Beiyang Dream

Chapter 4 No way, Li Hongzhang, are you really going to strike first?

On the 18th day of the fourth month of the 15th year of the Guangxu reign, at 3:45 AM.

The mornings in Tianjin are as bustling as a vegetable market.

Chang Desheng changed into a brand-new indigo uniform, stiff from starching, and stood at the entrance of the Beiyang Military Academy. He twisted his neck—the collar was too tight, and a heavy braid still clung to the back of his head.

A small blue sedan chair carried by two men was parked in front.

The sedan chair curtains were dark blue, their edges faded from washing. Two sedan chair bearers stood one behind the other, their backs ramrod straight. At the front of the sedan chair, a man in a uniform rode on horseback, a sword at his waist. On either side of the sedan chair followed two attendants, a clerk-like old man, and two others carrying signs that read "Silence" and "Avoidance"—all with drooping eyelids and listless expressions.

"This is the pomp and circumstance of a fourth-rank Daotai," Chang Desheng muttered to himself. "The sedan chair isn't big, but the airs are."

The sedan curtain was lifted, and Lianfang, the esteemed official, emerged from inside.

Today, the chief official wasn't wearing his official robes, just a dark blue long gown and a black mandarin jacket. He first glanced at the five students lined up, his gaze lingering on Chang Desheng's face for a moment, then without saying a word, he sat back in his sedan chair.

The sedan chair carriers lifted the paddle.

"Keep up," the clerk waved his hand from the side.

The team moved.

......

The street scene of Tianjin appeared before Chang Desheng's eyes once again.

At the Haihe River docks, the laborers were still carrying heavy sacks, chanting work songs. Those sacks weighed at least two hundred pounds, their weight bending their backs. Chang Desheng sighed inwardly: There wasn't even a crane; they had to carry everything by hand—how inefficient! Besides, were their wages enough to support their families? If I were to hire them as Beiyang soldiers in the future, how much would I have to pay them to help the revolution?

At the street corner, a hearse slowly pulled up. Three corpses lay on the truck bed, covered with straw mats, with a few withered toes peeking out from under the mats.

"They starved to death," Shang Dequan, who came in third in this "selection exam," whispered beside him.

Chang Desheng grunted in agreement, thinking to himself: This is the "Qing Dynasty's kill line"!

Across the street from the opium den, a thin man, yawning incessantly, staggered out, his eyes sunken and his gait unsteady.

"Another opium addict," Shang Dequan said again.

Chang Desheng sighed but did not reply.

Just then, a four-wheeled foreign horse-drawn carriage came rushing across the Haihe River pontoon bridge. The two large foreign horses had glossy coats and ran energetically. Inside the carriage sat a foreigner, with his legs crossed and holding a newspaper in his hand.

The carriage sped past, creating a gust of wind; it was incredibly fast!

Lianfang's sedan chair was still moving slowly and steadily, making a creaking sound.

Chang Desheng and four other students from the military academy who had "graduated" walked along behind.

The team of five naturally split into three groups.

At the very front, Duan Qirui and Wu Dingyuan walked side by side.

Duan Qirui stood ramrod straight, chin slightly raised, still sporting that "I'm the best in the world" attitude. Wu Dingyuan lagged half a step behind him, tilting his head and whispering something in Anhui dialect.

"The embryonic form of the Anhui clique." Chang Desheng mentally labeled the two men, "One a leader, the other a follower. Well, the seeds of infighting in the Beiyang clique have been sown."

In the middle, Kong Qingtang walked alone.

This Shandong man, a 73rd-generation descendant of Confucius, walked at a leisurely pace.

"A gentleman does not form factions." Chang Desheng mentally labeled the man again. "This one is a neutral party, a self-righteous intellectual. He needs to be won over, but we can't expect him to take sides."

Finally, it was him and Shang Dequan.

Shang Dequan, a native of Tianjin, Zhili, was his fellow townsman. He looked somewhat thin and had a pale complexion, but his eyes were full of thirst for knowledge—in the Beiyang Army, he was a top student who could stand shoulder to shoulder with Duan Qirui.

However, they are no match for Changdesheng, who suddenly "got it" and won.

"Brother Zhenbang," Shang Dequan suddenly spoke, his voice low, "that drawing of your gun emplacement, the ventilation shaft is on the back side of the shell, is it for shrapnel protection?"

"Yes." Chang Desheng nodded. "The fragmentation is angled, so the back of the bullet is safe."

"Brilliant." Shang Dequan's eyes lit up. "I've seen a similar approach in textbooks I studied in Germany, but yours is much more detailed. And the angled passageway in the ammunition depot—is it to prevent secondary explosions?"

"right."

How did you come up with that idea?

"I..." Chang Desheng paused, "I've finally figured it out."

You can't exactly say that you learned this from reading the "Civil Defense Design Code" in your previous life.

Shang Dequan didn't press further, but instead brought up ballistics: "I heard that Germany uses a new method to calculate ballistics, called something like 'something-point,' and the gun tables calculated using this method are more accurate than ours."

Chang Desheng thought to himself: "It's calculus, isn't it? I'm very familiar with that. I have a master's degree in architecture from a 211 university. Structural mechanics, mechanics of materials, advanced mathematics—which of these courses doesn't use calculus?"

But he remained outwardly composed: "Really? Then I'll have to learn."

Shang Dequan looked on with anticipation: "When we get to Germany, I'll definitely study this skill properly. If it can be applied to artillery, the hit rate will surely improve a lot."

Chang Desheng looked at him, his mind racing with calculations.

Shang Dequan, a fellow Tianjin native, is an academic high-achiever, a tech geek, and doesn't look to be in good health, but he's a diligent researcher.

Isn't this just a ready-made "direct CTO"?

I'm a time traveler, I have vision and knowledge, but I can't do everything myself! How can I be the head of the direct line if I do that? This Shang Dequan is a good helper. Give him some lessons, teach him some advanced civil engineering and mechanics knowledge, and we'll be counting on him to build fortifications, fortifications, and military projects in the future.

By the way, who are the "direct relatives" now?

I am Chang Desheng, the eldest.

Feng Guozhang, the second son, is good at handling things—he can be in charge of organizing.

Cao Kun, the third son, was honest and righteous, and was tasked with leading Wu Peifu into battle.

In addition, there's Shang Dequan, the fourth brother, and the core technology expert.

That completes the process.

Chang Desheng's lips unconsciously curled upwards. He seemed to already see the core of the Beiyang "Zhili" clique being assembled.

......

Lianfang, inside the sedan chair, yawned.

He lifted a corner of the sedan curtain and glanced outside.

The streets were still the same old sights: coolies, beggars, opium addicts, and foreign carriages. He'd seen them for decades and was long tired of them.

He glanced again at the five students behind the sedan chair.

Duan Qirui, from Anhui, was intelligent but too arrogant. Wu Dingyuan, also from Anhui, was Duan Qirui's follower. Kong Qingtang, from Shandong, a descendant of a sage, was a loner. Shang Dequan, from Zhili, was technically skilled but physically weak. Chang Desheng…

Lianfang's gaze lingered on Chang Desheng for a couple more seconds.

This kid, who scored a total of six points in three subjects in the last monthly exam, got first place this time. Perfect score in drawing, perfect score in mathematics, and the essay... his handwriting was atrocious, but the content...

Lianfang recalled the expressions of Yin Chang and Zhou Fu in the examination room yesterday, and Li Zhongtang's instructions last night: "Bring those five students who studied in Germany here, I want to meet them... especially Chang Desheng!"

Lianfang lowered the sedan curtain and leaned back in her chair.

He started making plans in his mind.

He was a member of the Han Chinese Bordered White Banner, while Yin Chang was a member of the Manchu Plain White Banner. These two bannermen were in charge of the Beiyang Military Academy. Li Hongzhang employed them because he valued their overseas education and also to maintain balance—after all, Beiyang was the Qing Dynasty's Beiyang, but it was necessary to allow bannermen to have a say.

But Lianfang himself knew that he was just a "brand". Above him was Li Zhongtang, below him were these Han students, in the middle was him, the Manchu general manager, and in the court there was a group of Manchu officials who were pointing the finger at him and Yinchang to help the Manchus seize military power.

Difficult.

He sighed, then recalled the saying from Chang Desheng's strategy: "Strike first and gain the upper hand."

They're even willing to strike first against foreigners?

These Han Chinese are getting bolder and bolder; they're becoming increasingly difficult to deal with...

......

We've arrived at the Governor-General's Office of Zhili.

The sedan chair stopped. Lianfang lifted the curtain and stepped out, first straightening her clothes, then turning to look at the five people behind her.

"Go in and see Li Zhongtang later," he said with a smile and a gentle tone. "Just perform the traditional Chinese greeting of bowing deeply. Answer whatever the Zhongtang asks truthfully, without error."

"The students know," the five said in unison.

Chang Desheng thought to himself: Alright, I'm finally going to meet the ultimate client.

I wonder if Lao Li read my plain-language policy essay? He probably did, otherwise I wouldn't have been number one.

And yesterday afternoon when Yin Chang announced the rankings, Duan Qirui's face was as purple with anger...

......

The scene shifts, and the five people are now standing in the lobby.

The main hall was solemn and dignified; the blue brick floor was so polished that you could see your reflection in it. Sitting in the armchair directly in front was a man, presumably Li Hongzhang.

Chang Desheng took a deep breath and, along with the other four, knelt on one knee, pressing his right hand lightly against his left knee.

"The student pays his respects to the Grand Master."

The voice must be loud and clear, and the movements must be swift and efficient—this is what Lianfang repeatedly instructed me to do yesterday.

"Get up."

The voice came from above. It was loud, authoritative, and carried an Anhui accent.

The five men stood up and lined up in front of Li Hongzhang.

Chang Desheng secretly glanced up and looked at him.

Li Hongzhang, sixty-six years old, with gray hair, still stood ramrod straight, and was quite imposing, sitting there with an air of authority. He wasn't wearing a hat, his head was half-bald, and a small braid trailed behind his head.

This is the number one "client" in the Qing Dynasty.

This isn't the kind of small client who urges you to revise your drawings; it's the kind of big boss who has a large budget and can make the final decision on the plan.

We can't afford to offend them right now.

He then noticed that the chubby Yin Chang was also standing nearby. He had lost his imposing manner in the school and was now bowing with his hands at his sides, looking very respectful.

The lobby was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.

"Chang Sheng," Li Hongzhang suddenly spoke, "who is he?"

Chang Desheng was taken aback.

Immortality? What the heck? Are you calling me?

Lianfang, standing beside him, calmly reminded him, "Chang Zhenbang, the Grand Secretary is calling for you."

Chang Desheng then realized that "Chang Sheng" meant "a student surnamed Chang".

"The student is here!" He quickly stepped forward and bowed.

He was moving a little too fast and almost stepped on the hem of his robe.

He heard a barely audible hum coming from Duan Qirui's direction. He didn't even need to look to know that the kid was definitely smirking.

Li Hongzhang sized him up.

His gaze was like a ruler, measuring him from head to toe. Chang Desheng felt like a construction project awaiting inspection, being assessed by the client to meet the "completion standards."

"He's quite good-looking," Li Hongzhang suddenly said. "Sending him to Germany wouldn't be a disgrace."

Chang Desheng: "..."

How should one respond to this? Should one say, "Thank you for your praise, Your Excellency"? Or should one say, "This student will certainly not bring shame to the Qing Dynasty"?

Before he could think of a solution, Li Hongzhang had already asked the next question.

"In your policy proposal," Li Hongzhang said calmly, but every word struck Chang Desheng like a hammer blow, "you said you wanted to strike first before the Japanese navy was fully equipped?"

Chang Desheng felt a sudden chill run down his spine; an alarm bell rang!

What do you mean? Old Li, are you really going to do this?

He quickly replied, "Yes, that's how the student wrote it. Since ancient times, the one who strikes first gains the upper hand, and the one who strikes later is controlled by the other."

Li Hongzhang nodded, then asked, "You also said that warships are precious, but human lives are cheap. It's not worth using ironclad warships to ram other people's fortifications."

"Yes."

"Then," Li Hongzhang leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp as lightning, "if the Japanese warships are all holed up in ports like Nagasaki and Sasebo, relying on land-based artillery for protection, how can my Beiyang Fleet 'strike first'? Should we send the Dingyuan and Zhenyuan to ram the forts?"

Chang Desheng's mind was in turmoil, but his face remained expressionless. He knew he couldn't panic at this moment. If the client asked for your proposal and you panicked, you'd lose.

He took a deep breath and spoke.

"Your Excellency, since we're going to strike first, there's no need for a grand show of force," Chang Desheng said thoughtfully. "This matter can actually be turned into a 'friction' situation."

"Friction?" Li Hongzhang raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Chang Desheng took half a step forward. "For example, if the Korean side seizes a Japanese merchant ship, claiming it's smuggling opium and confiscating it, the Japanese will definitely mobilize their navy to put pressure on Korea. We can act according to the situation—if the Japanese mobilize in large numbers, the Beiyang Fleet will also mobilize in large numbers, feigning a show of force but actually launching a surprise attack. We'll fire the first shot and give the Japanese a hard time."

He paused, then added, "After the fighting is over, issue a statement saying that the Japanese fired first and that we were just defending ourselves."

The lobby fell silent again.

Yin Chang's lips twitched, and Lian Fang's eyes narrowed.

He was probably thinking to himself: How could this person be so mean!

Li Hongzhang stared at Chang Desheng for a full five seconds.

Then he laughed.

"Excellent," Li Hongzhang said. "Excellent, that's a great idea!"

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers twice on the armrest, muttering to himself, "North Korea seizes the ship... the Japanese put pressure on us... our Beiyang Army issues a warning... an accidental clash... no matter where the lawsuit goes, we're in the right!"

The alarm bells in Chang Desheng's mind rang even louder than before!

That's not right!

Old Li, please don't act impulsively!

Impulsiveness is the devil!

With your impulsive actions, how can we possibly fight the Sino-Japanese War? If the Sino-Japanese War is over, how can I ame capital, build a team, and become president?