Chapter 26

“A California gold rush map?”

Gazing down at the map left haphazardly upon the bed, a hollow laugh escaped my lips.
Not gold and jewels, but a single map marking buried gold.

“Well, of course, it’s incredible, but…”

[■o■■■■■■■■ ■■■ ■■■ ■■■■■■■]

Just what on earth did that sentence signify?

The total number of characters was twenty-four. With one of them verified, I would need to uncover the remaining twenty-three going forward. Did this imply that the issues I must tackle ahead were at least on the scale of an Opium War?

No, before that—if the tutorial quest was stopping the Opium War, just how much harder and tougher challenges were waiting for me?

Yes, there must be a reason why I was given this map.

Struck by a sudden sense of crisis, I swept the map aside and unfolded Victoria’s diary.

Ah, I really wish this blasted timer would just go away!

Though I thought that, my hand flipping the pages was faster than anyone else’s.

“It was definitely somewhere around here… Ah!”

The records noted that in 1848, a sawmill worker in California accidentally discovered placer gold, and the sheer volume of gold that poured out afterward was said to have fundamentally shifted global economic currents. If I secured that place, wouldn’t it be beneficial no matter what?

Furthermore, examining the map, it pointed out the exact location of the gold veins in meticulous detail.

“The problem is…”

I tapped the map rhythmically with my finger.

“This land doesn’t belong to us right now.”

As of 1839, California was Mexican territory.

To be sure, it was a remote frontier where the control of the weakened Mexican government barely reached, but it was unquestionably land with an owner.

Send British warships right now and plant a flag?

That would mean invading Mexico directly, which would be of zero help in building a conscientious British Empire.

“A thorny dilemma.”

Too valuable to abandon, yet troublesome to digest—a lump of gold that felt like a hot potato.

Yet looking at it another way, could there be a surer insurance policy than this?

Since the United States in original history had also desired expansion toward the Pacific, I could quietly slip a spoon into the fray during the inevitable future war with Mexico, or perhaps covertly dispatch operatives to extract just the gold.

“Let’s stockpile it for now.”

I folded the map neatly and tucked it between the pages of the diary.

Though I couldn’t use it immediately, whenever a day arrived that threatened national finances, I could pull it out like an emergency fund.

“Damn it. Nothing ever goes easy.”

I hauled my body up from the bed.

Outside, citizens were still shouting “God Save the Queen!”, but reality was not nearly so romantic.

The Opium War had been averted.

Yet that merely extinguished a blazing fire; the fundamental problems haunting the British economy remained very much a work in progress.

“Your Majesty, Sir James Clark has requested an audience.”

At Baroness Lehzen’s voice ringing out right on cue, I smoothed down my attire.

“Show him in.”

The door opened and Sir James Clark entered, though his expression appeared somewhat fatigued.

“Your Majesty, as I was coming here, I noticed the streets of London are entirely filled with praise for Your Majesty’s wisdom. It is a truly wonderful outcome.”

“Thanks to you, Sir Clark. It was because of the salicin you created that negotiations with Qing China could succeed.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty. It would have been difficult without Your Majesty’s profound insight.”

Sir Clark bowed deeply, but I sensed he hadn’t merely come to offer congratulations. The single sheet of paper trembling in his hand betrayed as much.

“Yet, Sir, your expression does not seem entirely bright. Is something the matter?”

At my question, Sir Clark wore a troubled look.

“Pardon my boldness, Your Majesty. In truth… it is a matter concerning salicin.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. The first shipment ordered by Sir Staunton far exceeds our projections. Furthermore, orders are flooding in from physicians, apothecaries, and even chemists and druggists across London, reaching a level that the equipment currently operating within our research facility simply cannot handle.”

Oh dear.

Salicin in this era—salicylic acid serving as the raw material for aspirin—was being extracted from willow bark rather than being chemically synthesized like in the 21st century.

Since it was a method requiring the peeling, boiling, and refining of willow bark piece by piece, limits on mass production were naturally inevitable. On top of that, an extra processing step had been added recently to improve it, which must have driven production yields even lower.

“How much stock remains?”

“Nearly depleted. We are running the existing equipment around the clock, but it is woefully inadequate to meet the surging volume of orders. Merchants are clamoring for goods, and if we are even to meet the quantities demanded by the Qing side…”

Sir Clark wiped away a bead of cold sweat.

A situation where one ought to be rowing as the tide comes in, yet the oars were on the verge of snapping.

If supply dried up here, the salicin craze might cool off rapidly, and our merchants’ trust in the trade guaranteed by the royal family would develop cracks.

“We must expand factories and equipment.”

As I spoke calmly, Sir Clark nodded.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The Baring family has already promised investment for that very purpose. We plan to acquire and convert several textile factories near London, but the raw material is the issue. We’re on the verge of chopping down every single willow tree across all of England.”

“A shortage of raw materials, you say…”

I sank into thought for a moment.

Willow bark.

This wasn’t some rare 21st-century resource like rare earths—weren’t willow trees scattered everywhere?

“What if we import them from the European continent?”

“Pardon?”

“Whether it’s France or Germany, dispatch people to buy up the bark wherever willow trees grow. To them, it’s merely firewood or material for making baskets anyway, isn’t it? We should be able to acquire it cheaply in any quantity.”

Indeed.

Willow trees in this era were commonly seen all over Europe, on par with ginkgo trees in modern South Korea.

“And looking long-term, we need to establish willow groves to supply raw materials stably. If necessary, even plant them on Canadian soil.”

“Ah…! I shall speak with the Baring family and propose planting willow trees in Canada!”

Sir Clark’s face brightened.

“If necessary, the royal house will provide financial backing, so mobilize every possible means to meet the supply volume. As for the machinery needed for factory expansion, if you commission Manchester, they’ll build it up in no time. That’s what they do best.”

“Understood, Your Majesty! I shall commence immediately!”

Answering vigorously, Sir Clark withdrew. His footsteps looked far lighter than when he entered.

Once the door closed, I slumped back down onto the sofa.

The immediate fire was put out, but my mind remained complex.

Salicin exports. This was unquestionably a blockbuster item, but could this alone patch up Britain’s hollowed-out finances?

“Probably not.”

A brief slice of trivia here.

Why on earth did Britain sell opium to Qing China?

The answer was simple. Because they couldn’t resolve the trade deficit.

To be precise, because they couldn’t afford the exorbitant price of tea that Britons drank madly.

To prevent silver coins from flowing out like an outgoing tide, Britain had recovered silver by selling the devil’s medicine.

Yet now, though I was selling salicin instead after banning the opium trade, could the money earned from salicin truly surpass the cost of tea imports?

“I need to check.”

I pulled the silken bell-pull and summoned Baroness Lehzen.

“Have the Prime Minister and the Chancellor of the Exchequer come at once. Tell them to bring last year’s trade balance report as well.”

One hour later.

Thick ledgers piled high upon my office desk.

“Your Majesty, here are the materials you requested.”

Lord Melbourne handed over the documents with a look that clearly asked why on earth he needed to view these directly. His face no longer held the wariness of days past, replaced instead by a resignation bordering on acceptance.

He had already learned through direct experience that I always struck at the core from directions entirely outside his expectations, and that realization had taught him a single habit.

What was that habit?

When I spoke, to obey quietly without asking questions.

I picked up the magnifying glass and scanned down the numbers.

[Import Categories]
1st: Tea - Qing China
2nd: Sugar - West Indies
3rd: Cotton - United States

[Export Categories]
1st: Cotton textiles
2nd: Steel products
.
.
.

“Just as I thought.”

My prediction was not off the mark.

While the export figures for cotton textiles and steel products were increasing, they still fell far short of the towering mountain that was the cost of tea imports.

“Goodness, it’s not like they’re bathing in tea.”

Experiencing life as Queen Victoria, I learned anew that the Britons’ love for tea transcended mere preference. It was pathological, religious, and sometimes made me wonder if this entire island nation had been bewitched by a sacred ritual.

A cup upon waking in the morning, a cup after lunch, a cup during afternoon tea, and a cup after dinner.

Even poor laborers believed they couldn’t muster the strength to work unless they drank sweet black tea, even if they had to go without bread.

And where did all that tea come from?

Straight from Qing China.

Qing China held a monopoly on 99% of the world’s tea supply.

“In last year alone, 1838, a full 3 million pounds sterling were paid out to Qing China for tea imports.”

Baron Monteagle, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, added cautiously.

“The silver coins earned through salicin exports are estimated at around 300,000 pounds, meaning we are still incurring a deficit worth 2.7 million pounds.”

The scale of the deficit had shrunk.

Whereas the ban on the opium trade had previously resulted in a 100% deficit, thanks to salicin, roughly 10% was projected to be covered.

Even so, the demand for tea would pierce the sky, and a massive quantity of silver would continue flowing out across national borders.

What would happen if things continued like this?

Britain’s silver reserves would hit rock bottom, and the economy would contract. Then merchants and capitalists would kick up a fuss all over again.

Salicin alone is not enough. We must unearth an item that rakes in money with absolute certainty… or else reduce the money spent on tea imports.

Earn more money, or cut expenditures.

Yet reduce tea imports?

That was impossible.

The moment I issued a royal decree starting today proclaiming, “Do not drink tea!”, London citizens might march upon Buckingham Palace carrying torches. Depriving Britons of their tea was a greater sin than depriving them of their bread.

“Then there is only one method.”

I murmured, closing the ledger.

“Lower the price at which we purchase the tea, or produce it ourselves.”

The moment we asked Qing China—holding a total monopoly—to lower its prices, they would mock us and raise the prices even further.

That left only one option.

“We cultivate it ourselves.”

Hearing my soliloquy, Lord Melbourne opened his eyes wide.

“Your Majesty? What did you just say…?”

“Tea, I mean. Can we not cultivate it ourselves?”

“Your Majesty, I understand your intent, but the plant known as tea is a commodity produced solely within Qing China, so…”

I smiled faintly.

“Do plants recognize national borders? As long as the climate and soil match, they should grow anywhere.”

Of course, coming from me—someone dubbed a botanical serial killer in the office—that was perhaps rich.

Most potted plants that passed through my hands turned brown before two seasons had passed.

Yet the hand that kills plants and the mind that understands plant physiology were strictly separate organs.

Let not your left hand know what your right hand is doing.

I was putting that famous maxim into practice remarkably well here.

The catch, however, was that Qing China strictly prohibited the export of tea plant seeds and cultivation technology.

There was even a law mandating the death penalty for foreigners caught smuggling tea seedlings, forcing British people to buy and drink expensive tea.

“Your Majesty’s words are not incorrect, but… we have attempted tea cultivation starting ten years ago, only to fail repeatedly.”

“There were attempts made?”

This was rather unexpected.

To my query, Lord Melbourne wore a troubled expression.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The government has long felt profoundly concerned over the adverse trade balance caused by the tea trade, and since the amount of silver coins draining out increases every year, various efforts were made to domesticate tea production.”

With that, Lord Melbourne recited the attempts made by the previous administration:

Smuggling and planting tea seedlings from Qing China, bringing tea artisans to India in an attempt to manufacture tea, exploring regions with climates similar to Qing China for tea plants…

“There was nothing left untried, but in the end, every method failed, Your Majesty. Moreover, even when we managed to procure seedlings from Qing China, the moment we planted them in India, the tea plants failed to thrive properly…”

Observing them steal cautious glances at me while lowering their heads, I felt a strange thought arise within.

Then what on earth were the Earl Grey, Darjeeling, and Ceylon tea in the office pantry?

Though grueling days at the company had faded from memory, the fragrance of the teas brewed alongside my sister remained bizarrely vivid. An afternoon returning bruised after a scolding from the manager, boiling water in an electric kettle, and slowly steeping a cup of Assam milk tea together. Cradling that teacup with both hands, the two of us would long gaze at the mist-like smudges the steam left upon the windowpane. Those brief few minutes sustained me until the next meeting.

Come to think of it, weren’t those all made in India or Sri Lanka?

Though the exact timing remained uncertain, Britons undoubtedly succeeded in cultivating tea in India.

Perhaps there were distinct varieties of tea plants particularly suited to Indian soil.

Yet I suspected they simply lacked proper understanding of the cultivation methods or strains as of yet.

Which means… does this not mean we can establish a royal black tea company under the name of the crown?

If we cultivated, processed, and even distributed tea in India through a company founded by the royal family.

Not only would it resolve the drainage of silver coins, but wouldn’t it also present an opportunity to elevate the royal image battered by the Royal Grade Laudanum incident?

“Send a message to the Viceroy of India.”

I picked up a pen and scribbled rapidly across the paper.

“Instruct them to conduct a climate survey of northern India, particularly the Assam and Darjeeling regions. See if there are places with environments comparable to Qing China’s tea-growing districts.”

“Assam… you say?”

Lord Melbourne looked bewildered, but dutifully jotted down my instructions without a word.

“I shall convey it as such.”

Once the two men withdrew, I pulled out the map once more.

This time, rather than the California map, it was the world map hanging upon the wall.

My gaze departed from London, crossed the Atlantic, traversed the Indian Ocean, and headed deep into the interior of Qing China.

As that single line was drawn, various faces flickered across my inner vision.

Was I about to cast yet another shadow upon their lives? Or was I about to shine another light upon their path?

The Opium War had been averted. Yet that did not mean everything was settled.

Since a war could erupt at any moment anew, the current trade deficit had somehow to be resolved. Peace was not something maintained, but something constantly reconstructed.

A wall of peace built once would inevitably collapse unless continuously rebuilt from the ground up.

Dismantling tea monopolization—their absolute weapon—was akin to laying a fresh stone upon the twisted equilibrium between the two nations, and perhaps that single small stone would finally bring the balance true.

“My apologies, Emperor of Qing China.”

I pressed my finger firmly down upon the Qing territory on the map.

“Let’s all make a living together.”

Milk tea brewed rich from Assam tea, generously spiked with milk and sugar. What kind of response would it garner if launched onto the market?

Saliva pooled instantly within my mouth.

“Ah! I want to drink some right now!”