Chapter 24

Lin Zexu gazed blankly at the mother-of-pearl box resting upon the table before lifting its lid.

Inside, glass bottles containing a white powder were neatly arranged, though a sense of doubt lingered as to whether this was truly a medicine.

“By the way… is this truly a medicine that washes away the poison of opium?”

Incredulity and curiosity mingled in Lin Zexu’s voice. It was the awkward tone of someone who could neither entirely believe nor completely turn away.

“To be precise, rather than washing away the poison, it is a medicine that alleviates the terrible agony accompanying the cessation of opium. It is called salicin in our language, and it is a component extracted from willow bark.”

“Willow, you say?”

Lin Zexu’s eyebrows twitched.

For willow was recorded even in the medical classic Compendium of Materia Medica as a medicinal herb used for reducing fevers and relieving pain.

It was astonishing enough that the Englishmen understood the principles of nature, but the fact that they had refined it into such a fine white powder felt even more marvelous.

When boiling willow in a cauldron, the resulting decoction was a black herbal medicine, yet the willow before his eyes now resembled white snowflakes.

To think the exact same nature can possess two faces.

Yet he did not believe. Belief did not arrive all at once. Belief always revealed its face only after passing through several tests.

“I am grateful for your country’s sincerity, but since a human life is at stake, might I verify its efficacy with my own eyes?”

“Of course. That is precisely what Her Majesty desires as well.”

The following day, accompanied by Sir Staunton, Lin Zexu headed toward the Anti-Opium Bureau established behind the government office.

“Oh, Lord. Good heavens…”

Sir Staunton was left speechless at the sight unfolding before him.

While Daguerre’s photographs exhibited in front of Westminster had been shocking, compared to the scene here, this felt close to paradise.

Above all, photographs possessed no sound. No scent. Yet here, there was sound. There was scent. And the sum of all those senses gathered within a single space.

“Aaaargh! My bones! My bones feel like they’re shattering!”

“Please! Just one sip! Give me just one sip!”

Pointing to an addict thrashing and convulsing while bound to a bed, Lin Zexu commanded the physician stationed nearby:

“Administer the barbarians’ medicine to that person.”

With trembling hands, the physician mixed the white powder handed over by Sir Staunton into water.

The medicine flowed into the addict’s mouth, and everyone watched the scene while holding their breath.

A quarter of an hour, half an hour.

The moment time ticked onward.

“…Huh?”

The ragged breathing of the man who had been screaming and thrashing began to subside gradually.

The eyes that had rolled back white from agony found their focus, and the limbs that had been convulsing amidst cold sweat relaxed slowly, much like a traveler returning from a long journey settling onto a bed at last. The process was so slow and delicate that those watching forgot even how to breathe.

“Have they fainted?!”

Thinking as expected, Lin Zexu grew angry, but a Qing physician beside him restrained him.

“My Lord! The man has not fainted!”

“What?”

Upon the face of the man pointed to by the physician, a profound tranquility—absent for a very long time—had settled.

“It doesn’t… hurt anymore. The bugs gnawing at my bones… are gone…”

Muttering with hazy eyes, the man soon drifted into a deep sleep. He neither begged for opium nor writhed in agony. With a peaceful countenance, a human being was slowly reclaiming the face of a human being.

“My Lord! The pulse is calm! The malevolent vapors have receded, and the pain has subsided as though washed clean!”

After stepping forward to finish taking the man’s pulse, the physician cried out in astonishment.

“Good grief… how can this be!”

Lin Zexu could not finish his sentence.

The face of that sleeping man, reflected in his eyes, was knocking upon some ancient door deep within his mind.

Beyond that door slumbered a single conviction he had guarded throughout his entire life as a bureaucrat:

That only the Middle Kingdom constituted true civilization, while everything beyond it was mere barbarism.

That conviction was slowly opening its eyes at this very moment.

And that conviction was discovering that the walls of the room where it had slumbered until now were far thinner than it had imagined.

The barbarians—no, the Englishmen…

Holding the bottle containing salicin with trembling hands, Lin Zexu thought. Until now, Englishmen had been, in his eyes, greedy barbarians driving people to sickness for profit. Yet today, that prejudice had shaken slightly.

Undoubtedly, it was greedy British merchants who had sold the poison. Yet it was also the Queen of Britain who had sent the medicine to antidote that poison.

Giving a disease and offering a remedy.

He could have mocked it as such.

He could have sneered at them as hypocrites, demanding whether they were toying with them.

Yet at least the efficacy of this medicine was neither hypocrisy nor a jest.

“…Sir Staunton.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Her Majesty the Queen of your country… appears to be someone who understands what responsibility entails.”

Bowing his head slowly, Lin Zexu offered a gesture of respect toward the western sky.

“Return and convey this to Her Majesty the Queen: that Lin Zexu expresses profound gratitude for the grace of sending this medicine. And…”

Certainty settled into Lin Zexu’s voice.

“I shall report all of these facts to His Imperial Majesty without omission. Whatever else British merchants may be, the British government is at the very least not a band of utterly untrustworthy hucksters.”

With a sigh of relief, Sir Staunton bowed deeply at the waist.

It was the moment when the fortress of Lin Zexu’s mind—hailed as the most impenetrable—crumbled not to the roar of cannons, but to a tiny bottle of medicine.

A few days later, a rumor spread rapidly throughout Guangzhou, Qing China.

Or rather, to be more precise, it swallowed the city of Guangzhou like a wildfire racing across dry fields.

“The Western barbarians have brought a miraculous medicine!”

“It washes away the bone-shattering agony as if by magic!”

“They say the second son of the Zhang family, who was on the verge of death, came back to life with just a handful of that powder!”

Those who suffered, and those who watched over the suffering.

The hearts of hundreds of thousands responded simultaneously to a single rumor.

Propelled by the rapidly spreading rumor, the front of the Anti-Opium Bureau transformed into a sea of people in an instant.

Ranging from those seeking to cast off opium of their own accord to families hoisting up relatives raving from withdrawal symptoms while binding them with ropes.
Thousands of people beat upon the gates of the government office.

“Please! Please save my husband!”

“The medicine! Give us that white medicine said to have come from the West!”

The courtyard of the Anti-Opium Bureau, which had been a scene of absolute chaos, had shifted into a different sort of chaos. The chaos of despair replaced by the chaos of hope.
The courtyard, practically a living hell, was now overflowing with the hope that addiction could be cured.

“Perhaps… we can cure all of them!”

Gazing upon that sight, Lin Zexu could not calm his surging chest.

The ability to end this hellish agony.

With this medicine called salicin sent by the British Queen, he believed they could drive out the opium sickening Qing China.

Yet hope was, so cruelly, transforming into despair.

“My Lord… My Lord…!”

The physician rushed toward Lin Zexu with an ashen face.

“What is the matter? Are they asking for more medicine?”

“That is… the—the medicine we brought has run out.”

“What?”

Lin Zexu’s eyes widened.

“Already? Did that box not contain quite a few bottles!”

“Given the sheer number of patients, and since severe addicts cannot manage with just a single dose and require repeated administration… the quantity brought by the Englishmen is falling woefully short!”

“What… did you say?”

Thump.

His heart sank straight down.

Lin Zexu rushed hastily toward the tent where the medicine was being distributed.
Littered about were only empty glass bottles, and patients who had failed to receive medicine writhed upon the floor in agonizing pain, screaming as the terrible suffering returned upon them once more.

“Aaaargh! Liars! You said there was medicine! Give us the medicine! It feels like bugs are gnawing at my bones!”

“Save me! No! Just kill me or cure me, pick one!”

The fury of those who had tasted hope only to have it snatched away was far more violent than the despair of those who had never known hope in the first place. Those who had witnessed light could no longer return to the dark. Opening a door only to slam it shut was a crueler act than never opening the door at all.

“My Lord! A riot is on the verge of breaking out! What shall we do with them?”

At the adjutant’s urgent cry, Lin Zexu bit his lip.

He could not back down like this.

He had to find a way.

“…The willow tree.”

“Pardon?”

Lin Zexu’s eyes flashed.

“The Englishmen said so. That white powder was extracted from willow bark! Does our own Compendium of Materia Medica not record that willow masters pain!”

“B-but…”

“Dispatch the soldiers immediately! Order them to cut down every single willow tree not only within the city of Guangzhou, but in the neighboring hillsides, and strip their bark! Set up cauldrons and boil a decoction! If Westerners can make it, there is no reason our Great Qing’s physicians cannot!”

Lin Zexu loathed to admit that he had to rely solely upon Western medicine.

The belief that he ought to be able to extract something himself from the exact same tree of the exact same nature. That belief was the final bulwark of the Middle Kingdom’s longstanding pride.

Soon, dozens of massive cauldrons were hung in the backyard of the government office. Willow bark boiled over roaring blue flames. An acrid, bitter scent pervaded the air. That ancient method of decocting medicinal herbs on this land for hundreds of years was now operating with the pride of an empire staked upon it.

Lin Zexu spent the night wide awake, waiting for the decoction to finish. Standing before the cauldrons, his face flushed red from the flames before cooling down and darkening, repeating endlessly.

“My Lord! The decoction is finished!”

“Hurry! Quickly feed it to the patients!”

Lin Zexu rushed directly to the patients carrying a bowl of the decoction himself.
If only this succeeded, there would be no need to borrow the hands of Britain.

They could save the people through the power of the Middle Kingdom.
With an earnest heart, he poured the pitch-black decoction into a patient’s mouth.

However.

“Ugh…! Blech!”

Turning blue in the face, the patient who swallowed the medicine immediately regurgitated what they had consumed and clutched their stomach.

“My stomach… my stomach feels like it’s tearing apart…!”

Far from easing the pain, the patient—compounded by agonizing stomach cramps that twisted their viscera—foamed at the mouth and fainted. This proved no different for the other patients either.

No matter how much was drunk, the bone-aching agony refused to vanish, leaving only an escalation of vomiting and abdominal cramps.

“W-what is the meaning of this! We boiled willow bark, exactly as stated!”

Lin Zexu grabbed the physician and shook him, but the physician could only shake his head with a weeping expression.

“It is useless, Your Excellency. That is because the willow contains toxicity as well. The Englishmen have told us that to yield an effect equivalent to that white powder, one would have to decoct dozens of catties of bark, and the human stomach cannot endure such a thing…!”

“Th-then…”

The physician concluded his words in a despairing voice.

“The technique of extracting solely the medicinal efficacy from the willow while filtering out the toxicity, refining it into a powder as fine as that… We possess no such technique.”

We possess no such technique.

That single sentence remained suspended in the air, lingering long inside Lin Zexu’s ears.

With a heavy heart, he slumped down in desolate despair.

Before his eyes, the tableau of hell stretched out once more.

Screams, agony, regurgitated vomit, weeping families.

The despair that arrives in the wake of hope is twice as heavy as the initial despair.

Those screams!

That agony!

And inside his ears, his own voice echoed repeatedly.

We can do it too. We can do it too!

How hollow those words were. While he clung to the illusions forged by pride, people were dying outside.

Is pride… more weighty than the lives of the people?

With trembling hands, Lin Zexu pressed down upon the floor.

It was a question, yet it already harbored an answer within itself. A question whose answer was known proved at times to be the hardest to bear. For the moment one accepts that answer, the very spot upon which a human being stood for a lifetime must be wholly transformed.

Sir Staunton’s face flashed across his mind.

And those small, white medicine bottles sent by the Queen came to mind.

He slowly rose from his seat.

Without even sparing a thought to brush away the dirt clinging to his official robes, he gazed blankly into empty space.

“My Lord, where are you going?”

The adjutant asked in astonishment, but Lin Zexu offered no reply.

Though his footsteps were heavy, the direction toward the guesthouse where the British special envoy delegation was staying possessed not a shred of deviation.

Meanwhile, Sir Staunton had been sipping tea calmly when he heard the voice of a startled secretary and lowered his teacup.

“Sir Staunton! His Excellency Lin Zexu has arrived!”

“Show him inside at once!”

As Sir Staunton straightened his attire and rose from his seat, the door opened, and Lin Zexu entered.

Gone without a trace was the sharp, tiger-like momentum from days prior; in its place were disheveled hair, dirt-stained official robes, and bloodshot eyes.

Yet that gaze burned not with servility, but with solemn resolve.

“Your Excellency, it is late at night—what brings you–”

Just as Sir Staunton attempted to display proper courtesy, Lin Zexu raised a hand to stop him.

Then, marching with heavy strides, he came to a halt right before Sir Staunton.
A brief silence ensued.

Lin Zexu’s lips trembled faintly.

Even before opening his mouth, Lin Zexu thought.

Should he uphold the pride of the Middle Kingdom guarded throughout his entire lifetime, or should he save the people?

Yet before he was a bureaucrat appointed by the emperor, he never forgot that he was a shepherd of the people who must keep them alive.

“Sir Staunton.”

A cracked voice slipped from Lin Zexu’s throat.

“Setting aside all shame… I have come to make a plea.”

“Please speak.”

Lin Zexu drew a deep breath. Then, clasping both hands together, he bowed deeply.

“Our medical arts… lack the means to cope with this. No matter how much we decoct the willow, we could not save human lives like your country’s medicine.”

His head bowed progressively lower.

“Therefore, though it is shameless, I ask that you teach us the method of making that medicine. If that is not possible, I shall purchase it even if it requires ten thousand catties of silver.”

“…”

“The people are dying. They are wailing like beasts amidst bone-shattering agony. If only we can save them… I shall gladly offer even ten thousand catties of silver.”

It was the exact moment Lin Zexu’s head was about to bow completely.

Thud.

Sir Staunton’s hand grasped Lin Zexu’s arm firmly.

“Your Excellency, do not do this.”

With astonished eyes, Lin Zexu raised his head.

Lifting him back up, Sir Staunton spoke with a respectful yet resolute expression.

“For a minister of a great nation to bow his head to me. Her Majesty the Queen did not desire such a thing. Her Majesty declared that Your Excellency’s face is presently the face of Qing China itself.”

“However… if we lack the medicine, we cannot rescue our people.”

“More medicine can be provided. If we petition the home government, it will be loaded onto ships and sent. But…”

Sir Staunton paused briefly and looked straight into Lin Zexu’s eyes.

Now was the opportunity.

If this moment were seized beyond mere transactions, an unequal relationship placing Qing China beneath Britain could be constructed. Taking the bowing head of an empire’s minister as a stepping stone, Britain could secure the upper hand in all future negotiations. That was the direction pointed to by every diplomatic technique he had ever learned.

Yet… Her Majesty stated that rather than subjugating Qing China, we must respect their face and win their hearts.

Face.

Her Majesty the Queen had issued instructions to uphold their face when dealing with them.

When first heard, he had regarded it as naive and idealistic guidance.

Yet at this very moment, before Lin Zexu’s bowed head, he realized.

This guidance was no mere idealism, but the wisest of strategies.

One who is subjugated once harbors resentment, but one who is respected harbors trust.

Resentment merely guarantees a single generation’s trade, whereas trust would enable a hundred years of commerce.

One must extend a hand to a person who has bowed their head. One must never tread upon that hand.

Sir Staunton opened his mouth gently.

“The method of manufacturing the medicine Your Excellency desires cannot be achieved simply by handing over a few pages of secret manuals. Even in our home country, it requires the science of chemistry and precision machinery.”

At Sir Staunton’s words that the manufacturing technology could not be provided immediately, Lin Zexu’s expression grew complex.

“Furthermore, the technology to produce salicin… is a matter requiring the approval of Parliament and Her Majesty the Queen, so I cannot offer a definitive answer here on the spot; however, importing salicin in large quantities and supplying it for sale should prove entirely feasible.”

At those words, Lin Zexu closed his lips firmly as if reaching a decision, then opened them.

“Very well.”

Strength settled into his voice.

“If it is a technology to save the people, I shall not hesitate even if it costs ten thousand catties of silver. I shall submit a memorial to His Imperial Majesty, requesting permission to purchase the British medicine called salicin.”

The year turned once again to February 1839.

“…So, that is what Lin Zexu said?”

I asked back, reading the report brought by Lord Melbourne.

“Yes, Your Majesty. According to Sir Staunton’s dispatch, His Excellency Lin Zexu stated that he would purchase as much salicin as our home country has in stock. He even mentioned the manufacturing machinery, if necessary.”

“Even the machinery? Oh, surely not.”

“It is no exaggeration, Your Majesty. His Excellency Lin Zexu reportedly wrote in his memorial to the Emperor of Qing China that the Queen of Britain is a sovereign who understands benevolence.”

A chuckle escaped me.

A sovereign who understands benevolence.

To hear praise one would expect directed toward Neo-Confucian scholars of the Joseon Dynasty, coming from a 19th-century Qing official.

It was a good thing we sent salicin after all; sincerity truly does reach people.

Of course, salicin was merely a substance serving as the raw material for aspirin and was no panacea. Yet at the current level of medicine, that degree of pain relief would be nothing short of a miracle. Furthermore, since chemists led by Sir Clark were reportedly utilizing acetyl compounds and the like for further refinement, I figured an even finer medicine would emerge shortly.

More importantly, the fact that they perceived us not as enemies, but as interlocutors capable of dialogue meant we had succeeded in forging a relationship of trust with them, did it not?

“Exporting salicin to Qing China…”

Lord Melbourne watched my expression cautiously. A strange sort of tension seemed to linger.

Because every decision I made invariably strayed beyond the boundaries of what he anticipated.

And he seemed to already anticipate the decision I was about to make.

A benevolent and idealistic decision. He likely assumed it would be an unconditional donation.

“Your Majesty, given that the merchants’ complaints and distress remain severe following the suspension of the opium trade…”

“We need only supply salicin to them so they may sell it in Qing China. To afford them an opportunity for atonement, even while we sold wrongs hitherto.”

Lord Melbourne responded to my decision with an astonished face.

“…To be frank, I thought Your Majesty intended to invoke conscience and justice to donate salicin to Qing China free of charge.”

“What are you talking about, Lord Melbourne? Didn’t you say so in Parliament? What is to become of the livelihoods of millions of merchants if the opium trade is eradicated?”

“Pardon?”

“We’ve got to make a living too. Haven’t we?”

To my answer delivered with a radiant smile, Lord Melbourne wore the expression of someone wondering what kind of person existed in this world. The bewildered look that surfaced on his countenance was akin to a protest asking, ‘Was Your Majesty not a conscientious and idealistic queen after all?’

Conscience and profit did not inherently stand in opposition.

No, they must not oppose one another.

Within a structure where conscience forever opposed profit, conscience was bound ultimately to meet defeat.

Paradoxically, to preserve conscience, one had to construct a structure wherein keeping conscience was linked to making a living.

The ships that once carried poison now bore true medicine.

Along the same sea routes, with the same captains and the same merchant vessels, cargo entirely opposite to days past would head toward Qing China.

The commodities held within their hands would change, yet their livelihoods would endure.

The merchant would remain a merchant.

The ship would remain a ship.

The sea would still be that very sea.

Yet the sole fact that what passed across that sea was now medicine rather than poison—that single reality alone would differ.

And that difference would guide the destiny of Britain toward an entirely distinct horizon.