The White Lotus rebels had been crushed.The Muslim uprisings in Xinjiang had also been suppressed.
None of them had proven worthy opponents for the great Qing Empire.
True, the foreigners had won at sea. But the true strength of the Qing lay on land. Once their feet were planted firmly on the earth, the empire's armies would show their real power.
Just as they had swept away rebel armies before, they would scatter these Western troops like autumn leaves in the wind.
There was only one thing that worried him slightly.
The hastily assembled militia looked… less than impressive.
Quite a few of them were so steeped in opium that Yang Fang doubted they could fight properly at all.
Even among the officers—men who were supposed to command the troops—there were many who seemed half-ruined by the drug.
But that was fine.
Those petty weaknesses would not matter.
After all, he had prepared a secret strategy that would render such concerns meaningless.
Raising his fist high, Yang Fang surveyed his subordinates with a solemn expression and thundered:
"Soldiers of the glorious Great Qing! Today we stand here to drive the foreign devils from our land and become the heroes who saved the nation!"
His voice rang across the assembled troops.
"Some among you may have heard the strange rumors—that the barbarians' weapons possess unheard-of, mysterious power. But fear not! Their wicked sorcery has already been uncovered!"
"...Sorcery?"
"Yeah, I heard that too. They say the foreigners use magic to strengthen their weapons."
"Someone said our cannonballs bounce off their ships, but their cannonballs come flying from places we can't even see!"
Stories of how the British devils had laid waste to Guangzhou and the Zhoushan Islands spread rapidly through the ranks, growing more exaggerated with every retelling.
Yet Yang Fang did not flinch.
Instead, he raised his voice even louder.
"Do not fear! As I said, their evil sorcery has been completely understood. Their cannons amplify the power of yang energy to increase their destructive force. If we neutralize that surging yang energy, their artillery will miss us as if by miracle!"
A murmur of excitement spread through the troops.
"Oooooh!"
"The principles of the universe are simple," Yang Fang continued grandly. "Yang energy must be suppressed by yin energy. The world exists in harmony between yin and yang. Men embody yang, while women embody yin. Therefore, these chamber pots—filled with the concentrated yin essence of women—will neutralize the enemy's weapons and render them powerless!"
"Chamber pots…?"
"So you're saying women's urine can block their cannons?"
"I think I've heard something like that before. Wasn't it in Romance of the Three Kingdoms or Water Margin? Storytellers always talk about things like this."
Using filth to break malevolent sorcery was, after all, an ancient and time-tested method.
Yang Fang had not stopped there.
To hunt foreigners, one must use the power of the tiger.
Thus he had carefully assigned many of his officers to men born in the year, month, or day of the tiger.
With preparations this meticulous, how could defeat possibly occur?
In fact, reports had already been flowing into Beijing claiming that Qing forces were winning victory after victory against the British.
Everyone knew the story.
Lin Zexu had urged caution, suffered a disastrous defeat, and been stripped of all his property before being exiled.
Naturally, the Emperor needed to believe that victories were being achieved here. Only then would he continue granting Yang Fang command authority.
Besides, Yang Fang reasoned, they were going to win anyway.
It hardly counted as lying.
Victory was already inevitable.
And slowly, that confidence began to spread among the soldiers.
"They say the enemy has fewer men than we do. If their cannons become useless too, it'd be harder to lose than to win!"
"I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when their sorcery stops working. Hahaha!"
"Filthy foreign devils! You're all dead!"
"So all we have to do is hold up these chamber pots and their cannons will bounce off? Good! Follow me—I'll deflect them all!"
If the enemy ships could repel Qing cannonballs with sorcery, then surely the Qing could do the same.
Ironically, Lin Zexu's humiliating defeat had become a source of motivation.
The enemy had only been strong because of their sorcery.
Break the sorcery—and victory would be effortless.
With morale surging, the Qing army marched confidently to intercept the British forces.
Soon, they spotted the enemy encampment.
"Defensive units forward!"
At Yang Fang's command, soldiers clutching their issued chamber pots stepped forward in formation.
They could do this.
The sharp stench of urine clawed at their noses, threatening to bring up the rice they had eaten that morning.
But if this smell meant victory, they would endure it.
Then—
BOOM!CRASH!
The earth-shaking roar thundered across the battlefield.
Following their rehearsed drill, the soldiers quickly raised the chamber pots before them like shields.
This was no thunder.
They knew that sound well enough by now.
"Foreign sorcery!"
"Neutralize the yang energy! Block it!"
The sound and force were on an entirely different level from arrows or matchlocks.
In fact, the explosions sounded far grander than the Qing's own artillery.
But that was merely the effect of sorcery.
Still…
Could such terrifying weapons really be stopped by a chamber pot?
Doubt crept into their minds.
Yet they had to believe.
They had no other choice.
A shrill whistling noise cut through the air, growing louder.
Block it.Block it.Block it.
It had to work.
If it didn't—
No.
It would work.
Please… let it work.
"UOOOOOO!"
"AAAAAAH!"
As if trying to banish their fear, the soldiers tightened their grips on the chamber pots and roared together.
Then—
BOOOOOOM!
Something exploded.
And suddenly—
There was nothing.
No sight.No sound.
Only an all-consuming darkness.
* * *
"Hey! You sons of biiitches!"
"Neutralize yang energy my ass! Chao! It didn't work at all!"
"Run! Run! We can't break their sorcery!"
After just a few rounds of artillery fire followed by concentrated musket volleys, the enemy formation collapsed into chaos.
Watching them scatter in panic, Admiral George Elliott stared in disbelief.
I had heard about it beforehand, but even I couldn't suppress a laugh.
The sight of them marching forward proudly and holding chamber pots toward our cannons was truly unforgettable.
If only someone had taken a photograph.
It would have become the single greatest image summarizing this war.
A shame cameras weren't quite there yet.
"Admiral, the enemy has completely collapsed. The walls they were defending have also been destroyed by artillery."
"…Did they really smear urine on the walls too?"
"Uh… yes. It appears so."
"Good heavens," one officer muttered. "Everything happened exactly as the Minister predicted. At this point it's practically prophecy."
The gazes directed toward me had changed.
What had once been trust was now edging dangerously close to reverence.
I was certain now.
At least for this war, no matter what I said, the Admiral would simply nod and agree.
Even though I wasn't formally part of the military, the question of who would receive the greatest credit for this campaign had already been decided.
Even if diplomatic negotiations were ignored entirely and only military achievements counted, my contributions were overwhelming.
Both Charles Elliot and George Elliot would report it that way.
The future was already set.
"Admiral, now you understand why I insisted we cannot stop at Nanjing."
"Yes… We came fully prepared, but this…" he trailed off. "It's astonishing. In more ways than one."
"Let's compile the full report of this battle—the process, the outcome, and the casualty ratios—and send it to the Dutch. It should make excellent propaganda."
"Understood. Though calculating casualty ratios will be difficult again. There were no deaths this time either."
"…Again?"
"Yes. You know what the soldiers are saying these days? They're joking that under no circumstances must anyone die."
What kind of nonsense was that?
Who goes to war hoping to die?
Seeing my expression, the Admiral quickly added,
"I mean they're afraid of becoming the first casualty of this war. It's become a running joke among them. Ha ha."
"That's the sort of story that would make Qing officials faint if they heard it."
In other words—
After multiple full-scale battles, the British army had suffered zero combat deaths.
There were wounded men, and some bedridden from disease.
But no one had died in battle.
It was an achievement that defied common sense.
Of course, this wasn't simply because we fought well.
Even in this battle, if forty thousand enemy soldiers had charged with suicidal determination, some losses on our side would have been inevitable.
But the Qing army now lacked something far more fundamental than technology or tactics.
They lacked the will to fight.
British commanders, veterans of countless wars, could see it clearly.
Even I could read the enemy's level as easily as if it were written in front of me.
"Minister," the Admiral said suddenly, "once this war is over, I intend to tell the soldiers to remember only the victory—and forget everything else."
"Why would you do that?"
"If they carry the memory of battles like this into a future war against France or Russia…" he paused.
"…we could be in serious trouble."
"…You're not wrong."
If soldiers grow used to punching motionless sandbags that don't even throw shadows, they might panic when facing an opponent of equal strength later.
"Anyway," the Admiral continued, "with this victory, Shanghai and Nanjing are practically ours. As you ordered, we'll paralyze Nanjing and then send the fleet north immediately. If we push all the way toward Beijing, do you think they'll respond the same way?"
"It won't be quite as tragic as this battle," I said. "But I do wonder whether they'll have the courage to fight at all."
"Courage? If their capital is threatened, wouldn't they have to fight unless they plan to surrender outright?"
"That's exactly the problem."
Normally that would be true.
But the Qing Empire wasn't in a normal situation.
By now they must know that I had been broadcasting the war's results to their tributary states in real time.
Would they really gamble the fate of their capital under those circumstances?
If they fought near Beijing and won, all would be well.
But if they lost…
The fall of the capital would be inevitable.
The fall of Nanjing would already be a major shock.
But Beijing?
That would shake the entire world.
Tributary states were already watching the war closely.
If Beijing fell to foreign barbarians while the Emperor fled to Manchuria…
What would happen then?
That was exactly what occurred in the real timeline during the Second Opium War.
And this time the tributary states were observing events even more carefully.
In fact, Joseon, Ryukyu, or Japan might already have dispatched envoys to Beijing.
Once the Yangtze was blockaded and Tianjin fell, we could simply station our forces at the gates leading to Beijing.
Then the Qing would face an unavoidable choice.
Fight one final desperate battle before the eyes of the tributary states and risk losing everything—
Or surrender concessions and save their capital.
Either option was a winning hand for us.
All we had to do was wait.
After all—
They were the ones sweating now.
Not me.
* * *
While Yang Fang was loudly proclaiming that chamber pots filled with urine would stop British artillery—
Far to the north, in Beijing.
Within the heart of the Forbidden City.
The Qing capital was enjoying what seemed like an age of peace.
Reports from the front all told the same story.
"The glorious armies of His Majesty have achieved victory after victory against the barbarian invaders who dared challenge the empire! The enemy forces are cornered by consecutive defeats and are now begging merely for the privilege of trade!"
No matter the front, no matter the commander—
Every report was a victory.
Naturally, the Emperor was in excellent spirits.
"If they had only bowed their heads while we were still feeling generous, we might have permitted limited trade. Truly, these barbarians are ignorant fools."
"Your Majesty speaks with perfect wisdom!"
"The defeat of the British is now only a matter of time!"
They had grown arrogant after winning a single naval battle.
Served them right.
The Emperor smirked.
"I hear that the British have been sending detailed reports of this war's progress to the tributary states. Does anyone know how that situation is developing?"
"We have received messages from Joseon, Japan, and Ryukyu. Joseon has already dispatched an envoy to explain its relationship with the British representative—Killian Gore. Japan has likewise requested permission to send a diplomatic mission."
"No reason to refuse," the Emperor replied casually. "Allow them all into the capital. I shall show them the sight of those rebellious barbarians kneeling before my authority. Then no matter how cleverly they wag their tongues, my tributary states will not be deceived."
Normally, receiving foreign envoys during wartime would be unthinkable.
But circumstances were different now.
Victory reports arrived every day.
The unconditional surrender of Britain was surely close.
And such a great achievement deserved witnesses.
If anything, the arrival of these envoys at this exact moment felt like good fortune.
No—
Perhaps it was the will of Heaven itself, guiding the Emperor who carried Heaven's mandate upon his shoulders.
"Even Heaven itself seems to strengthen Your Majesty's reign."
"Your Majesty's authority will once again shake the entire world!"
Though the flattery was obvious, the Daoguang Emperor laughed heartily and praised his ministers' loyalty.
"So then, when will these envoys arrive?"
"It appears they had already set out before requesting permission. The envoys from Joseon and Japan should arrive within half a month."
"Perfect timing," the Emperor said with satisfaction. "By then, Yang Fang will have completely driven the British army from the south. I shall celebrate that victory together with the envoys."
"They will be overwhelmed by Your Majesty's grace."
Of course they would.
They had to be.
Raising his cup, the Daoguang Emperor smiled broadly as he imagined the British weeping tears of blood and regretting ever provoking the sleeping tiger.
Come to think of it, the British representative was said to possess Korean blood.
A man descended from a tributary state bearing responsibility for the war.
Perhaps Britain itself could be turned into a tributary state.
To establish formal tribute relations with a Western great power—
Even the great Kangxi and Qianlong Emperors had never achieved such a feat.
Ah, but first—
That British minister, or perhaps their queen, would need to perform the proper ceremony.
Facing toward the Middle Kingdom and offering the three kneelings and nine prostrations.
Lost in admiration for his own brilliant plan—one that would surpass even his illustrious ancestors—the Daoguang Emperor could only marvel at his own wisdom.