After Minister Wu departed to relay the general's message, Gustave's curiosity got the better of him.
"General Cai E, who exactly is this Prince Jingwu? I noticed you spoke his name with considerable respect."
The title was unfamiliar to Gustave—perhaps another divergence between this world's history and his own.
"Master Gustave," the general replied with a thoughtful expression, "while the Qing court and I represent opposing ideologies, Prince Jingwu was one of the very few imperial officials I genuinely admired."
"What made him so remarkable?" Gustave pressed.
General Cai E gazed toward the distant mountains, his voice taking on the measured cadence of someone recounting significant history.
"Years ago, French forces attacked Hue in Annam, forcing the Vietnamese court to sign the Treaty of Hue that severed their tributary relationship with China and established French colonial rule. The Qing court was outraged and dispatched two armies to drive out the invaders."
Gustave nodded—this matched his own world's history of French expansion into Indochina.
"The imperial strategy involved simultaneous attacks from two directions," Cai E continued. "The eastern army was commanded by General Feng, while the western forces fell under Prince Jingwu's leadership—though he hadn't yet received that title. Their coordination was exemplary."
The general's expression grew more animated as he recalled the military campaigns. "Both armies achieved spectacular victories. General Feng crushed French positions in his sector, while Prince Jingwu led a devastating river assault that routed the colonists at every engagement. They were literally days away from encircling the French completely and capturing Daluo, the Annamite capital."
"But then politics intervened?" Gustave guessed, recognizing the pattern common to many military disasters.
"Exactly," Cai E said bitterly. "The Qing court issued simultaneous edicts—first conferring the title 'Jingwu' upon the prince in recognition of his victories, then ordering both armies to withdraw immediately."
"General Feng obeyed without question, as military protocol demanded. But Prince Jingwu?" The general's voice carried undisguised admiration. "He was literally within sight of Daluo's walls, poised to deliver the decisive blow that would expel France from Indochina entirely. How could any warrior with honor retreat at such a moment? He ignored the withdrawal order and pressed his attack."
Gustave could envision the scene—victory within grasp, only to be denied by distant bureaucrats who prioritized diplomatic face-saving over military success.
"The assault proceeded magnificently," Cai E continued. "Prince Jingwu's forces reached Daluo's outer defenses and were preparing for the final siege when disaster struck from behind. The imperial court cut off all supplies to the western army—food, ammunition, reinforcements, everything."
"Damn," Gustave breathed. "They deliberately sabotaged their own general?"
"What choice did Prince Jingwu have?" Cai E asked rhetorically. "Even the greatest commander cannot fight with starving soldiers and empty arsenals. He was forced to abandon certain victory and withdraw."
The general's jaw tightened with barely contained anger. "Upon returning to Beijing to demand explanations, Prince Jingwu learned the court's reasoning: French warships were threatening China's southeastern coast, and France had promised to repeat the humiliation of 1860—when foreign armies drove the emperor from his own capital—if the Indochina campaign continued."
"How did Prince Jingwu respond to such... pragmatism?"
"He called every court official a coward to their faces," Cai E said with grim satisfaction. "He publicly denounced the Empress Dowager Cixi as a disaster for China and the Chinese people. Naturally, this earned him immediate punishment—his newly granted title was stripped away, he was confined to house arrest, and all news about his exploits was suppressed."
"Political courage rarely goes unpunished in imperial courts," Gustave observed.
"Prince Jingwu remained under virtual house arrest until the old empress finally died and Emperor Guangxu regained real authority. Only then was he rehabilitated and appointed to command southwestern frontier forces."
General Cai E paused, his expression growing more complex. "When I launched my own uprising against imperial corruption, there were two men I feared most—the provincial governor and Prince Jingwu. The governor controlled significant loyal forces, but Prince Jingwu commanded half a division of the new-model army, our most modern military units."
"And yet your rebellion succeeded quickly?" Gustave noted.
"Yes. After we captured the provincial capital and arrested the governor, I expected Prince Jingwu to rally imperial loyalists for a counterattack. Instead..." Cai E shook his head in wonderment, "he sent messengers announcing his intention to surrender all military authority and retire to private life."
"He chose principle over power."
"Without Prince Jingwu's resistance, our victory was assured with minimal bloodshed. Had he chosen to fight as stubbornly as the governor, countless more would have died." The general's voice carried profound respect. "After laying down his command, Prince Jingwu purchased a modest farm and lived quietly as a gentleman scholar. I visited him frequently—he was one of the finest conversationalists I've ever encountered, despite our political differences."
Cai E's expression grew melancholy. "I had departed on this expedition when news arrived of his sudden death. The German equipment and personnel required my immediate attention, so I couldn't return in time for proper farewells. By the time I could travel here, the court had already dispatched the funeral procession."
Gustave felt genuine sympathy for the general's evident grief. "A man who could command such respect from his political opponents must have been exceptional indeed."
"The title 'Jingwu'—'Pacifying through Martial Virtue'—suited him perfectly," Cai E agreed. "Such integrity deserves honor regardless of which banner a man served under."
Their conversation was interrupted by Minister Wu's return, his affected mannerisms particularly grating after the discussion of genuine nobility.
"General Cai E, His Highness the Seventy-First Prince has made all necessary preparations. You may now pay your respects to Prince Jingwu."
The general straightened his uniform with ceremonial care before approaching the elaborate hearse with its yellow silk coverings and imperial guards. His movements carried the dignity appropriate for honoring a fallen warrior.
While Cai E conducted his formal observances, Gustave quietly asked Zhang Zhiwei about their unusual route.
"Taoist Tiantong, why choose these abandoned roads instead of main thoroughfares?"
Zhang Zhiwei lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Misdirection and confusion, My friend. General Cai E divided his forces into three separate columns after collecting the German assets. Each group took different routes with mixed equipment and personnel, making it impossible for enemy agents to determine our actual capabilities or destinations."
"Ah, smart. Security through dispersal."
"The general and I are traveling with the most valuable human resources—the German technical experts—plus a regiment of guards. The smaller roads provide better concealment than major highways, while the direct regimental escort ensures adequate protection."
That explained Platoon Leader Zeng's presence with what was clearly an elite military formation.
General Cai E completed his respects with three formal bows, lit ceremonial incense, and offered a brief silent prayer before withdrawing. The Qing procession respectfully moved aside to allow the much larger republican force to pass.
Gustave estimated over a thousand soldiers in the column, plus several hundred German civilians disguised as ordinary travelers in local clothing. The deception was quite effective—from the imperial escort's perspective, they were merely witnessing a large but unremarkable military movement.
"Master Gustave," General Cai E called out as his forces prepared to resume their march, "I have no doubt our paths will cross again soon."
"General. Until we meet again."
After the republican column disappeared around a mountain bend, the Qing procession prepared to continue their own journey. Following Ikkyu's suggestion, they removed the hearse's roof covering to allow sunlight to reach the coffin—a traditional precaution against supernatural corruption.
But as they prepared to depart, Gustave felt compelled to offer a warning.
"Taoist Qianhe, I believe heavy rain is likely tonight. You should replace that covering before sunset."
"Thank you for the counsel, Brother Gustave," Qianhe replied with a respectful bow. "Your wisdom is always appreciated."
After bidding farewell to their visiting brother and watching the imperial procession fade into the distance, Gustave turned to his companions with a grim expression.
"Fellow Daoists Yimei and Simu, we should prepare for tonight's weather. Prince Jingwu was clearly a man of exceptional character and strong will in life. Should he undergo corpse transformation, Qianhe and his assistants may face a threat beyond their current capabilities."
Simu's eyes widened with alarm. "A flying zombie or worse! I assumed we were dealing with some minor imperial relative, not a figure of such significance!"
Without another word, Simu hurried toward his equipment stores, already calculating what talismans and weapons would be needed for a potential supernatural crisis of the highest order.
Lin Jiu followed close behind, his expression equally serious.