Beiyang Dream

July 11, 1891, evening.

Outside Yuanshan Port, on the deck of the Kowshing.

Chang Desheng leaned against the ship's side, holding onto the railing, looking at the two hundred or so people standing in front of him.

These are his soldiers.

Or rather, they were his "heavenly soldiers".

Of course, this group of soldiers isn't quite up to par yet. The main force, the 150 new recruits from Zhili, had only been in the army for a month and hadn't even learned how to fire a gun. All they knew were "look forward," "look right," "march," and "one, two, one." Their training wasn't very good; occasionally, some would march with the wrong step, and Cao Kun scolded them several times without them correcting it.

But the soldiers had a good foundation.

His father, Chang Fuhai, meticulously sifted through the able-bodied men in the villages and towns surrounding Tianjin to select these soldiers. No one shorter than 1.73 meters was acceptable, no one over twenty years old was unacceptable, no one was weak, no one had a smoking habit, and no one had any hidden illnesses. After much deliberation, he selected 150 "top-quality soldiers," each one broad-shouldered and burly, standing there like a wall.

Moreover, the "heavenly soldiers" were paid well.

Four taels a month, paid in full, never withheld. The food was good too, white flour every meal, meat every day. These soldiers, back in their hometowns, rarely saw meat throughout the year; after joining the Zhenzi Battalion, they gained weight in just half a month. Their spirit and energy were completely different from the sallow-faced, emaciated soldiers of the old Huai Army. Chang Desheng looked at them and did a quick calculation in his mind: the soldiers' pay alone was six hundred taels a month, plus food, clothing, and equipment, nearly a thousand taels a month went by. A thousand taels! Enough to buy a Maxim gun. But there was no other way; the soldiers were the face. The face had to be maintained. If it wasn't maintained, how could they fool the Japanese? How could they fool the Russians? How could they fool the officials of the court? How could they swindle money, cannons, and territory?

He walked forward along the line.

When I got to the middle row, I stopped.

Twenty veterans from Southeast Asia.

They were on average ten centimeters shorter than the burly men of the Beiyang Army, with the tallest only reaching 1.65 meters. But their spirit and energy were completely different. Each of them stood tall and straight, with sharp eyes and an aura of killing intent emanating from them. The kind of people who had actually killed. In West Borneo, they had fought alongside Chang Desheng in the Battle of Pontianak, and they had truly seen blood and killed people.

Moreover, they were all "educated youth".

The graduates of Xiaolanfang Primary School were literate, could do arithmetic, and were quick-witted. While in Pontianak, they had already learned to use Maxim machine guns under German instructors. Chang Desheng specially provided them with two Maxim guns, which had been transported with the cargo ship carrying Zhang Bishi and Luo Zhenxing, along with two 80mm mortars. They didn't know how to use the mortars, but Chang Desheng, Wu Dingyuan, and Kong Qingtang did, so they could be taught gradually.

Twenty men, divided into groups of five, each took turns serving these guns and cannons, forming a "reinforced firepower platoon".

Chang Desheng walked up to the two Maxim rifles, pulled back the oilcloth covering them, and touched the barrels. They were shiny and well-maintained. He felt much more at ease... these were the real deal. Those greenhorns were just for show, not worth fighting; these twenty veterans from Southeast Asia were the real killing machines, and these two Maxim rifles were the ultimate weapons.

Whoever has a gun is a warlord. Whoever has a Maxim gun is the warlord among warlords.

He nodded in satisfaction and continued walking.

The last row consisted of twenty Manchu bannermen.

When Chang Desheng saw them, he almost couldn't help but laugh.

These young men, after the "gentle ideological education" he, Hessmann, and Wolfgang had conducted over the past few days, were now completely different from how they used to roll around on the ground at the Incheon docks. They were all dressed in the attire of the Eight Banners soldiers—black satin robes and mandarin jackets, with waist knives at their waists and red-tasseled hats on their heads, looking rather "regressive."

After all, they were all young men, and none of them smoked opium. It was truly remarkable that Ronglu could pick out twenty non-opium smokers from among the Eight Banners' descendants. They ate well on a daily basis, and although they were playboys at heart, just by looking at them, they could still "pretend to be royalty." Chang Desheng walked up to them and cleared his throat.

Do you know what bluffing is?

There was a moment of silence in the queue. Then, Pu Xian, standing at the head of the line, was the first to speak: "I know, that's us now!"

Chang Desheng laughed: "You're pretty clever, kid!"

Pu Xian chuckled, a hint of smugness on his face.

"Alright," Chang Desheng pointed at him, "you're now the cavalry captain of my Zhenzi Battalion. Later, you'll follow the Guangdong brothers carrying Maxim guns and small cannons off the ship. Remember, all of you better stand tall and proud, and show some spirit!"

"Yes, sir!" Pu Xianyi puffed out his chest.

Chang Desheng glanced at the others: "Why is only one person receiving the order?"

The nineteen Manchu youths then realized what was happening and shouted in unison, "Yes, sir!"

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes, sir!"

This time the sound was louder, echoing across the deck.

Chang Desheng nodded in satisfaction and walked over to the last group of people.

Those were servants brought by the Manchu bannermen, more than thirty in number, all quite sturdy. Chang Desheng had assigned them the role of "laborers," which meant helping to carry ammunition and barbed wire. They were all packed up now, with carrying poles, ammunition boxes, and rolls of barbed wire wrapped in burlap neatly stacked.

Looking at the rolls of wire, Chang Desheng wasn't thinking about the money; he was thinking about human lives.

If the Russian soldiers on that armored cruiser really charged in, these barbed wire fences and those two Maxim guns would be enough to kill them. If he killed dozens of Russian marines in one battle, Chang Desheng would become the most valiant general in the Huai Army.

Back then, when Senggelinqin attacked Baliqiao, he suffered several thousand casualties, while the Anglo-French allied forces only lost ten men in total.

Only ten!

If he could kill a few dozen Russians, he would be far better than Senggelinqin.

Of course, this is all predicated on the Russians actually daring to come ashore and deliver it.

As he was thinking, Cao Kun's loud voice came from behind him:

"Brother Zhenbang! The Japanese consul and our Commissioner Yao have both arrived!"

Chang Desheng turned around and glanced towards the dock. Several people stood at the other end of the pier, one of them wearing a tailcoat and top hat, thin and small, looking somewhat like Charlie Chaplin. Next to him stood another man in Qing Dynasty official robes, a fifth-rank official, presumably Yao Wenzao, the Commerce Commissioner of Yuanshan. He took a deep breath and shouted to Cao Kun, "Zhongshan, you lead the left flank of the Zhenzi Battalion to disembark first and advance towards the Qing concession! Wenchi, your right flank follows the left; Yuchen, your center flank brings up the rear!"

"Yes, sir!"

Cao Kun, Kong Qingtang, and Wu Dingyuan responded in unison.

Cao Kun turned around and shouted, "Left sentry, all men... fix bayonets!"

With a "crack," a bayonet flipped up from under the muzzle of the gun, gleaming coldly in the setting sun.

"Shoulder your rifle! Move!"

One hundred and fifty burly men from the Beiyang Army, lined up in two columns, marched in perfect unison along the pier towards the shore. Their footsteps pounded against the concrete surface with a dull thud. Bayonets stretched out in the setting sun, resembling a moving steel jungle.

Chang Desheng stood on the ship's railing, watching his soldiers disembark, and finally a satisfied expression appeared on his face.

He glanced at the other side of the ship. Hessmann and Wolfgang, along with several other Germans dressed as sailors, were leaning against the railing smoking. Chang Desheng gave them a wink—they should stay on the ship for now and quietly disembark once the fortifications in the Qing concession were nearly finished.

Hessman nodded slightly and continued smoking.

Chang Desheng turned around and said to Duan Qirui and Bai Siwen, "Brother Zhiquan, Lord Bai, let's get off too."

Duan Qirui nodded expressionlessly. Bai Siwen's face was a little pale, but he still followed him downstairs.

Chang Desheng walked at the back, and before disembarking, he looked back at the deck of the Gaosheng one last time.

He thought to himself: "Kowshing, Kowshing, you sank off Fengdao Island in history, feeding over nine hundred lives to the fish. This time, with me here, you'd better work hard with me, and I'll appoint you as a camouflage raiding ship, so you can have your moment in the spotlight..."

He turned around and strode down the pier.

At the end of the pier, Bridge Gatekeeper Naokimon stood by the dock, squinting at the Qing army that was landing.

Before becoming the consul in Yuanshan, he had worked as a diplomat in the Qing Dynasty for many years and had seen many Qing soldiers—the Green Standard Army, the Eight Banners Army, the Huai Army, and the Xiang Army. His impression of those Qing soldiers was that they were untidy, their clothes were tattered, the soldiers were sallow and thin, and the officers were pot-bellied and walked loosely. They did not look like they could fight.

But this team is so different.

The leading Qing soldiers, carrying rifles with fixed bayonets, marched in two neat columns along the pier. The men at the bridgehead, looking up as they passed, were at least twenty centimeters taller than him and Chief Inspector Shimada beside him. Each one was burly and imposing, their rifles fitted with bayonets sharpened to a gleaming shine—clearly skilled in bayonet fighting.

Qiaokou involuntarily took a half step back.

Inspector Shimada, standing beside him, also gasped, lowering his voice to say, "Your Excellency, this...this is the Qing army?"

Qiaokou didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer either.

He saw the second group of Qing soldiers approaching. This group was shorter, but their eyes were sharper, and they exuded an indescribable murderous aura. They weren't carrying rifles, but two large weapons wrapped in tarpaulins. Qiaokou squinted and examined them closely, his heart sinking. Those were automatic firearms.

Gatling gun? Or Maxim gun?

A chill ran down my spine as I stood at the bridgehead, yet I felt a sense of relief. The telegram from above had stated that the Qing troops were there to protect Wonsan from Russian occupation. With machine guns positioned on the shore, the Russians would have to think twice before attempting a landing.

Just as he was thinking this, the third group of people arrived.

This group of men didn't carry guns, but they were dressed in the black satin robes of the Eight Banners soldiers, with waist knives at their sides and red-tasseled hats, and they marched over in a line. Although they didn't have horses, their bearing made them look like cavalry. The young man leading them looked to be in his early twenties, with his head held high and his chin held high, as if to say, "I am a member of the Eight Banners Heavenly Army."

Qiaokou was even more confused. Cavalry? The Qing army had brought cavalry? How much territory were they trying to control?

Of course, he didn't know that these "cavalrymen" hadn't even bought their horses yet. He also didn't know that the proud "cavalry captain" had been rolling around on the ground and acting like a scoundrel at the Incheon docks just a few days ago.

He knew only one thing: this Qing army was unlike any Qing army he had ever seen before.

At the same time, aboard the Pamirat Azov.

Colonel Leontiev stood on the bridge, holding his somewhat old brass monocular telescope, also looking towards the shore.

He saw the Qing army that was landing.

The ranks were neat, their steps synchronized, and their bayonets gleamed in the setting sun. The infantrymen carrying rifles were all tall, broad-shouldered, and robust. Behind them was another group carrying something wrapped in two oilcloths; it was unclear what it was. Leontiev adjusted his focus and examined it closely.

His brow furrowed.

The shape of the oilcloth wrapping resembled a machine gun.

Leontiev put down his binoculars, his face looking rather grim.

Had the Qing army already equipped its battalion level with machine guns?

Moreover, they arrived on a British ship. Could it be that Britain and the Qing Dynasty have reached a high degree of consensus on preventing Russia from advancing south into Korea? Britain... dares not fight!

He turned to the officer on duty and said, "Send someone ashore to send a telegram to the headquarters in Vladivostok. Tell them that a battalion of Qing troops arrived in Yuanshan today aboard a British ship. They are in good formation and are carrying machine guns. Please give your instructions."

The duty officer stood at attention: "Yes, sir!"

On the dock, Chang Desheng strode down the pier.

Behind him followed Duan Qirui and Bai Siwen, while in front of him were the twenty "cavalrymen," who were trying to puff out their chests and stride with what they thought was a very imposing gait.

Chang Desheng saw the Japanese consul in a tailcoat standing on the dock from afar, his face a little pale, and felt half relieved. He then saw the thin, small man next to him wearing Qing Dynasty official robes and a fifth-rank official hat; this must be Yao Wenzao, the Commerce Commissioner of Yuanshan. He also had a shocked expression on his face, clearly stunned by his "heavenly soldier".

Chang Desheng was incredibly pleased with himself!

This is a real showcase of his abilities!

But he didn't show it on his face. Instead, he deliberately raised his voice and shouted ahead, "Officer Pu, take your cavalry brothers and escort the laborers to clear out the concession first!"

Pu Xian was taken aback for a moment, then immediately reacted and roared, "Understood!"

He turned around, waved his arm, and yelled, "Brothers in the cavalry, you fucking need to get yourselves together!"

The twenty Manchu youths straightened their backs and strode towards the Qing concession. Behind them followed the thirty-odd unfortunate bondservants, each carrying a shoulder pole, ammunition boxes, and rolls of wire, panting heavily as they made their way to the Qing concession.

Chang Desheng watched Pu Xian's retreating figure, a hint of amusement in his heart: "I must say, his acting is quite good! If the Qing Dynasty were to fall, you could easily make it in the entertainment industry and act in a Qing Dynasty drama."

He withdrew his gaze, cupped his hands in greeting to the Japanese consul, and said loudly, "Your Excellency is the Japanese consul in Wonsan, right? I am Chang Desheng, the military affairs officer of the Qing Dynasty in Korea. I am here on the orders of Premier Yuan and at the request of the King of Korea, leading Premier Yuan's guards to Wonsan to defend the sovereignty of Korea."

He paused, looked at the Japanese consul, and said, word by word:

"We hope that your country can assist and cooperate, so that the land of our East Asian race will not be taken by Europeans."

Hashiguchi Naoemon stood there, looking at the young Qing official in front of him, and remained silent for a long time.

He then bowed slightly and replied in Chinese, "I am Naoiemon from Shimohashiguchi, Consul of Japan in Motoyama. Lord Chang, you have come from afar, thank you for your hard work."

Chang Desheng smiled and returned the greeting: "Consul Qiaokou, you're too kind. From now on in Yuanshan, we'll be neighbors. Neighbors should look after each other, don't you think?"

He didn't reply at the bridgehead, but simply bowed again.

Chang Desheng smiled and turned to walk towards the Qing concession.

As he walked, he pondered in his mind: First step, establish authority, that's done; second step, figure out how to cause trouble; third step, how to swindle money and sex from the Japanese.

He glanced back at the gray Russian warship on the sea.

The Russian naval officer was still standing on the bridge, looking this way through his binoculars.

Chang Desheng smiled at him and waved.

Come on, you Russians.

If you've got the guts, go and try going ashore.

My two Maxim guns are brand new, they haven't been used yet!