On the day of the conference.
Amid the constant bustle of people rushing about to finalize preparations, I sat quietly reviewing the specific terms we would demand.
Indemnities.
Territory.
Treaty ports.
And every additional privilege we might extract.
I revised the document over and over again, adding and removing clauses while considering every possible outcome.
I had consulted both George Elliot and Charles Elliot, accepting some of their suggestions and discarding others. Still, there was always the possibility that something had slipped through the cracks.
This was the grand finale of the undertaking that would cement my reputation as the foremost expert on Asia.
Even the smallest mistake would be unacceptable.
Knock.
Just as I was about to review the terms one last time, a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
A soldier hurried inside, saluted, and handed me an envelope.
"My apologies for interrupting, sir. But I was told this must be delivered to you immediately."
He glanced at me with something resembling envy, then quickly left the room.
A letter important enough to deliver moments before the negotiations began could only have come from one person.
"…As I thought."
Seeing the royal seal of the British Crown, I opened the envelope.
Several pages of tightly written text.
For a moment I imagined Victoria carefully choosing each word as she wrote it.
Then I began to read.
Killian,
By the time you read this, I would like to say I know exactly where you will be. Unfortunately letters travel far too slowly for such certainty.
You might worry that something serious has happened to prompt this letter. But rest assured—nothing of the sort has occurred.
Unlike someone I know, who once wrote that he would skip writing about his recent news because he had already sent an update previously.
The wording was extremely polite.
But there were unmistakable thorns hidden between the lines.
Of course, it wasn't deliberate teasing.
…Actually, perhaps it was.
Still, it would be better to let the Queen keep this little grievance for a while. If I said anything careless later, she might become even more displeased.
I have been hearing quite a lot about you recently.
They say you know Asia better than anyone. That you are the Empire's foremost expert on the region. That you have brought immense benefit to Britain.
I did tell you to achieve results before you left—but honestly, I never imagined matters would grow this large, nor that you would play such an important role.
I feel rather proud.
But at the same time I wonder whether I placed too much pressure on you.
I paused to think.
Had she ever pressured me?
She had asked for results before I departed.
But to me that hadn't felt like pressure at all.
After all, if I returned without accomplishing anything, I would spend the foreseeable future as nothing more than a rubber stamp for whatever the Prime Minister ordered.
I do not know whether this letter will arrive before the war ends. But if it does, I want to say this:
You do not need to push yourself any further.
You have already achieved more than enough.
Your accomplishments have been recognized, and it has already been decided that you will receive a decoration.
So please take care of your health instead of overexerting yourself.
Most importantly—return safely.
The rest of the letter was filled with small updates about Victoria's daily life and the people around her.
After reading it to the very end, I folded the pages carefully and placed them in my case with a faint smile.
I'm sorry, Your Majesty.
Most men would receive a letter like this from their queen and become even more desperate to prove themselves.
I, on the other hand, already knew what she truly wanted.
Still…
Even if I claimed otherwise, I could feel my motivation rising.
Perhaps I was not entirely free from the tyranny of male pride after all.
Voices outside announced that the meeting was about to begin.
I stood, stretched once, and adjusted my coat.
If nothing else—
I should conclude this war with a flourish.
For the sake of the Queen waiting in Kensington.
The Treaty of Tianjin
The historic treaty that would later be called the Treaty of Tianjin was signed, naturally, in Tianjin itself—currently under British occupation.
The Qing plenipotentiaries arrived as previously announced.
One young man.
And one middle-aged official.
In situations like this, it was usually obvious: the young man served as a ceremonial representative, while the older man handled the actual negotiations.
Sure enough, the middle-aged official spoke first.
"As you were informed earlier, the gentleman beside me is Prince Huiduan, who attends this conference as its representative. I am Keying, assisting His Highness in conducting the negotiations."
He began explaining the rank of a prince.
I interrupted him.
"I am aware. His Highness must be the Emperor's brother. The fact that someone of such status has come personally shows how sincere the Qing court is about these negotiations."
I introduced myself.
"Killian Gore, Foreign Secretary of the British Empire and plenipotentiary for this conference."
When I heard two members of the imperial family would attend, I had wondered.
But I hadn't expected Daoguang's own brother to appear.
Historically, a prince of this rank had only appeared during the Second Opium War.
For Qing to deploy such a figure already meant one thing.
They were afraid.
Still, my attention was drawn less to the prince and more to the man sitting beside them—looking completely bewildered.
"And who might that gentleman be?" I asked.
"I heard that a Joseon official would attend as well."
"Oh—yes," Keying replied.
"This is Kim Jwa-geun, representing Joseon. He wished to speak with… the Minister."
"Kim Jwa-geun? From the Andong Kim clan?"
The name slipped out naturally.
Kim Jwa-geun.
A powerful figure in the late Joseon court.
Ambitious, certainly—but far from incompetent.
I had not expected to meet him here.
When my reaction reached his ears, his expression changed immediately.
"You… know me?"
"Anyone familiar with Joseon knows the Andong Kim clan."
I spoke in fluent Korean.
Kim Jwa-geun's eyes trembled.
Not surprising.
A man who looked like a Westerner had first spoken perfect Chinese—and now suddenly spoke Korean.
"Then… you truly are from Joseon?"
"You still did not know?"
Apparently the information I had sent through the Dutch had not spread very far.
Interesting.
Keying smiled brightly, sensing the conversation moving smoothly.
"Since we all wish for a peaceful conclusion, shall we begin the negotiations? Our side has agreed to accept the proposals previously presented by your country."
"Excellent," I said."Then we simply need to add a few additional points."
"…What?"
He looked genuinely startled.
Or at least pretended to.
"I assume you came here to hear our terms."
The prince interjected desperately.
"Minister, must we not simply conclude the treaty under the same terms proposed earlier to Lin Zexu?"
I answered firmly.
"No."
"But—"
"We have since committed enormous additional resources. We captured Nanjing. We captured Tianjin. Why should we accept the same terms as before?"
"If you continue to press us so harshly, we may be forced to fight to the death."
"In that case, negotiations are over."
I stood as if to leave.
"Incidentally," I added casually, "Britain has already prepared 20,000 additional troops should negotiations fail. It would be unfortunate, but if you insist on continuing the war… we shall oblige. I hear the tributary envoys are gathered in Beijing. Let us decide the matter before their eyes."
Keying hurriedly waved both hands.
"No, no! That was merely a figure of speech! We seek a peaceful resolution!"
"Good," I said, sitting down again.
"But if I hear such threats again, I will interpret them as Qing's refusal to negotiate."
Fight to the death?
If they had been capable of that, history would have looked very different.
But even a declining empire rarely collapses instantly.
Even the Qing Empire could continue functioning for some time—even with critical organs missing.
In other words:
As long as I did not appear intent on destroying them outright, they would continue making concessions.
"Very well," Keying said stiffly.
"Please present your terms."
"Gladly."
I handed them the document.
The Treaty of Tianjin was essentially the previous proposal presented through Lin Zexu—
With many additions.
First came the diplomatic clauses.
Britain and Qing would maintain peaceful relations.
The British Queen and the Qing Emperor would be recognized as equals.
Officials would interact on equal footing.
These clauses passed quickly.
But then the real terms began.
"You demand the cession of Hong Kong, the Kowloon Peninsula, and now… Shanghai and Tainan in Taiwan as well?"
"Yes," I said calmly."They are merely rural fishing villages."
"But their location—"
He stopped.
"…Very well. Continue."
Next came indemnities.
Trade monopolies would be abolished.
Debts repaid.
War expenses compensated.
The numbers had doubled since the earlier negotiations.
The total indemnity exceeded tens of millions of Spanish silver dollars.
"That amount cannot be paid immediately," I said."So we will accept installments over four years."
Then came more clauses.
Additional treaty ports.
Foreign legations.
Missionary freedom.
Tariff restrictions.
"Do you agree?"
Keying looked as though he wanted to scream.
But what could he do?
Even Kim Jwa-geun sat silently, stunned by the spectacle of Qing princes submitting to foreign demands.
More clauses followed.
Extraterritoriality.
Future railway construction rights.
Land surveying for infrastructure.
Information asymmetry did the rest.
Within hours—
It was over.
I extended my hand.
"From this day forward, true peace begins between the British Empire and the Qing Empire."
"…Yes…"
They looked as though they had signed away their souls.
But they had walked right up to the edge themselves.
Later, Kim Jwa-geun remained behind.
He had asked to speak with me privately.
"So," I said, "what did you think of the negotiations?"
"…Complicated," he answered.
"Will you report everything you saw to your court?"
"That is the duty of an envoy."
"Then why ask to meet me?"
He hesitated before asking:
"Are you truly from Joseon?"
"You still doubt it?"
"There is no record of someone like you."
"Of course not."
They had been searching for Killian Gore, the British aristocrat.
Not a former slave.
"I do not particularly care whether Joseon recognizes me or not," I said calmly.
"Instead, Joseon should reflect on the world around it."
He sighed.
"Then one last question."
He looked directly at me.
"Do you consider yourself… a Joseon man?"
I smiled faintly.
"When I lived in Joseon, someone once told me something."
I stood.
"They said: You are not Joseon."
"That should answer your question."
Kim Jwa-geun stared in shock.
"Wait—who said such a thing—"
"Pleasure meeting you."
I walked away.
If they regretted it—
They should have treated me better when they had the chance.
Strangely enough, I felt much lighter.
As though something long stuck in my chest had finally been cleared away.