The Dragon Emperor's return to the Forbidden City was not marked by a triumphant procession. It was a quiet, almost menacing arrival. He had departed as a confident leader preparing for a summit; he returned as a wounded god nursing a secret, a man who had been forced to reveal his divinity and had found it to be a vulnerability. The entire palace could feel the shift in his aura. The air itself seemed colder, the shadows in the long corridors deeper. A new, icy fury radiated from the throne room, and the court held its breath.
He summoned the Supreme War Council to the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the grandest and most imposing throne room in the palace. It was a space reserved for the most important ceremonies of state, and to be called there for a council of war was a clear signal that this was not a meeting of debate, but one of judgment.
The great ministers and commanders filed in, their faces grim. Admiral Meng Tian stood with his characteristic quiet dignity, but his eyes were watchful. Viceroy Yuan Shikai, though outwardly confident, could not completely conceal a flicker of apprehension. Li Hongzhang and Prince Gong looked weary, old men caught in the storm of a new and terrifying age. They all prostrated themselves before the throne.
"Rise," Qin Shi Huang's voice commanded, echoing in the vast, silent space. It was a voice stripped of all warmth, as cold and as hard as the winter ice on the northern rivers.
He began by announcing the public version of the summit's outcome, his words a masterpiece of imperial propaganda. "The summit with the American President was a great success," he declared. "The Americans have seen the strength and vitality of our reborn Empire. They have recognized the new reality of our power in the southern seas. A new era of peaceful coexistence, one based on mutual respect for our respective spheres of influence, has begun."
He was framing his forced stalemate as a victory, a narrative of strength for public consumption. His ministers murmured their approval, though the more astute among them, like Li Hongzhang, could sense the vast, unspoken truths that lay beneath the placid surface of the Emperor's words.
With the public announcement made, the true purpose of the audience began. The velvet glove was removed, revealing the iron fist beneath. The Emperor's cold, reptilian gaze swept across the room and settled upon Yuan Shikai.
"Viceroy," he said, his voice dropping to a soft, dangerous whisper that carried more menace than any shout. "It has come to my attention, through my own channels, that during the crisis at the Three Gorges, you took it upon yourself to capture two of the foreign commandos. It has also come to my attention that you failed to report this significant capture to the throne. You held these prisoners, assets of the state, as your own private secret. Explain yourself."
Yuan Shikai felt a jolt of pure, cold fear. The Emperor knew. He had overplayed his hand. He fell to his knees, his forehead touching the cold, polished floor. "Your Majesty, I meant only to serve! I kept them secure, intending to present them to you as a prize upon your return! I was merely awaiting the most opportune moment, to avoid distracting you from the vital summit with the American President!"
The excuse was weak, and both he and the Emperor knew it.
"You are a servant of this Empire, Yuan Shikai," QSH said, his voice cutting through the Viceroy's desperate pleading. "You are not a feudal lord with his own private armies and his own private prisoners. Your ambition, your constant plotting for personal advantage, nearly created an incident that would have undermined my entire negotiation with the Americans. You have forgotten your place."
Yuan remained prostrate, sweat beading on his brow, awaiting his sentence. He expected demotion, disgrace, perhaps even death.
The Emperor's judgment, when it came, was far more clever and far more cruel.
"Your talents are wasted on the simple art of war, Viceroy," QSH announced, a thin, cruel smile touching his lips. "Your ambition requires a grander stage. Therefore, you are relieved of your co-chairmanship of the Supreme War Council. You are relieved of your operational command of the southern armies."
Yuan's heart sank. He was being stripped of his power.
"But," the Emperor continued, "a man of your energy should not be left idle. I am 'promoting' you. Effective immediately, you are appointed the first Imperial Minister of Industry. You will oversee the completion of the Three Gorges Dam project. You will have full authority over all our arsenals, our steelworks, our mines. Your new task is to double our production of steel, rifles, and artillery shells within the next three years. You will produce the tools of my empire. Do not fail me in this."
It was a masterful, devastating move. In a single stroke, QSH had removed Yuan from direct military command, severing him from the Beiyang army, the source of his personal power base. He had exiled him from the world of military glory he craved and plunged him into the grimy, thankless world of logistics and production quotas. Yet, he had done it under the guise of a promotion, giving Yuan a title and a monumental task that would consume all of his time and energy. He had also cleverly placed him in direct competition with the new, rising technocratic class, the very men Yuan despised, creating a new source of friction that would keep his ambitious minister perpetually off-balance. Yuan was being put in a cage, but the cage was gilded with the name of a ministry. He could not refuse.
With Yuan neutered, the Emperor's gaze turned to Meng Tian.
"Admiral," he said, his tone shifting slightly, losing its hard, murderous edge but remaining cold. "The Empire celebrates your stunning victory at the Sunda Strait. Your courage and skill have brought great honor to the throne. Your diplomatic handling of the Nanyang merchants was… exemplary."
He let the praise hang in the air for a moment before delivering the quiet, sharp thrust of the knife.
"However, your victory was… remarkable. So remarkable that it has defied the analysis of my best military scientists. The Viceroy, in his own crude way, has raised legitimate questions about your methods." He leaned forward slightly on his throne. "While I have dismissed his demand for a formal inquiry as political maneuvering, my own… curiosity… remains. I trust that all technological innovations and tactical doctrines developed within the Imperial Navy are, and will remain, the shared property of the entire Empire."
It was not an accusation. It was a warning, delivered with surgical precision. I know you are hiding something. I do not know what it is, yet. But I am watching you. Your secrets belong to me.
Meng Tian met the Emperor's gaze without flinching, his face a mask of serene loyalty. "All that I am, and all that I know, belongs to the Emperor and the Empire," he replied, his voice calm and steady. It was the perfect, unassailable answer of a loyal subject. But both men knew a new line of suspicion had been drawn between them.
With a wave of his hand, the Emperor dismissed the council. The ministers and generals backed out of the hall, their minds reeling. In a single audience, their master had brutally reasserted his absolute authority. He had reshuffled the entire power structure of his government, caging his most ambitious warlord and putting his most honorable admiral on notice.
Qin Shi Huang was left alone in the vast, silent throne room. He felt the deep, aching weariness in his bones. The political battle had cost him precious energy. But it had been necessary. The house had to be put in order. Because he knew the truce he had struck with the American President was not a peace. It was merely a ceasefire. And the next phase of the war was coming.