The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 976 Variables
The last rays of the setting sun bathed the arid land of the Persian Plateau, turning the distant, undulating mountains a deep red. Vasily Andreyevich Kosogov, riding a Don horse, stood alone beneath a withered tree outside the camp, his fingers unconsciously stroking the hilt of his saber. His gaze occasionally swept towards Tehran, where rising smoke indicated the ancient city still maintained a semblance of tranquility.

In the distance, a black steed galloped towards them, its hooves kicking up clouds of yellow dust. The rider was short and stout, yet a skilled horseman. As he drew near, he sharply pulled on the reins, and the warhorse neighed, reared up, and came to a steady stop in front of Kosogov.

“Vasily Andreyevich!” Yuan Shikai took off his hat, revealing a round face with a familiar smile on his lips.

Kosogov smiled and replied in heavily accented Chinese, "Brother Weiting, long time no see." His gaze swept behind Yuan Shikai, and only after confirming that only two personal guards were following at a distance did he relax his tense shoulders.

The two last met at the Military Academy in St. Petersburg, when Yuan Shikai was a newly enrolled Oriental student, and Kosogov was a staff officer in charge of Far Eastern affairs. Now, one has become a major general in the Tang Dynasty's expeditionary force aiding Russia, and the other is the de facto commander of the Persian Cossack brigade.

“Let’s go, we can talk as we walk,” Yuan Shikai said in Russian, gently kicking his horse’s flank as he rode alongside Kosogov. Outside the Cossack brigade’s camp, patrolling cavalry followed at a distance, neither daring to approach too closely nor stray too far.

Kosogov pulled a silver flask from his pocket, tilted his head back, and took a swig. "The situation isn't good." His gaze fell on the ancient walls of Tehran in the distance. "The Germans have won on three fronts: Poland, Romania, and the Turkish Straits. What's worse, Red France won't last much longer either."

Yuan Shikai narrowed his eyes: "If Paris is lost, Empress Mathilde might be able to return. Wouldn't our emperor then get a French royal consort for free?"

"Germany will dominate Europe!" Kosogov said in a low voice, having no interest in bringing up Mathilde and Li Hongzhang's marriage.

Yuan Shikai suddenly laughed: "Vasily Andreyevich, this may not be a bad thing for Russia."

Kosogov frowned at him, the wine jug hanging in mid-air.

Yuan Shikai continued, "No one wants to see Germany dominate Europe—the British, the Russians, and even the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom do not want it."

"The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom?" Kosogov sneered, stuffing the flask back into his pocket. "Weren't they allies of Germany?"

Yuan Shikai shook his head, his riding crop lightly tapping his boot: "There are no permanent allies or permanent enemies in the world." He paused, then lowered his voice, "Russia and the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom are not mortal enemies either. Now that the situation in Europe has changed, His Majesty the Tsar should consider a ceasefire. In fact, the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom and Russia have never truly opened fire!"

Kosogov's eyes suddenly sharpened: "Britain will not give up Australia, and Russia will not give up the North Pacific."

"The North Pacific?" Yuan Shikai scoffed. "How many ships does your Pacific Fleet have left? Ever since Russia declared war on the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, they haven't moved an inch from the port of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky on the Kamchatka Peninsula, have they?"

Kosogov remained silent. In the distance, the walls of Tehran gradually blurred in the twilight, and the Persian flags atop the walls fluttered weakly in the evening breeze.

Yuan Shikai pressed his advantage: "The British are just lacking a way out. If India is threatened, do you think they will take advantage of the situation and withdraw their troops from the Pacific?"

"What do you want to do?" Kosogov stared intently at Yuan Shikai, his warhorse pawing the ground restlessly.

Yuan Shikai grinned, revealing two rows of neat teeth: "I want to launch a coup in Tehran."

Kosogov's pupils contracted sharply, and his right hand instinctively went to his holster. The Cossack sentry in the distance seemed to sense something was amiss and spurred his horse a few steps closer.

"Persia is a country jointly protected by Russia and Britain," Yuan Shikai continued, his tone as relaxed as if discussing tomorrow's weather. "But if an army of the same ethnicity as the Taiping Army were to cause trouble in northern Persia, wouldn't the British think that the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom was overstepping its bounds?"

Kosogov gripped the reins tightly, his knuckles turning white. He could sense the threat in Yuan Shikai's words and foresee the potential chain reaction this plan might bring.

“I know you can’t make the decision.” Yuan Shikai’s tone softened as he pulled a letter bearing the seal of the Tang Expeditionary Force from his pocket. “I only hope you can convey my words to the Tsar—the Tang Dynasty is willing to send another 50,000 men to Asia Minor, provided Russia tacitly approves our actions in Persia. Moreover, our actions in Persia are tacitly approved by the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. If the Tsar doesn’t believe me, he can send a telegram to his aunt, Grand Duchess Natalia of Alaska!”

The distant city of Tehran echoed with the call to prayer, and in the twilight, two figures cast long shadows across the wasteland.

October 30, 1885, 10 Downing Street, London.

Prime Minister Gladstone tapped his fingers lightly on the oak tabletop, his gaze sweeping over the wartime cabinet members seated around it. Afternoon sunlight streamed through gaps in the heavy curtains, casting a thin band of light across the table.

"Gentlemen, we have just received news." Count Granville, the Foreign Minister, spoke in a low voice as he adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and placed a telegram on the table: "The Tang Dynasty's aid-to-Russia forces have launched a coup in Tehran, deposing Naser al-Din Shah and installing his son, Muzaffardin Shah, as emperor."

The meeting room was deathly silent. First Lord of the Navy Hugh Childs' pen clattered onto the documents.

Indian Secretary Randolph Churchill was the first to break the silence: “What does this mean?” His fingers unconsciously tightened around his pocket watch, a habit he developed when nervous.

"This means that the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom has extended its reach to Persia," said First Admiral Arthur Hood coldly. He stood up, walked to the huge map on the wall, and pointed to the location of Persia. "And Persia is too close to India."

Gladstone took a deep breath, took off his glasses, and rubbed his sore eyes. The 76-year-old looked extremely tired from working sixteen hours a day, but his voice remained firm: "We cannot abandon Australia, but we also cannot stand idly by while India is threatened."

Chancellor of the Exchequer William William Harcourt suddenly slammed his fist on the table and stood up: "Damn it! How many more battlefields do we have to contend with?" His voice trembled slightly with anger. "The Pacific, North America, France, and now Persia! The Empire's resources are not unlimited!"

“Calm down, Harcourt.” Gladstone gestured for him to sit down. “That’s exactly what we need to discuss.”

Prince George, Duke of Cambridge, Chief of the Imperial General Staff, stepped to the map, picked up his baton, and pointed it at India: "Gentlemen, look, if the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom were to exert pressure on India through Persia," he traced an arc on the map with his baton, "they could easily incite a rebellion in northern India, even threatening our fleet base in Bombay." Randolph Churchill, the Secretary of State for India, paled: "The Indian garrison currently numbers less than 80,000, and the majority are indigenous troops. If…"

“There are no ifs.” Hood interrupted him, slamming his baton heavily on the Australian side. “We must make a choice. To continue the fight to the death with the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom in the Pacific, or to preserve India, the jewel of our empire?”

Gladstone's gaze swept across the faces of the crowd: "Gentlemen, we need a solution that can preserve India without completely abandoning Australia. If the Empire abandons Australia, it may be possible to achieve a ceasefire with the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, but it would also mean that the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom has won a world victory!"

Hood suddenly laughed, a laugh that made his wrinkled face look particularly sinister: "Prime Minister, this might be an opportunity."

“An opportunity?” Gladstone raised an eyebrow.

“The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom will definitely take advantage of our distraction of the Persians to land in Australia immediately.” Hood picked up his baton and paced along the Australian coastline. “And our main fleet can conveniently disappear for a while.”

Lord Admiral George Hamilton suddenly understood Hood's intention, and he stood up excitedly: "Then, when they are most relaxed, deliver the fatal blow!"

Hood nodded, slamming his baton heavily on Sydney's position: "If the northward detachment is recalled, the Australian fleet will have sixteen battleships and twelve armored cruisers. If we feign a retreat to the Indian Ocean, we can lure the Taiping army to land."

"Then force their navy into a decisive battle, cut off their supply lines, and trap the landing forces on the beachhead," Lord Hamilton continued, his eyes gleaming with fanaticism.

Gladstone pondered for a moment: "This plan is too risky. What if it fails?"

“If we succeed,” Hood interrupted him, “we will not only cripple the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom’s navy, but also force them to the negotiating table.”

The conference room fell silent again.

After a long pause, Gladstone finally nodded: "We need a detailed plan. General Hood, this is your responsibility."

Hood stood at attention and saluted: "Yes, Prime Minister." His gaze swept across Australia on the map, and a cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

Muzaffardin Shah sat on the Peacock Throne, his face ashen. His fingers gripped the armrests tightly, his knuckles white. Inside the throne room, Persian nobles whispered among themselves, occasionally glancing with fear at the short, stout officer standing beside the throne.

Yuan Shikai stood with his hands behind his back, a smile on his face, watching the terrified Persian nobles in the hall. He had specially changed into a brand-new military uniform today, the medals on his chest gleaming in the candlelight.

“Gentlemen, there is no need to worry,” he said in fluent Persian, his voice echoing in the empty hall. “The Great Tang has come to help Persia.”

Finance Minister Mirza Hussein bravely stepped forward: "General, this is blatant aggression! Persia is a sovereign state."

Yuan Shikai's smile vanished. He raised his hand slightly, and a squad of fully armed soldiers immediately rushed into the hall, their rifle butts slamming heavily onto the marble floor with a chilling thud.

“A sovereign state?” Yuan Shikai sneered. “A country that spends a third of its annual fiscal revenue on payments to Britain and Russia deserves to be called a sovereign state?”

His gaze swept over everyone present: "From this day forward, Persia will gain true independence. Of course," he deliberately drew out, "under the protection of the Tang Dynasty."

A sudden commotion arose outside the palace. Cossack soldiers marched across the square, their commander, Kosogov, mounted on horseback, staring expressionlessly toward the palace. He had received a secret order from St. Petersburg—to remain still.

Muzaffardin spoke in a trembling voice, "General, my father..."

"His Majesty the former King was unwell and was recuperating in the palace," Yuan Shikai said kindly, as if he were talking about an ordinary old man. "You are now the King of Persia, Your Majesty."

The young king swallowed hard and looked pleadingly at his ministers, only to find them all with their heads down, avoiding his gaze.

Yuan Shikai turned to face the crowd: "To celebrate the new king's ascension to the throne, I announce three new policies." He raised one finger, "First, abolish all unequal treaties." He raised the second finger, "Second, reduce taxes by 30%." When he raised the third finger, his voice suddenly turned cold, "Third, any act of resistance against the new government will be considered treason."

In a corner of the hall, the British Minister to Persia, Darcy, stood with a grim face. He quietly retreated to the back of the crowd, preparing to slip out to send a telegram. Yuan Shikai's gaze swept over him, but he deliberately pretended not to see him.

As night fell, Tehran fell into an eerie silence. On the streets, patrols of Tang soldiers and Cossack brigades passed each other, both maintaining a wary yet restrained distance.

In a villa on the outskirts of the city, Yuan Shikai was studying a map with several staff officers.

“The British will definitely overreact.” Chief of Staff Tanaka pointed in the direction of India. “They will likely redeploy troops from Australia to defend India.”

Yuan Shikai nodded, tapping his fingers on the table: "Notify Lieutenant Colonel Zhang Xun of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom will handle it."

Meanwhile, in the distant South Pacific, the newly appointed Admiral Luo Xinhua, commander of the South Pacific Fleet, held a telegram in his hand that read, "Persia has changed, the Tang Dynasty is moving south," and a smug smile appeared on his lips.

The opportunity to land in Australia has arrived!
(End of this chapter)