TLIAW: Great Power Empire: China 1865

Great Power Empire: China 1865
(With Apologies to Hendryk)
A Timeline In A While by Japhy​

Nanjing was an unclean city.

Nanjing was a city of death.

Zeng Guofan felt disgust as he left the large tent where he had for many days managed the confession of his great rival, Li Xiucheng. Rotting corpses, the waste and residue of the conquering armies and the dead and living remnants of the population that had once lived in this snake's nest wafted through the air.

A constant reminder of what had been Nanjing for so many years. Of what it was now.

The transcription of the confession of the so-called Loyal King was almost finished. When it was done, and when Zeng had made sure that no ill was left in it against his leadership or that of the rest of his Hunanese commanders, Li Xiucheng would finally be released from his current unpleasantness.

It couldn’t happen a moment too soon. Was the quiet reply deep inside the Captain-General and Governor-General of the Yangtze provinces.

But now, in front of the troops, climbing once more into his sedan chair he had to be the Warlord and the Viceroy. The war itself may be over, settled as it always must have been, but it was not yet over. There was still more to do. Until the last of the rebel ‘Kings’ and their boy pretender were caught it would not be over.

And it was with that in mind that he came to this tent, for this conference.

The guards were posted outside, the servants and aides had been sent off when he lifted the flap himself and walked in to see three men sitting around a table, waiting.

In formality the three Hunan Army generals rose to their feet, and bowed. Guofan returned the bow each time. And then, came the varied smiles. It had been too long since the four brothers had been together all at once.

“Guoquan, Guohua, Guobao. It gladdens me to see you are all safe.” He offered emotionally. “We all must thank the Heavens for this blessing.” They’d buried too many family members in this war, too many allies.

Only luck has given you your triumphs, and only luck has let them escape this hell with their lives. Suggested the ever-present doubt.

“The blessings are being made brother.” Said Guoquan. “And for more than just ourselves.”

“The remnants of these bandit armies as we speak are fleeing towards Amman, hoping to find refuge. But what columns are left are falling apart. The cavalry forces nip at their heals. The final victory may already be at hand as we speak.” Said the oldest of the younger brothers, whom had proven to be the greatest operational commander in the family.

They took their seats and Guobao passed a cup of tea to his eldest brother and General.

“Things will not be finished, even then.” The youngest brother at thirty-six he had always been the one to be too blunt, and too determined to quietly wait his turn, Guobao’s points were always sharp and always forced. But Guofan accepted this, because there was always a mind just as sharp jabbing them.

Still, he could sense where this was going.

“Rebellion is the watchword of the times. We have already seen Duolonga and Zuo and so many others, with so many of our best troops, sent off to deal with rebellions that spread like brushfire. The Europeans lurk along our coasts and borders selling arms to anyone who shows up with cash.”

Let him stop there.

“And none can dare say what happened to the Xianfeng Emperor.” Came the conclusion. It hung in the silent air. The stench of death had entered the tent.

“He’s not wrong.” Guoquan broke the silence.

“I swore an oath. It is my duty, all of our duty to serve the Emperor, regardless of any circumstance.”

“No one here is telling you to break that oath, to violate the order of things.” Now it was Guohua’s turn to join this dangerous chorus. “What we are saying is that there is no order left. The Manchu’s have had their day. The sun set years ago. They offer nothing. The nations are looking to you. The mandate-”

“Don’t talk to me about mandates. I know all about mandates.”

“Then you know someone has to take it. Someone has to save the country. You’ve already done it, why not do it again?” Asked Guobao.

“You nearly died in this war, stopping the last man who thought he could exchange telegrams with the Gods.”

“I made it though, didn’t I?” Was the retort.

That had been a close run thing in 1862 though. Wounded outside of Nanjing, there had been a horrifying fever in the aftermath. Weeks where it seemed that the youngest brother would die any hour, while the others had to simply wait and look to their duties. And when the fevers finally broke, it had still taken months before Guofan’s decade’s younger brother made a real recovery.

“And anyway, he didn’t believe in the Gods, but that he was the fourth member of a trinity.”

“But what will the Empire think? What will the country?” Was the next volley from the Viceroy.

“There has been no country, not for five years or more.” Offered Guoquan. “The men fight for you. They’ll do anything for you.”

“And the other armies?”

“Do you really think that Zuo would not join you in a heartbeat if you asked?”

“What sign is there even that I am the one to do the deed? Where is it clear? How do you know they even want me to risk it, to risk all for you for this?”

“What more a sign do you need than that we are sitting here in Nanjing, by the merits of our force alone. If the Gods didn’t want you, they’d have just let Elgin or Burgevine take this victory.”

“And what,” Chimed in Guobao once more. “Do you take our survival to mean? In the face of all the plots, all the enemies, all the challenges, you have led us through them all. You have saved the country in doing so. There’s your proof: The Heaven’s wanted this, and they want you to finish the job.”

The voice wouldn’t be calmed in his mind. Luck is not the work of Heaven. And even if it was, what good would it be to take the throne anyway. Where’s the return to writing? Where would your books be?

But Guobao looked at his eldest brother and knew just what to offer. “It wasn’t luck.”

The others all nodded, in knowing agreement.

“It would be good for all of China. We need strong leadership. And strong leadership need not be something taken via pike-tip. You won this war by finding the right people to do the right jobs. You can do it again. And then you can do as you please. Some of our greatest triumphs have come under Scholar-Emperors.” Guohua pointed out.

The Governor-General tried to find another counter, some way to block the onslaught of his brothers’ arguments but, suddenly The Doubt didn’t have much to offer.

Maybe it never had.

Maybe it had just been a voice insisting that it wasn’t right for a man to take what was beyond his means. But the past two decades of disasters spoke for themselves.

And the great library he could build here in Nanjing, built around new palaces on the ashes of the Taiping, that spoke for itself too.

But--- Rang the voice.

No. Came a different one. From somewhere else. It was almost surprising, had it been there before? Drowned out maybe in the mighty clashes where action had been needed, damn the costs?

Zeng Guofan looked at his brothers, all three of them, once again. Bureaucrats and Teachers and Scholars they had proven themselves time and again as Generals in this long war. If he had to pick men, he would pick them again with the same absolute assurance he had done in the dark days of 1851.

He knew deep down, that they’d win. He just had to say the word. He knew that with them, he could save all of China.

He took another sip of his tea first though before he said it.

“Let the work begin.”
​

In the south they said, the ruins of another Nanjing were being obliterated, and yet another new version of that ancient and new city was rising up.

Further north, they said Beijing and its palaces burned. The traitor Zeng finishing the job that Elgin had begun half a decade ago.

And further north, General Song Qing did not care about what was said.

In Manchuria, he knew they’d lost the war. He knew because he was enacting the unthinkable.

Aigun was a community without note, just another small Amur trading post far from any of the --- admittedly dim --- bright lights of the Manchurian heartland. Except that it was here seven years ago that the Empire had been forced sign a treaty their with the Russians, abandoning to the Czarists all of outer Manchuria.

And by a score of defeats and deaths, Song Qing found himself here. If there had been someone else, maybe this would be different.

But no one was left. Sengge Rinchen had been recalled after his disgrace in the face of the Europeans in 1860, but he was dead with his Mongol Cavalry in some useless field north of Beijing, covering the retreat. Cixi, the Emperor’s Mother was dead too, killed at the fall of Jilin.

In the end there was only Song. And it was his decisions that for good or ill had led to this meeting.

It had been a week by the time the officials he was to meet arrived. A week of wondering if the rebels would recognize the danger and rush to the scene, ending this option before it was too late.

But in the end they’d come. Pompous Cossacks led by their pompous Lords. So clueless they couldn’t even know how backwards they were.

And yet you must propose this to them all the same.

It was enough to make suicide preferable, along with the death of the Boy-Emperor. But he held his tounge and his sword and accepted that this was the best option. The one that saved lives, and meant that the Empire could survive.

The Russian officer in his gaudy Green and clashing Yellow offered Song nothing more than one of these European’s so-called formal bows. The man knew he held the advantages and took advantage.

“Your Excellence,” This officer spoke loudly and with great gestures as Song’s translation offered everything in a far quieter and flatter Chinese. “I am Major General Mikhail Chernyayev. I have been dispatched by the Governor-General of Outer Manchuria to hear the requests which we have been informed of.”

A brief moment of joy that the man’s lord identified his territory as Outer Manchuria lasted only a moment until Song looked at his translator and could tell that the translation was not quite exact.

More disgrace for us then..

“As the Chief Minister of the Qing Dynasty I offer my thanks for that.” He hoped that this Russian could not sense the embarrassment and barely checked anger as the last Warlord had to grovel like this without looking like he was.

The look on this young Major General’s showed that no, he’d picked up on all of that,

“Your Emperor has long sought to secure for your… August empire, ports on these shores which will allow him to build up his trade in the Eastern Seas.”

The Cossack nodded, and then returned to staring down his nose at his counterpart.

“And we are interested in offering you Liaodong, for a period of ninety-nine years. And offering to you our tributary rights in Korea. And the we would be open to renegotiating our settlement with you from Beijing, in regards to Tartary and Mongolia.” Song’s face burned as he finished the shameful offer.

Chernyayev’s eyes widened slightly, for only a moment, before he returned to his haughty aloofness.

And now came the worst part.

“In exchange all we ask for is---”

“Protection.”

The fact that he was interrupted was too much.

No, it couldn’t be that. He had to just take it.

The Russian knew that too though. He’d known everything else.

“Troops, arms, political protection. You want my Emperor’s legions to serve as a shield while you regroup in your most fabled homeland.”

Another look to the interpreter. The man shrugged. Close enough.

“It would not be something forgotten by the Emperor if you would offer such help in our hour of need.”

“This is the most impressive offer. It is a shame your Emperor is not truly in the authority to make it any longer.”

Song hadn’t expected that.

“Your Government is treating with the rebels then.” The delay brought on by the interpreter was such that silence was never really a thing.

“They prefer to go by the Yun Dynasty.”

“They are traitors and cutthroats. No deals you secure from them will have value. They will simply turn on you.”

“Be that as it may, they control even now the majority of your Manchu Heartland. Not to mention the rest of your former Empire.”

“And yet you come here, to treat with us anyway.”

The Major General nodded. “And now we get down to the tacks of brass. Your finished, and your Emperor is going to die soon if you don’t have a solution for him. That's why I’m here.”

“And if you wont help us hold our line here, what do offer? Your Imperial Majesty’s gloating?”

“A way out. I’m here to offer your young Monarch refuge. He can cross the river and be under our protection. We will bring him to Europe or secure his passage by ship wherever he goes. So long as he doesn’t return to China or any of its Tributaries.”

Now there was silence. The two negotiators simply stared at each other, their retinues standing about waiting for some action.

“This has never happened before in the history of China.”

“Yes, these things usually end in massacre from what I understand. Always a complete ending. You’d do better to come over. Unless you think the young Emperor deserves no chance to live.”

And yes, that was the problem, wasn’t it. Song could end the dynasty in blood, or he could end it in what most likely would just be disgrace, but with the possibility of a later triumph.

If he refused this offer, it’d all be over soon enough.

But what was more humiliation at this point?

“How soon can he be brought across the river?”
​