Balance (2)

As November approached, urgent news arrived through the Imperial Communications Ministry: Father’s health was critical.

Even if I can’t be at his deathbed, I need to move now to at least attend his funeral.

Until he took to his sickbed, Father ensured I stayed in the Far East, citing “the Tsar’s command.”

But if he passes, I can no longer act as a crown prince under imperial orders. I’d have to become Tsar.

The worst-case scenario? Doing nothing here, losing Father, and returning empty-handed.

Unlike the great powers, who sit back and watch, we boldly reached out to the Qing.

“It’s today, right?” I asked.

“The railway’s in good shape, so they should arrive soon. But you never know,” replied an aide.

November began, and Dalian, at the tip of the Liaodong Peninsula, was on the verge of falling.

No matter how well they hold out, Japan will likely seize the entire peninsula by year’s end.

The Qing scrambled to gather their scattered forces and send them to Manchuria, but it’s probably just a matter of how long they can delay the inevitable.

Those on the receiving end of the thrashing know the situation better than an outsider like me.

The Qing’s sense of loss and fear must be immense, because my proposal to Beijing got an immediate reply: Let’s meet.

With blood spilling just south, the meeting was set not in Khabarovsk but in Harbin, far to the north.

A man as tall as Father.

A face that seemed vaguely familiar.

“It must’ve taken five days to get here. Arriving today means you left the moment you got my proposal,” I said.

“When wolves charge and a tiger bares its teeth, I couldn’t just sit idle,” he replied.

I never imagined Li Hongzhang himself, aged and frail, would come in person.

No wonder—the mighty Qing, who dismissed others as barbarians, got their border ravaged in a month. That’s a shock.

Despite his worn appearance, his sharp eyes betrayed his thoughts.

Probably something like use one enemy to check another—the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Whatever his reasoning, if Russia could help him reclaim the peninsula from Japan, Li would likely kneel.

But I said I’d help, not fight for him.

“As I mentioned, I might have to return to St. Petersburg tomorrow, so I’ll keep this brief. Let’s stop the war.”

“We’ve proposed peace multiple times. They refused,” Li said.

That’s because you’re battered and begging for a draw with broken limbs.

“Forget Korea for now,” I said.

“Hand it to Japan, and they’ll spark another war,” he countered.

“That’s a future problem. Right now, focus on one thing: reclaiming Qing territory.”

Having dealt with the great powers for decades, Li knows there’s no such thing as a free lunch.

Yet in this era, land is everything—everyone’s obsessed with territory.

I know his mind’s reeling, dopamine surging at the faint hope in this bleak situation.

“Though you’ll pay a price, I, Nikolai, guarantee not an inch of your border will change. Oh, and I’ll ensure Korea doesn’t fall to Japan.”

“How… exactly?” he asked.

“If Japan’s smart, they won’t fight our empire. Besides, Russia alone might struggle, but with our ally France and neighbor Germany, it’s manageable.”

Germany, who owns Qingdao, is furious about Japan’s Manchurian advance, so they’re easy to pull in.

France, praying weekly for Russia to clash with Germany in the Far East, will back us here.

Realizing his homeland’s defense is hopeless, Li’s eyes, half-glazed, lit up at the promise of keeping every inch of land.

“And the price?” he asked.

“I’d love to claim Manchuria, but that’d make us no better than Japan.”

From the start, I had one demand.

“How much gold is in the Qing treasury?”

Money. The empire doesn’t need land—it needs cash.

Despite Britain’s solo “Great Game” shadowboxing like it’s a championship bout, Russia’s diplomacy in this era has been fairly successful.

For fifteen years, our guiding principle has been clear: avoid friction with the great powers.

We maintain good trade with Germany and forged an alliance with France two years ago.

Considering France and Germany’s tense relations, that’s no small feat.

In Western Europe, they call Alexander III the “Peacemaker.” Russia’s avoided making enemies.

These efforts now shine in the Far East.

“…The crown prince himself is here? Really?” asked the German ambassador.

“The Tsar sent His Highness to the Far East to end this war swiftly,” replied the Russian ambassador. “Japan could reach here by next month, or early next year at the latest. We must act first.”

In truth, the Tsar opposed it, but Nikolai insisted for three years and was finally sent. The ambassador didn’t mention that.

“If Russia takes the lead, why would Germany refuse?” the German replied.

Germany, with little influence in Asia, was quiet until Russia stepped up, then eagerly followed.

“Finally! Russia’s moving into Manchuria!” exclaimed the French ambassador.

“I’m not sure, but Russia’s southward push is certain,” said the Russian envoy. “If this continues, as your country predicted, Russia and Germany may clash in the Far East.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” the Frenchman cheered.

France, frustrated by the Far East’s calm despite the alliance, was thrilled Russia was acting.

And Crown Prince Nikolai?

“Tch, Li Hongzhang. His diplomatic experience is no joke,” Nikolai muttered.

“Two hundred million taels—over three hundred million yen—to split with Japan as we see fit. The less Japan gets, the more we take,” said an aide.

“It’s not just the money. If this leaks later, Russia-Japan relations will get… interesting,” Nikolai added.

The higher Nikolai pushed the price, the more conditions Li attached.

At first, Li acted like one hundred million taels was impossible. But with the North Sea Fleet destroyed, he gave up on haggling over money and shifted tactics.

What better way to prevent a repeat than pitting Russia against Japan?

If the two powers balance each other, the Qing won’t be devoured by either.

To Nikolai, it was a ten-year insurance policy at best, but Li was buying Far East stability with cash.

“Contact with Japan?” Nikolai asked.

“Sent through Minister Beber in Korea,” replied the aide.

“Then we’ll hear back soon.”

Despite Governor Sergei’s efforts to muster troops, they can’t physically halt Japan’s advance.

Yet Nikolai felt oddly confident.

You’re overreaching, Japan.

They’re charging aggressively, acting insatiable, but their real goal is just Korea—not even full annexation, just kicking out other powers.

Could they really sweep Russia from the Far East, as their momentum suggests? Others are awed by Japan’s hidden military strength, but Nikolai scoffed.

If Japan truly had that power…

“Your Highness, a reply. They’ll meet,” said the aide.

They’d have ignored this and devoured all of Manchuria. Khabarovsk standing untouched proves it.

“Now, how much will satisfy them?” Nikolai wondered.

He couldn’t shake the feeling the last indemnity was too generous.

In early July, Minister Otori issued an ultimatum claiming suzerainty over Korea, which was rejected.

After the Qing’s refusal, Japan seized Seoul and its leadership in two weeks, installing a pro-Japan government with Kim Hong-jip and the Daewongun.

By mid-September, headquarters’ ground forces fully occupied Korea.

In late October, the First Army crossed the Yalu River into Manchuria.

On November 11, they fully captured the Liaodong Peninsula.

And on November 12, Minister Beber in Korea relayed Russia’s mediation proposal.

“Damn it, why is the crown prince still in the Far East!” bellowed Prime Minister Ito Hirobumi, his samurai pride and bushido spirit giving way to crude fury.

No one at the long table responded. They, too, clutched their necks in shock when Beber’s message arrived.

Surely Nikolai hadn’t been in Vladivostok since ’91. He must’ve come and gone.

“What kind of country keeps sending its crown prince to the continent’s far side? A nation with its capital in Europe, no less!” Ito raged.

“Could it be a bluff—”

“General Oyama confirmed it. The crown prince is right above them,” said an officer.

“Oyama Iwao’s word is reliable…” another murmured.

A quiet nation for years, then the crown prince pops up, and everything changes.

Ito’s cabinet and the military brass at headquarters vividly recalled that incident.

Humiliatingly, the Emperor himself boarded a ship to apologize…

We thought war was coming.

Though Japan was the victim on paper, Nikolai Alexandrovich was practically the aggressor.

That nightmare resurfaced.

Unlike then, he’s openly pushing “mediation” now.

“…I rushed from Tokyo to Hiroshima headquarters when I heard,” Ito said, swallowing his anger. “This is no longer just the Qing’s problem.”

He barely managed a productive discussion.

“I ask the staff of our supreme command: can we win a war against the Russian Empire?”

“…Six months,” replied an officer.

“Six months?”

“We could hold out for six months.”

“Then their main army would overrun us,” Ito concluded.

He’d expected it, but hearing headquarters’ verdict made his breath catch.

Six months. After that, they’d be driven from Korea, too.

Were we too hasty? No, this was a rare chance. Korea asked for our help for the first time!

Why was the crown prince here? A diplomat like Beber could’ve delivered the message.

The only reason Ito could fathom: Nikolai was sent with full authority, including for war.

Sending a crown prince to a war zone? Is their Tsar mad?

Nikolai’s presence was absurd, but dwelling on it was pointless.

The empire boasts the world’s largest army—one Napoleon and Britain’s five seas couldn’t conquer on land.

“…One thing’s clear. A clash between Japan and Russia is now inevitable,” Ito said.

“What exactly is their proposal?” asked an officer.

“They presented a new Qing offer for consideration. First, recognize Korea as a fully independent nation. Second, a war indemnity of 150 million yen.”

“…”

The proposal… wasn’t bad? The thought briefly crossed everyone’s minds.

The first clause denies Korea’s historical tribute and ceremonial ties to the Qing, effectively erasing their past relationship, with the Qing voluntarily withdrawing.

The second, 150 million yen, is just shy of two years of Japan’s tax revenue—a massive sum.

But the staff, wary, watched Ito’s reaction.

“If any of you think this is a good deal, don’t say it,” Ito snapped. “You know our original goal.”

Even if they couldn’t make Korea a vassal, it should’ve been a protectorate.

The 150 million yen seems large now, but had they reached across the Yellow Sea, they could’ve demanded double, maybe even most-favored-nation status, standing equal with other powers.

The worst part? They were about to crush the now-fleetless Qing, but this halted them.

Not just regret—rage. Ito fumed at upending the board because of one crown prince.

“All the powers, except Britain, back the crown prince. They were quiet, but now they’re intervening,” he said.

“…What will you do, Prime Minister?” asked an officer.

“…Negotiate. But we’ll get more than this.”

He didn’t know what Russia got for backing the Qing or what Japan could gain from Korea.

Or if Russia planned to push into the peninsula and intervene actively.

He’d find out in person.

“Stop the advance for now. I’ll go myself,” Ito said.

“You, Prime Minister?” an officer gasped.

“Li Hongzhang, that old fox, likely pushed the crown prince forward, expecting this.”

The longer it drags, the more excuses—territorial damage, civilian losses—could arise.