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Time was a strange thing.
During peaceful days, it flowed as swiftly as a river.
But the closer a decisive moment drew, the more it seemed to slow, like water gradually freezing into ice.
The days I spent taking Dash on walks, hosting afternoon tea parties with noblewomen, and slowly dispelling the shadow of laudanum passed by in the blink of an eye.
But the moment I received word that Lord Melbourne urgently wished to see me…
…time froze.
When I entered my office, Lord Melbourne’s expression was unusually grave.
“Your Majesty…”
His voice was lower than usual.
When a politician lowered their voice, it generally meant one of two things.
Either bad news…
…or a dangerous proposal.
Today, it seemed to be both.
“We have received… a rather troubling report from the Far East.”
“Before that, would you care for a cup of tea?”
“…Pardon? Ah… yes.”
Offering tea to someone under tension was both proper etiquette in this era…
…and one of my own tactics.
When a person held a teacup, they couldn’t clench a fist.
And once the warmth of the tea reached their hands, even their voice naturally softened.
The aroma of black tea spread through the office.
“The Far East… You mean Qing China?”
At my question, he gave a heavy nod.
“Yes, Your Majesty. We’ve received reports that a new Viceroy of Huguang has recently taken office. It appears he has begun a large-scale crackdown on opium. As a result… our merchants are expected to suffer tremendous losses.”
‘A new Viceroy of Huguang… Could that be Lin Zexu?’
While reading Queen Victoria’s diary, I had come across that name before.
He was the Qing official who confiscated imported opium and clashed with British merchants in China.
His actions ultimately led Britain and Qing China into war.
This was the beginning of the First Opium War as history had originally unfolded.
Lord Melbourne continued.
He spoke of Qing China’s hardline measures.
The economic losses Britain could expect.
The mounting anger among British merchants.
His voice remained calm…
…but it couldn’t conceal the sense of impending disaster beneath it.
Just as I instinctively reached for the diary to confirm my memory…
Words suddenly began writing themselves across one of its pages.
[The Shadow of Opium]
Description: The trade imbalance with the great eastern empire of Qing China continues to worsen. Certain merchants and politicians seek to maximize their profits through the illegal opium trade, escalating tensions between the two nations. Before long, this conflict will inevitably erupt into war. History records that Britain emerged victorious from the First Opium War, reaping enormous benefits and ushering in the golden age of the British Empire. Yet behind that triumph lay countless sacrifices and profound moral collapse. You have been given the opportunity to write a different history.
Objective: Prevent the outbreak of the First Opium War.
Time Limit: December 31, 1839.
Reward for Success: ■■■■■
Failure: Death of Victoria (Kim Ah-young).
Crash!
The teacup slipped from my hand.
The white porcelain shattered against the floor.
Fragments scattered across the room as black tea soaked into the carpet, leaving dark stains.
No…
It wasn’t just the teacup that had shattered.
The fragile mask of peace I had built piece by piece until now…
…had been destroyed the instant I saw the word “death.”
“Your Majesty! Are you alright? Were you injured?”
Lord Melbourne jumped to his feet in alarm.
My mind went blank.
My heart pounded violently.
Cold sweat ran down my back.
I had prepared myself the first time I saw the diary and the tavern keeper’s mysterious note.
But this?
Openly announcing my death?
Wasn’t that a little too much?
‘The Opium War…’
The nineteenth century.
An age when the monster called imperialism devoured the world.
In the face of the magical words “national interest,”
Conscience.
Morality.
Ethics.
All of them crumpled like sheets of paper.
Starting a war required nothing more than the flimsiest excuse.
Preventing one…
…was akin to challenging the authority of God.
If it were truly that easy, humanity would never have stained its own history with the unimaginable horrors of the First World War, the Second World War, and countless other tragedies.
“Your Majesty…?”
Lord Melbourne’s quiet cough finally broke the silence.
His eyes were full of concern.
‘That’s right… him too.’
According to Queen Victoria’s diary…
Lord Melbourne had reluctantly supported the outbreak of the Opium War.
He hadn’t openly demanded war.
Nor had he stirred the public into it.
But in the end, as Prime Minister, he had accepted and enabled it in the name of Britain’s national interest.
“Your Majesty, please don’t distress yourself so greatly. There is no need to be overly alarmed by Qing China’s actions.”
Lord Melbourne spoke gently.
His voice was warm and reassuring.
Yet beneath it, ever since the nursery incident…
…I could still sense the gaze of a crafty old fox carefully testing me.
“Qing China launching large-scale crackdowns on opium is hardly a new occurrence, Your Majesty. As always, once a certain degree of… goodwill has been established, trade will resume as though nothing ever happened. For now, it would simply be wise to advise our merchants to lie low for a while.”
By “goodwill,” he meant bribery.
I didn’t react.
Because that was, in fact, how things often worked.
“Naturally, our merchants will be furious for the time being. But it won’t last. They understand perfectly well just how profitable trade with Qing China truly is. Compared to losing such an enormous market altogether, setting opium aside temporarily is surely the wiser choice.”
“An enormous market?”
I deliberately echoed his words.
His eyes lit up, as though he had been waiting for exactly that question.
“Precisely, Your Majesty! Just last year alone, in 1836, Britain imported over two million pounds sterling worth of tea from Qing China. Including silk and porcelain, the total exceeded six million pounds sterling. In return, our excellent wool and cotton textiles generate tremendous national wealth. Even without opium, there are countless goods with which we may trade.”
‘Our textiles are selling? No… that’s not right.’
I couldn’t recall the exact figures in 1837.
But I did remember the broader picture.
Britain was suffering from a chronic trade deficit with Qing China.
Demand for Chinese tea inside Britain was enormous.
To pay for it, Britain sent silver.
Huge quantities of silver flowed into Qing China.
To stop that drain and correct the imbalance, Britain had begun systematically smuggling opium grown in India into Qing China.
That had been the root of everything.
Lord Melbourne was skillfully twisting that reality.
Then, wearing the gentlest of smiles, he continued as though trying to reassure me…
…or perhaps lull me into lowering my guard.
“At present, I believe there remains a certain degree of mutual understanding between us and Qing China. However… perhaps this presents an opportunity to establish a new agreement governing future relations.”
Understanding.
Agreement.
At first glance, the two words sounded nearly identical.
But I remembered what I’d learned back in my international relations courses.
Diplomatically…
…they were worlds apart.
Understanding simply meant recognizing the other side’s circumstances.
“I see their situation. We understand where they’re coming from. Let’s observe things for now.”
It was unilateral.
Flexible.
Entirely non-binding.
Useful as background for policymaking…
…but hardly an unbreakable promise.
It could guide risk management or immediate responses.
It could never guarantee lasting peace.
An agreement, on the other hand…
…was something entirely different.
It was a concrete, written promise forged only after fierce negotiations, endless bargaining, mutual concessions, and sometimes threats and coercion.
It marked both the end of one dispute…
…and the beginning of a new international relationship.
Once an agreement existed, violating it unilaterally carried enormous diplomatic costs and international condemnation.
To put it simply…
Imagine meeting a hungry child on the street.
Saying,
“That child looks terribly hungry. Poor thing. I’ll give them a loaf of bread for now and see how things go.”
That was understanding.
But saying,
“From now on, you’ll eat three meals a day. Bread and milk for breakfast. Beef stew for lunch. Fruit and cheese for dinner. Here’s the contract—sign it.”
That was an agreement.
Everything spelled out.
The menu.
The schedule.
Every detail fixed.
And if the child complained about the menu…
Or tried to tear up the contract…
Before long, soldiers carrying rifles and bayonets would arrive to “restore the agreement.”
Lord Melbourne was quietly presenting that very choice to me.
Should Britain simply acknowledge Qing China’s anti-opium campaign as an internal matter and step back?
Or should Britain insist this was the perfect opportunity to negotiate a brand-new agreement?
Naturally…
…one written entirely in Britain’s favor.
One that preserved the opium trade in some form…
…or extracted even greater concessions.
And if diplomacy proved insufficient…
Military pressure.
Shows of force.
Every possible option would be placed on the table.
He was watching to see which direction this eighteen-year-old Queen would choose.
If I chose understanding…
I would be dismissed as a naïve idealist.
If I chose agreement…
I would become an accomplice to war.
Either way…
I would be playing in the palm of his hand.
‘Hah…’
I nearly laughed aloud.
Only by biting my lip did I manage to hold it back.
It seemed my speech about conscience and morality during the coronation…
The nursery…
My gradual campaign to eliminate laudanum from noble society…
All of it had left quite an impression on this crafty old fox.
So this was a test.
He wanted to know whether this eighteen-year-old Queen truly possessed the conviction to place idealism above Britain’s glorious future and limitless expansion…
…or whether she had merely been an immature girl seeking attention.
If I answered—
“Yes, Lord Melbourne. I agree. We must respect Qing China’s sovereignty, and illegal opium trafficking should naturally be eradicated under their laws. We ought to understand their difficult circumstances and strictly restrain our own merchants. That is the proper course for the Queen of Britain.”
…then what?
Like a generous dollop of bright red raspberry jam atop a perfectly baked, still-warm scone, it was a choice that looked sweet, righteous, and ideal.
The moment I bit into it, he would be celebrating inwardly.
“Just as I thought. A child is still a child. She knows nothing of the harsh realities of politics or the burdens of governing a nation.”
He would look down on me even more and mold me however he pleased.
As if to reassure me, the corners of his eyes softened.
But behind them…
…I saw the sharp gaze of a hawk stalking its prey.
Behind that gentle smile…
…I saw the meticulous calculations of a seasoned politician.
‘I can see right through you, you old fox. Every last bit of your scheme.’
For a moment, I looked down at the shattered pieces of porcelain scattered across the floor.
Then I slowly raised my head and met Lord Melbourne’s eyes.
“Lord Melbourne.”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
His voice was still sweet as honey.
But I didn’t miss the faint tension…
…or the expectation hidden beneath it.
“You know… something suddenly came to mind.”
“Please, ask me anything, Your Majesty. If I know the answer, I’ll gladly provide it.”
His eyes gleamed.
“Well…”
I deliberately hesitated, putting on the act of an ordinary eighteen-year-old girl.
As young as possible.
As innocent as possible.
As though I knew absolutely nothing about the world…
…and even less about politics.
“What if… we simply gathered all of Britain’s proud warships and our brave Royal Marines…”
“…Pardon?”
One of Lord Melbourne’s eyebrows twitched.
I caught the slightest tremor in his pupils.
“…and then just went boom! Boom! with the cannons and blasted them to pieces without holding back?”
I tilted my head innocently.
“Wouldn’t that solve this whole opium problem nice and easily? Don’t you think so, Lord Melbourne?”
Silence.
A suffocating…
…ice-cold silence filled the room.
“…Pardon?”
Lord Melbourne stared at me with eyes so wide they looked ready to pop out of their sockets.
His expression seemed to ask whether he had truly heard what he thought he had…
…or whether he simply refused to believe it.
His mouth hung slightly open.
“B-But, Your Majesty! That would… there would be no diplomatic justification…! And it would hardly be… just…!”
He stammered helplessly before finally forcing out a few words.
By now, beads of cold sweat had begun forming across his polished forehead.
He had probably expected me to start talking about conscience and morality again, just as I had during my coronation.
Or, at most…
…to advocate peaceful negotiations and diplomacy.
I lightly raised my hand, stopping him.
Then I smiled even more brightly.
More innocently.
With a purity so complete it bordered on cruelty.
“Let’s forget all those complicated, troublesome details for now…”
“…P-Pardon…?”
His voice had become little more than a whisper.
“First, we’ll just go boom! and blast apart their forts! Then any ships that get too full of themselves—we’ll go boom! again and punch nice big holes right through them!”
My voice brimmed with the excitement of a child who had just received a brand-new toy.
“If we give them a proper taste of our blazing cannonballs, I’m sure everything will be settled quickly, easily, and without any fuss! Don’t you think?”
The instant I finished speaking…
Lord Melbourne’s face became a spectacle.
He no longer looked as though he were facing a young Queen.
He looked as though a bloodthirsty goddess of war had suddenly descended before him.
He had expected me to seize upon the naïve path of “understanding.”
Or perhaps to choose the harder path of “agreement” and move exactly where he wanted.
Both possibilities had already been accounted for in his calculations.
People often say politics is like chess.
But chess has one weakness.
Every piece moves according to fixed rules.
A bishop moves diagonally.
A rook moves in straight lines.
Since your opponent knows those rules…
…they can predict your next move.
But what if one of the pieces suddenly ignored the rules?
What if the bishop charged straight ahead?
What if the pawn moved backward?
What if the queen simply spun around in circles without moving at all?
Your opponent would fall into confusion.
Because prediction would become impossible.
And an unpredictable opponent…
…is the most frightening kind.
So I ignored both choices he had laid before me.
I overturned the chessboard itself.
Warships.
Cannons.
Not understanding.
Not agreement.
Just raw violence.
No diplomatic justification.
No moral considerations.
Just smash everything to pieces.
If I were an idealist…
Melbourne could counter me.
If I were a realist…
He could use me.
But if I were insane…
No calculation would work.
Of course…
I wasn’t insane.
I had absolutely no intention of starting a war.
Today’s objective was simply to make sure Lord Melbourne couldn’t be certain of that.
To survive in the brutal world of politics…
Sometimes you had to become someone no one could predict.
If your opponent couldn’t read you…
…they couldn’t make careless moves.
And if they couldn’t move carelessly…
…you bought yourself time.
Time to prepare.
“So…”
I smiled.
“What do you think, Lord Melbourne?”
Lord Melbourne remained silent for a very long time.
After Lord Melbourne departed, I looked down at the broken pieces of the teacup scattered across the floor.
A maid came to clean them up.
I told her to leave them for now.
I bent down and picked up one of the fragments.
Its sharp edge touched my fingertip…
…but it didn’t cut me.
[Prevent the outbreak of the First Opium War.]
The words from the diary floated before my eyes.
Failure: Death.
Those words flashed relentlessly at the edge of my vision.
Beyond my fear of dying…
…another emotion began to rise.
Anger.
Anger at a world that called poisoning tens of thousands of people with opium “the national interest.”
Anger at the language that dressed war up as nothing more than the enforcement of an agreement.
Was there really any essential difference…
…between disabling the safety devices in a food factory to increase production…
…and addicting another nation to opium for profit?
No.
Only the scale was different.
The factory had simply become a nation.
I gently set the porcelain fragment back onto the carpet.
Outside the window…
…children’s laughter echoed through the Palace grounds.
‘Maybe preventing the Opium War is simply another way of protecting those smiles.’
The scale was different.
The essence was the same.
Carefully avoiding the broken shards beneath my feet, I stood up.
“All right…”
“…Let’s do this.”
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