The Governor of Nagasaki

The governor's mansion in Nagasaki, once a place of serene Japanese aesthetics and quiet authority, was now the bustling, nerve-center of a foreign occupation. Qing soldiers in practical, dark uniforms stood guard where samurai retainers once had, their faces impassive and their rifles held at a ready position. Clerks and officers moved through the halls with brisk efficiency, their voices a low hum of Mandarin that felt alien in the paper-walled rooms. At the center of this web sat Qin Shi Huang, who was already focused on the second phase of his conquest: not the taking of land, but the subjugation of its people.

He was meeting with his senior commanders and Li Hongzhang, who had followed him from Port Arthur. The old statesman looked profoundly uncomfortable amidst the trappings of a foreign culture his Emperor was systematically dismantling.

"The port must be fully operational within three days, Minister Li," QSH said, pointing to a diagram of the Nagasaki harbor. "Our main supply fleet is waiting for the signal to depart. I want every captured dockworker and stevedore put to work immediately. Pay them. Pay them double their usual wages in solid silver coin." He paused, his gaze hardening. "If any refuse to work out of some misplaced sense of patriotic duty, have them executed on the docks as an example to the others. Efficiency is paramount."

General Song Qing, the commander of the Second Army, stepped forward. "Your Majesty, the city is secure, but the people are sullen and hateful. They avert their eyes when our patrols pass, but we can feel their hatred. They spit on the ground behind us. What are your orders for controlling the populace? Shall we make examples? Public floggings?"

"Fear is a temporary tool, General," QSH replied, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. "A whip can force a man to bow, but it cannot force him to work efficiently. We will not rule them through terror alone. That is exhausting and unproductive. We must replace their fear with something more permanent, more reliable."

"And what is that, Your Majesty?" Li Hongzhang asked.

"Order," QSH said simply. "And self-interest. We will find the levers of their society and pull them ourselves." He turned to an aide. "Bring in the deputy governor."

A moment later, two imposing Imperial Guards escorted a Japanese man into the room. He was a middle-aged official named Tanaka Kenji, formerly the deputy governor of the province. He was trembling, his face the color of old parchment, and he did not dare to look up from the floor.

QSH studied him for a long moment, taking his measure. "Tanaka-san," he began, his words translated into crisp, formal Japanese by an interpreter. "Your city is now my city. Your previous government has proven itself incompetent and has been swept away. I require a new government to administer this province in my name. I require a man who understands the people, the taxes, the trade routes. I require a governor."

Tanaka, still prostrate on the floor, shook his head violently. "Great Emperor," he stammered, his voice choked with terror and defiance. "I cannot. I am a loyal servant of His Majesty, the Meiji Emperor! I would rather die than betray him!"

"A predictable and entirely useless answer," QSH said, his voice flat. He did not raise his voice. He did not threaten. He simply gestured to Meng Tian, who stood silently in the corner of the room. "Bring in his family."

Meng Tian nodded and left the room. Tanaka looked up, his face a mask of confusion and dawning horror. A few moments later, Meng Tian returned. With him were four more guards, and between them, a terrified woman clutching the hands of two small, weeping children—a boy and a girl, no older than seven or eight. It was Tanaka's wife and children.

Tanaka let out a strangled cry, a sound of pure animal anguish. "No… please, what is this? They are innocent!"

QSH rose from his seat and walked slowly towards the kneeling official, his footsteps silent on the tatami mats. "I am not offering you a choice between loyalty and betrayal, Tanaka-san," the Emperor said, his voice soft, which made it all the more terrifying. "That is a poet's dilemma. I am a pragmatist. I am offering you a choice between life and death. Your life," he gestured to the weeping woman and children, "and theirs."

He crouched down slightly to look the man directly in the eye. "Here is my offer. Serve me. Ensure this city remains peaceful. Ensure the docks are repaired and the taxes are collected on time. In return, you and your family will continue to live in this mansion. You will be protected by my personal guards. You will be wealthier and more powerful than you ever were under your distant emperor in Kyoto. Your children will have tutors. Your wife will have the finest silks."

He paused, letting the offer of life and luxury hang in the air. Then his voice turned to ice. "Defy me, and I will have them executed before your eyes. I will make you watch as my men put a bayonet through your son's heart. And then, only then, will I grant you the same mercy."

The room was utterly silent, save for the quiet sobbing of Tanaka's children. Tanaka stared at his family, then back at the cold, pitiless eyes of the foreign Emperor. Every shred of his honor, his patriotism, his bushido, screamed at him to choose death. But looking at the terrified face of his wife, at his son who was staring at him with wide, pleading eyes, his resolve crumbled. He was not a samurai from an old story. He was a husband and a father.

He collapsed completely, his forehead hitting the floor as he wept uncontrollably. "I will serve," he choked out between sobs. "I will serve you. Please… just spare them."

"Excellent," QSH said, rising and turning away, his interest in the broken man already fading. "You are now the Governor of Nagasaki Province, under my authority." He picked up a scroll from his desk—a copy of his first edict. "Your first official act as governor will be to distribute this to every household. Your second act will be to oversee a public ceremony where all remaining city officials will swear an oath of allegiance to me and publicly renounce your false emperor in Kyoto. Any who refuse will be brought to me for a… private conversation."

He added one final, cruel twist of the knife. "You will also organize the work crews for the dismantling of the smaller, non-essential Shinto shrines in the city. Their timber is old and well-seasoned. It will be useful for repairing the docks."

He had found his tool. He had broken the man and, in doing so, forced him to commit acts of treason and sacrilege that would irrevocably sever him from his own people, making him entirely dependent on his new master.

As Governor Tanaka and his terrified, weeping family were escorted away to their new, gilded cage, a messenger entered and handed a dispatch to Meng Tian. The general's face, usually an unreadable mask of stone, tightened as he read it.

"Your Majesty," he said, stepping forward. "A report from the northern road."

"Proceed."

"The first survey team we sent out has been ambushed in the Isahaya Pass. Ten soldiers were killed." Meng Tian's voice grew even grimmer. "Their bodies were… mutilated. And a message was left, pinned to a tree with a soldier's own knife."

"Read it," QSH commanded, his eyes narrowing.

Meng Tian held up the dispatch. "It says only one word, Your Majesty. 'Shrine.'"

Li Hongzhang and the other generals looked horrified. It was a clear, barbaric reply to the Emperor's own act of psychological warfare. QSH's expression, however, did not change. He simply nodded slowly.

"So," he said quietly, a dangerous light kindling in his eyes. "The rats have begun to bite back. Good. A hidden enemy is more dangerous than one who shows his face. Now we know the game they wish to play."