The year was 1839.
A year had passed since the fires of war began spreading across the land. As the rapidly changing world order drew the attention of foreign courts, diplomatic envoys from many nations gathered in Beijing to assess the situation.
Among them was Kim Jwa-geun, the rising power of the Andong Kim clan in Joseon.
And he was deeply confused.
"…I thought you said the empire was at war," Kim Jwa-geun said quietly. "Judging by the atmosphere here, it doesn't feel like that at all."
"Hmm… quite right," replied one of the senior envoys. "It seems those Western barbarians cannot be trusted after all."
Although Kim Jwa-geun had passed the civil service examination only a year earlier, not a single person within the Joseon mission dared treat him lightly.
It wasn't simply because he belonged to the powerful Andong Kim clan, the dominant political force in Joseon.
He was also the third son of Kim Jo-sun, the powerful statesman who had secured the clan's dominance, and the younger brother of Queen Dowager Sunwon, who was currently ruling as regent.
His eldest brother lay bedridden after a stroke.
Even his cousin Kim Hong-geun was not particularly healthy.
Which meant that Kim Jwa-geun's eventual rise as the leading figure of the Andong Kim clan was practically inevitable.
In fact, it had already been decided that once he returned from this mission to Beijing, he would be promoted to Assistant Minister of Personnel.
It was an astonishingly rapid ascent.
Because of this, even the chief envoy and deputy envoy of the mission treated Kim Jwa-geun more like a future colleague than a junior official. And Kim Jwa-geun naturally moved among them as an equal.
"I've spoken with several Qing officials," he continued. "They say the Qing army has been winning victory after victory against the British forces."
"Well then… doesn't that mean we were completely deceived by those Dutch scoundrels and their false letters?" the deputy envoy muttered bitterly. "What an embarrassing situation."
Of course, no one had expected the Westerners to tell the truth.
Still, they had assumed the war was at least fiercely contested.
Kim Jwa-geun bowed politely toward Jo In-yeong, the Grand Scholar who served as the chief envoy of the mission.
"My lord, in that case the best course would be to clearly distance ourselves from Britain and ensure that the Son of Heaven's anger does not fall upon Joseon."
"I agree," Jo In-yeong replied. "Fortunately, His Majesty the Emperor has invited us personally to a welcoming banquet. It seems he is not displeased. I hear they are even preparing a fourth-grade Manchu–Han Imperial Feast—a banquet normally reserved for exceptional occasions. If we present ourselves well, we might actually gain quite a bit from this visit."
The Manchu–Han Imperial Feast was an extravagant culinary spectacle lasting several days.
Normally, Joseon envoys received the fifth-grade version of the feast.
The fourth-grade banquet was reserved for events such as imperial weddings or birthdays.
Offering such a feast to foreign envoys was extraordinarily unusual.
Which meant only one thing.
The Qing court must be confident of victory.
In that case, this banquet was essentially a victory celebration.
"I've also heard that not only Joseon, but the envoys from Japan and Ryukyu will attend," someone added. "Apparently even Vietnam's delegation will arrive soon."
"So even if the barbarians struggle desperately, they cannot overturn the order of the Middle Kingdom after all…" Jo In-yeong muttered. "Still, explaining this when we return home will be troublesome."
"At the very least," Kim Jwa-geun said dryly, "if those Dutch bring another letter like that in the future, we should arrest them immediately and torture them until they reveal who sent them."
At least they had learned the truth in time.
Otherwise the entire kingdom might have continued dancing to the tune of foreign lies.
Now the only issue left was the British commander Killian Gore, who was rumored to have Korean blood.
If that matter could be handled properly, Joseon would return to its peaceful status as before.
The delegation waited outside the Forbidden City for the banquet to begin.
Then suddenly—
"My lord! My lord! Terrible news!"
One of the interpreters who had been busy running around Beijing rushed toward them, panting.
"What is the meaning of this disturbance?" Jo In-yeong asked sternly.
"The… the banquet has been canceled!"
"What? Canceled? Why? Has the Emperor fallen ill—"
"No, that's not it!"
The interpreter continued breathlessly, ignoring the impropriety of interrupting a Grand Scholar.
"According to rumors inside the palace, every report sent to the capital so far has been falsified. Shanghai and Nanjing have already fallen, and British warships have appeared off the coast of Tianjin. The entire Forbidden City is in chaos!"
"What?!"
Both Jo In-yeong and Kim Jwa-geun froze in shock.
"That's impossible!" Jo In-yeong stammered. "Shanghai and Nanjing captured? And they've advanced all the way to Tianjin? Tianjin is practically at the capital's doorstep!"
Though Tianjin lay slightly inland, once a fleet entered its port, Beijing was only two days away by land.
If Tianjin fell, the capital could be threatened within a week.
It meant the British cannons were practically aimed at the very heart of the Qing Empire.
"But… how could that be true?" Jo In-yeong said weakly. "How could they be preparing a banquet while the war had progressed this far?"
"Apparently every official feared exile if they reported defeat," the interpreter replied. "So they kept sending false reports instead."
"…They've gone mad," Jo In-yeong whispered.
Unlike the stunned chief envoy, Kim Jwa-geun quickly glanced toward the Japanese and Ryukyuan delegations nearby.
They looked just as shaken.
Could it really be true?
Perhaps the interpreter had misunderstood.
But what were the chances that every foreign delegation had received the same incorrect information?
The tightly shut gates of the Forbidden City suddenly felt ominous.
"…For now," Kim Jwa-geun said quietly, "we must gather as much information as possible. Bribes, connections—whatever it takes."
Something was happening.
Something enormous.
The Forbidden City
"What in Heaven's name is the meaning of this?!"
BANG!
The Daoguang Emperor slammed his fist onto the table.
The ministers bowed their heads, unable to meet his furious gaze.
"You told me we were winning! Victory after victory! Then how in the world have Shanghai and Nanjing fallen into the hands of those barbarians? And now they've advanced to Tianjin?! Speak!"
"Your Majesty, forgive us!"
"Please have mercy!"
"If you have time to beg for death," the Emperor roared, "then analyze the situation and propose a solution! Is the information I've received actually true? I can't even tell what is real anymore!"
They had been celebrating victory.
Preparing a grand banquet.
Inviting foreign envoys.
And now this.
The banquet had already been canceled.
The Emperor's prestige had already suffered a blow.
Yet it could have been worse.
If the news about Tianjin had arrived during the banquet, the humiliation would have been immeasurable.
"Where is Yang Fang?!" the Emperor demanded. "Why has that man not shown his face?"
"He… he is gathering troops to retake the cities taken by the British…"
"That lunatic!"
When the refugees from Nanjing and Shanghai arrived with the truth, the Emperor had thought his ears were deceiving him.
Yang Fang had attempted to block British artillery using chamber pots filled with women's urine.
And that fool had proudly spread the idea as a secret weapon.
And the Emperor had entrusted him with an army.
It was a nightmare.
"Summon Yang Fang to the capital immediately to answer for his crimes! And send forces to Tianjin to destroy the British army—"
The Emperor stopped mid-sentence.
His remaining rationality issued a warning.
Could any army actually defeat them?
No Qing force had inflicted meaningful losses so far.
And now no one even dared claim they could win.
"…I will not punish anyone here," the Emperor said slowly. "Speak honestly. If the enemy has reached Tianjin, Beijing lies before them. If we mobilize the Eight Banners now and fight… can we repel them?"
Silence.
Only after repeated assurances did one minister finally speak.
"According to reports… the enemy is extremely powerful. There are even rumors that in every battle so far… the British have suffered zero casualties."
"What?!"
"Merely rumors, Your Majesty, but…"
Zero casualties.
They had thrown tens of thousands of soldiers into battle—and not killed a single enemy?
Even if exaggerated, the meaning was obvious.
The exchange ratio was catastrophic.
"…Is there anyone who can prove these rumors false?" the Emperor demanded. "Volunteer—or nominate someone."
Silence again.
Everyone understood the situation.
If they fought and lost, Beijing would fall in front of the tributary envoys.
The humiliation would destroy the authority of the empire.
"…Then must we accept the negotiation proposal Lin Zexu once suggested?" the Emperor asked bitterly. "Must I become the first emperor in history to cede territory to barbarians?"
"Your Majesty… though it pains me to say so… the British forces are overwhelming. Reinforcements continue arriving. If we delay, the capital itself may fall."
The Emperor closed his eyes.
Two choices remained.
Become the emperor who ceded territory.
Or become the emperor who lost the capital before the eyes of the world.
"…Who," he asked quietly, "should lead the negotiations?"
The ministers erupted into suggestions.
None volunteered themselves.
Then suddenly someone spoke up.
"Your Majesty… is not the Joseon delegation currently in Beijing?"
"…Yes. But what does that have to do with this?"
"The British commander is said to be Killian Gore, a man of Korean origin. Strictly speaking, Joseon bears some responsibility for failing to restrain one of its own. Therefore, why not bring the Joseon envoys to the negotiations and have them persuade him?"
"Oh! A brilliant idea!"
The logic was absurd.
But the ministers didn't care.
If they could shift even a fraction of responsibility onto Joseon, they would gladly drag a stray dog into the negotiations.
"…Very well," the Emperor sighed. "Send an imperial order to the Joseon delegation."
Outside the Palace
"…What did you say?"
Kim Jwa-geun stared blankly.
"You want me to accompany the Qing delegation in negotiations with Britain?"
"Well…" Jo In-yeong coughed awkwardly. "The Emperor himself has issued the order. Someone must go. Please… endure this unpleasant duty."
Kim Jwa-geun had never heard such absurd nonsense in his forty years of life.
These people…
They were completely insane.
This was the so-called Celestial Empire?
More importantly—
What exactly did they expect him to do when meeting Killian Gore?
Why had he even come here?
For the first time in his life, Kim Jwa-geun felt genuine regret for his past decisions.
The world before his eyes went dark.
Tianjin
"Remarkable. Truly remarkable."
The British army had already occupied Tianjin and was preparing to advance toward Tongzhou.
Reinforcements were arriving rapidly.
At this rate they would simply march into Beijing itself.
After all, any expenses could be recovered through indemnities later.
Soon another 5,000 soldiers would arrive.
Combined with previous reinforcements, the total force would approach 20,000 men.
For the mid-19th century, transporting such a force across the globe was a staggering display of British power.
Of course, it helped that they controlled India.
Still—impressive was impressive.
"Minister," Admiral George Elliott said, "we will advance the moment the reinforcements arrive."
"That would be ideal," I replied. "But it seems the Qing have finally begun to face reality. They're begging us for negotiations."
"Another provincial governor sent to stall us?"
"If that were the case, I'd suggest marching straight to Beijing. But this time… they appear quite serious."
Apparently they had decided it was better to surrender than risk fleeing to Manchuria in humiliation before the tributary states.
Everything was proceeding as expected.
Except for one detail.
"The Qing are sending two high officials of imperial blood as plenipotentiaries," an officer reported. "And… strangely… a Joseon envoy will accompany them."
"…A Joseon envoy?"
So that was their plan.
If the negotiations went badly, they could simply share the blame.
Still—
Dragging a foreign envoy into such a situation was unbelievable.
The Qing Empire truly was something else.
"Well," I said with a faint smile, "it doesn't hurt us. Let's meet them. After all… they have no choice but to accept whatever terms we offer."
I had expected to meet Joseon scholars someday.
But not this soon.
And certainly not like this.
I was curious what kind of words they would try.
Though honestly—
They were probably nothing more than performers in this little farce.
Suppressing a quiet chuckle, I sent a reply agreeing to negotiations.
This time, perhaps, things could be resolved peacefully.