Chapter 23

“Your Majesty.”

“Lord Melbourne.”

A few days later, I warmly welcomed Lord Melbourne as he visited Buckingham Palace.

“That fellow Henry Morris turns out to be a sailor with quite a lot of grit.”

“Yes, indeed, Your Majesty. Until recently, he belonged to the East India Company, but he reportedly resigned to run his own enterprise.”

“We must prevent him from continuing that enterprise, too. Please assemble the Royal Marines with the special envoy delegation to capture and bring him back.”

“Of course.”

“Splendid. The preparations for the special envoy delegation to be sent to Qing China are proceeding well, I trust?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. As the head of the delegation, we have selected Sir George Thomas Staunton, who has a long history of residency in Qing China, and the selection of the remaining delegates is also complete. However… we are still deliberating on how negotiations should proceed.”

Lord Melbourne’s face still bore a complex expression.

“They will undoubtedly adopt a high-handed stance. Especially a man named Lin Zexu, who has been sent with special imperial commissions from the Qing emperor, so he will likely seize upon every petty pretext to corner us.”

“The delegation shares the same view, Your Majesty. My concern is that they might demand things Parliament and the cabinet cannot possibly swallow. For instance, halting trade or raising tariffs.”

Both Lord Melbourne and I shared a deep sense of apprehension regarding how Lin Zexu and Qing China would react.

It was fortunate that we decided against waging a war, but if we were to adopt a submissive posture, they might emboldenedly use this incident as a pretext to declare a complete halt to trade.

Should that happen, the meaning of the peace we fought so hard to protect would tarnish, and only my prestige and face would quietly crumble away.

Face.

That was the moment the word slowly drifted to the surface of my consciousness.

Face.

I rolled the word around in my mind once more.

Back in the day, during the era when our company carried out multiple projects with Chinese partner companies.

In Shenzhen, in Shanghai, in Beijing—opening pop-up stores and holding countless meetings, banquets, and negotiation tables to introduce our products to Chinese tourists—one word consistently clashed with us every single time.

Face.

There was once a new product launch event in Shanghai. From my perspective, the event concluded magnificently.

The lighting was soft, the acoustics were precise, the interpretation was smooth, and the wine was excellent.

Yet the following morning, a report arrived stating that the name tag for the seat designated for the partner company’s public relations director had been omitted. It was an oversight by our operational staff. A single slip of paper. Four characters of a name printed on a strip of paper two finger-joints long.

And precisely because that single piece of paper was missing, the partner company notified us the next day that they would re-evaluate the contract.

[Wait, you’re going to overturn a contract just because of a single missing name tag?]

At the time, bewilderment preceded my anger. There was no financial loss, and the event itself had been a success. Regardless, our staff member sent an email of apology, the department head hastily caught a flight, and we had to expend an unexpected amount of energy to clean up that one small mistake.

It was then I realized. The problem to them was not money. The real problem was the fact that he failed to find his seat in front of numerous guests, and the fact that that small scene had been witnessed by someone. In other words, his face had been damaged. And restoring that damaged face required caution, respect, and politeness just as meticulous as restoring a broken artifact.

Right… Lin Zexu and the Qing Emperor will be the exact same.

What mattered to them right now was probably not punishing British merchants or demanding compensation.

Their top priority might well be restoring the imperial court’s face, which had fallen into the dust due to rumors that the country was being toyed with by barbarians and that even the royal family engaged in the laudanum trade.

“…Perhaps the outcome Lord Melbourne worries about will not come to pass. They place great value on face.”

“Face… you say?”

Lord Melbourne asked back, looking puzzled.

“Ever since the recent incident, I have taken the time to learn a bit about Qing China, and it appears that what matters most to them is how outsiders think of and view them, rather than how they view themselves.”

“In our terms, that would be reputation.”

“Precisely. The emperor’s face, the officials’ face, and by extension, the nation’s face. If we carefully appeal to this aspect, things might resolve themselves much more easily than expected.”

“The emperor’s face, the officials’ face, the nation’s face… Now that you mention it, Sir Staunton seemed to say something similar, Your Majesty.”

Looking straight into Lord Melbourne’s eyes, I emphasized:

“Splendid. The core of this negotiation is to restore their face while improving trading relations with Qing China. If we acknowledge the wrongs committed by Morris at the royal level and demonstrate our resolve to punish him under Qing law, I believe their face will be sufficiently upheld.”

Lord Melbourne nodded, as if he had grasped my intent.

“And… would you ask Sir Staunton to have an audience with me before departing for Qing China?”

“Yes, I shall see to it.”

Normally, Lord Melbourne would have kept me in check by asking why Her Majesty wished to hold a private audience with a subject, but he simply nodded submissively without saying a word.

No, his gaze held a subtle shift compared to before.

Rather than viewing me merely as a young and brash monarch, he looked at me with a mix of wariness and respect, acknowledging me as a political partner.

The next day, when I welcomed Sir Staunton, I handed him a small box.

“Might I inquire… what this contains?”

“It is a gift to Lin Zexu and the emperor of Qing China, so please ensure it reaches them safely.”

“Understood… If I may be so bold, what kind of gift lies within this box…?”

“These are the salicylic acid crystals recently manufactured by the Royal Pharmaceutical Research Society.”

“Salicylic acid, you say…?”

“It is an excellent medicine that rescued noble ladies addicted to laudanum. Sir Clark and the chemists made various improvements to it, significantly reducing its toxicity, I am told. We cannot send much, but it will surely offer at least a little efficacy in treating those addicted to opium…”

At that moment, Sir Staunton’s gaze shifted.

Having resided in the East for a long time as a diplomat and having witnessed the agony of opium addicts up close, he read the exact meaning of this small box better than anyone else. An act of repentance in which Britain itself heals the darkness sown by Britain. The size of the box was insignificant, but the magnitude of the symbolism contained within it surpassed any flag.

“They will undoubtedly adopt a high-handed posture, but that does not mean we need to approach the negotiations in a humiliating manner. However, we should readily acknowledge where we were at fault to uphold their face, and I earnestly hope you will demonstrate our genuine sincerity in setting things right.”

“Indeed, the Foreign Office had many worries regarding how to conduct these negotiations… After having an audience with Your Majesty today, I realize those worries were misplaced. I shall return having achieved the best possible outcome.”

“I am counting on you, Sir Staunton.”

I watched for a long time as he received the box with both hands and retreated.

And I made a wish. That those salicylic acid crystals would reach the people of Qing China and alleviate their suffering even a little. That those crystals would become the first stepping stones of an invisible bridge between the two nations.

Five months later, in September 1838, Guangzhou.

Lin Zexu stared with sharp eyes at the British chief negotiator Sir George Staunton seated across the desk and the accompanying interpreter. Laid out before him were translated copies of the official response and negotiation proposal sent by the British government.

“So… is this everything the ruler of your country, deeply feeling the responsibility for this opium trade crisis, proposes as a measure?”

Unconcealed distrust and cynicism lingered in Lin Zexu’s voice.

At first, he had not believed it. Or rather, disbelieving it was safer.

The most vital wisdom he had learned from his lengthy bureaucratic career was never to believe things easily.

A hand hastily extended often concealed a dagger hidden in the other.

And too-humble apologies often resembled sharp blades preparing for even greater demands.

The translated document stated in an extremely polite tone that this incident was by no means the intent of the British royal family, and that it was an unauthorized criminal act perpetrated unilaterally by Captain Morris of the ship Earl of Balcarras.

Furthermore, it contained commitments that the disposal of confiscated opium and laudanum would follow the wishes of Qing China, and that the British royal family pledged to fundamentally ban the trade of opium and laudanum moving forward.

“Precisely so, Your Excellency the Imperial Commissioner.”

Sir Staunton replied, concealing his nervous disposition.

“…Hard to believe.”

Over the past decades. These were people who had reaped massive profits by selling opium through every imaginable method.

Even after Lin Zexu himself took up his post in this region, he had endlessly confronted their smuggling, bribery, and lies. For such people to tuck their tails now and beg for forgiveness—it was as unnatural as a wolf declining meat, and utterly detestable.

They surely harbor some other scheme.

Lin Zexu resolved to apply even heavier pressure to probe Britain’s true intentions.

“Very well. Then I shall ask one thing. We have seized over 17,000 chests of opium thus far. We intend to burn and dump all this opium into the sea shortly—do you consent to this?”

Should the British side show even the slightest hesitation or demand compensation, Lin Zexu resolved to cut off negotiations right then and there. Yet, to his surprise, Sir Staunton nodded firmly without a shred of hesitation.

“Of course, Your Excellency. The resolve of Her Majesty the Queen and the cabinet is resolute. Opium must rightfully be disposed of, and the method of its disposal shall entirely follow the decisions of Qing China and Your Excellency.”

Surprised inwardly by the unexpectedly compliant response, Lin Zexu felt a slight sense of relief, thinking that things were moving in the direction he desired.

Could it be that they are planning to use this as a pretext to make other demands, such as expanding treaty ports or permitting inland sales?

Yielding to unreasonable conditions without any opposition—

Was this not a classic strategy of applying psychological pressure by placing a burden of debt upon the other party so that they could not refuse when subsequent demands were made?

“You say the opium may be disposed of. Does your country not value gold higher than the heavens? Are you not perhaps intending to wage war using this as a pretext?”

Lin Zexu’s inquiry was piercing. Should Sir Staunton’s face waver at these words alone, all the humility displayed thus far would prove to be nothing more than smoke.

“Your Excellency the Imperial Commissioner, our British government sincerely hopes to establish a fairer and more moral trading relationship with your country, taking this incident as a turning point. We do not want war under any circumstances.”

There was no wavering in Sir Staunton’s voice. It was not merely due to his long diplomatic career, but because his personal conviction and the nation’s conviction aligned as one.

With that, Sir Staunton drew a letter from his coat and placed it respectfully before Lin Zexu.

The seal of the letter bore the red imprint of the British royal coat of arms.

Lin Zexu gazed at that emblem for a moment.

The very same emblem that had appeared on the bottle of laudanum before his eyes last spring.

The emblem imprinted upon the smoke seeping into the lungs of tens of thousands of Qing subjects.

That emblem now rested before him in the same hue, yet bearing an entirely different intent.

Can the very same seal serve as a brand of poison on one side, and a pledge of apology on the other?

“This is a personal letter sent by Her Majesty the Queen to Your Excellency the Imperial Commissioner.”

“…To me?”

“Indeed. I am handing you both the English original and the Chinese translation.”

Without lowering his guard of suspicion, Lin Zexu accepted the letter.

Then, he slowly broke the seal. Red sealing wax fell away in fragments, scattering across the desk.

Lin Zexu slowly broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and began to read.

[The monarch of the United Kingdom sends regards to Minister Lin.
Even if we speak of conscience and justice, we are well aware that the Imperial Commissioner reading these words right now harbors doubts regarding our sincerity.

We admit it.
It is only natural to grow suspicious when an attitude changes so abruptly.
To speak with utter frankness, there was a reason we came to sell opium.

In our Britain, fine woolens and cotton textiles are produced in great abundance. Even when we attempted to bring and sell these in Guangzhou to the south, they failed to sell well due to the hot and humid climate.
Yet because we import tea in large quantities, the more trade we conducted, the greater our deficit grew, and ultimately, to bridge this deficit, we unavoidably leaned upon the improper means known as opium.

We deeply feel our wrongdoing and offer our apologies.
We have no excuse, even with ten mouths, for the issue where opium and laudanum stamped with the royal seal were distributed and harmed the health of the people of Qing China.
In particular, for the fact that countless individuals suffered damage due to the wrongful acts committed by our subjects, I shall take full responsibility as monarch.

Accordingly, the opium trade heading toward Qing China shall be halted the moment the special delegation arrives, and the disposal of the opium shall be entirely entrusted to Qing China.

Furthermore, to prevent recurrence, we shall tighten inspections of trade goods heading from Britain and British territories toward Qing China, and severely punish the shipment of goods prohibited by your country, such as opium.

Though this measure cannot completely restore the damage your country has suffered, we merely dare to hope it will serve as a first step toward restoring a mutually complementary trading relationship as before.]

Lin Zexu lowered the letter. And for a long while, he said nothing.

Within the silence, his inner thoughts shifted course time and time again.

From suspicion to contemplation, from contemplation to hesitation, and from hesitation—very cautiously—to acknowledgment.

Unlike any British document I have ever received hitherto.

Every document possessed its own unique body temperature. There had been cold documents, hot documents, and lukewarm documents. This single sheet of paper possessed an oddly, uncomfortably honest temperature.

Contained within this document was an honest confession regarding why they had come to sell opium.
It was no cowardly self-justification. Perhaps it was a posture of humility, exposing their foolishness exactly as it was.

And that humility was something contained in no document that had ever arrived in Guangzhou under the name of Britain over the past several decades.

Why on earth did they change so abruptly?

Lin Zexu could not know the answer. Yet even without knowing the answer, the mere weight of this single sheet of paper in his hands felt entirely honest.

Above all, they had already captured and detained Morris of their own accord.
Words could always be doubted, but actions were difficult to doubt.

“Very well.”

Lin Zexu finally spoke, as though reaching a decision. A lingering wariness remained in his voice, but the temperature of that wariness had dropped a fraction lower than before.

“First, hand over Morris, the principal culprit of this incident, to us. We shall punish him strictly in accordance with the laws of Qing China.”

Indeed.

How would they react to this particular matter?

Extraterritoriality.

For decades, the British had stubbornly insisted upon that very concept on the soil of Qing China.

The arrogant logic that Britons must be punished by British law.

Would that logic overturn itself here and now today?

Yet contrary to his apprehension, Sir Staunton accepted the demand with calm indifference.

“We shall do so. We will hand over Morris, who committed the crime, to your country.”

“…Are you sincere?”

For a fleeting second, surprise flashed across Lin Zexu’s face.

It was rare for an experienced bureaucrat to expose his emotions outwardly.

Yet at this moment, his eyes were undeniably shaken.

He lowered the brush he had been holding in his hand and looked once more upon the letter resting on the desk.

Was the word he had just heard truly uttered from the lips of that Englishman, or had the sentences of the letter he had been reading drifted into his ears and turned into a phantom sound?

Gazing at the bewildered Lin Zexu, Sir Staunton smiled faintly.

“Your Excellency, this matter is not merely about opium, but is it not a matter concerning the mianzi (face) of Your Excellency’s imperial majesty and our own royal majesty?”

“Mianzi… did you say?”

In an instant, Lin Zexu’s pupils widened significantly.

The man before him had just uttered the exact Chinese word for face: mianzi.

To pronounce a term in its native tongue rather than translating it.

It was equivalent not to a display of linguistic proficiency boasting ‘I know this much,’ but to an acknowledgment of the entire world that lay behind that native word.

“Precisely.”

Sir Staunton continued softly.

“Does your country not have a saying that if one kills a person, they compensate with their life; if one incurs a debt, they repay with money; and if one injures another’s face, they naturally must compensate with face?”

Lin Zexu’s eyes opened even wider.

“Hoo…”

An exclamation escaped his lips before he could stop it.

He had never once anticipated that an Englishman would quote a proverb of the Great Qing.

And for the very first time, a microscopic crack formed in the wall named Britain erected deep inside his heart.

“Her Majesty the Queen feels indescribably profound anger that Morris sold the royal name to satisfy his private greed and stained the dignity of the nation. At the same time, she earnestly desired to subject that fellow to the laws of Qing China, so that Your Excellency the Imperial Commissioner and Your country’s imperial majesty might recover even a fraction of the face you lost.”

Compensating for face with face.

That proverb was alive and breathing at this very moment.

The anger that had been simmering within Lin Zexu’s chest for days was gradually lowering its temperature, much like cold water poured over boiling liquid.

Good heavens, a Western monarch who values face!

While it was only natural for a sovereign to punish the crimes of a wicked subject, the Queen of Britain willingly relinquished even that natural prerogative, gladly handing over her own citizen to a foreign land for the sake of the opposing country’s face.

Perhaps they might be people who comprehend at least the baseline of courtesy and morality.

And that single possibility alone was sufficient for Lin Zexu to view Britain in a different light.

“Furthermore…”

“Furthermore?”

Smiling, Sir Staunton produced his trump card—or rather, a box.

“What is this?”

“It is a medicine sent by Her Majesty the Queen to treat opium addiction.”

“Did you say a medicine to treat opium addiction?”

Lin Zexu doubted his ears once again.

He had never heard of such a medicine existing.

Or rather, to be precise, he had never imagined that such a thing could possibly exist.

Opium addiction was, as far as he knew, an irreversible abyss.

Once fallen into it, death was the sole exit.

Yet this man was now stating that even the abyss might possess a ladder.

And the place that forged that ladder happened to be none other than the royal house of those who created the abyss?

“Could that perhaps be… not a medicine, but some new sort of opium akin to Royal Grade Laudanum?”

His suspicion was justified. And Sir Staunton did not dismiss that suspicion. Ignoring doubt only served to foster it; treating doubt with utmost seriousness was the sole path to dissolving it.

“I fully understand Your Excellency’s apprehension. However, since our home country likewise experienced various issues concerning opium and laudanum, Her Majesty the Queen has succeeded in treating those addicted to opium and laudanum using this medicine.”

“Hmm…”

The royal coat of arms of Britain stamped upon laudanum, which he had witnessed at the Guangzhou docks days ago.

Gazing upon a box stamped with that exact same emblem, Lin Zexu felt an odd sensation as though his stomach were twisting.

That very emblem stamped on laudanum that had ruined the people of this country.
That same emblem was now stamped upon the box of medicine meant to heal those ruined people.

This bizarre landscape where poison and medicine were born beneath the identical crest.

Yet when one reflected upon it, was this not the most honest scene of all?

Because the medicine was sent beneath the exact same crest as the one who sold the poison, the emblem of the British royal house could finally earn the name of responsibility.

“Her Majesty the Queen expressed hope that, although British merchants sold what ought never to have been sold, this too constitutes a responsibility of the government and the royal house, and she wished it to serve as assistance—insufficient though it may be—in remedying the situation.”

“Assistance…”

Listening to Sir Staunton’s continuing explanation, Lin Zexu nodded to himself involuntarily.

They have been thoroughly reined in, yet it is not bad. No, to tell the truth, it exceeds expectations. I had imagined them to be creatures utterly devoid of common sense.

Experiences that overturn one’s worldview were rare.

Yet even if a single experience did not flip an entire worldview upside down, the chipping away of one corner of that worldview happened often enough. Today was such a day. His fixed image of the nation called Britain had been minutely carved away at one of its corners.

What content would eventually fill that vacant space remained unknown. Yet the mere fact that the space stood empty—that emptiness itself bore the name of possibility.

And Lin Zexu wanted to believe in that possibility.

“…Very well. In accordance with your country’s sincere measures, we shall permit trade to resume, excluding opium. After all, Her Majesty the Queen of your country must be allowed to save face.”