The Summons

Two years after the conquest of Japan, the Forbidden City in Beijing was a place transformed. The lethargy and decay of the late Qing court had been scoured away, replaced by a new, almost frightening vitality. Officials moved with purpose, their appointments based on merit rather than bribery. The government, centralized under the iron will of the Emperor, functioned with the precision of a well-oiled machine.

In the Hall of Supreme Harmony, Qin Shi Huang sat upon the Dragon Throne, listening to the reports of his Grand Council. The conquest of Japan had not been an end, but a means. It was the forging of the sword. Now, he was preparing to wield it.

Prince Gong, his face now etched with the lines of a man who has worked tirelessly for years, stood before the throne. "Your Majesty, the reports are all positive. The new armies are well-trained, loyal, and equipped with weapons from our own arsenals. The Baojia system has been successfully implemented across the northern provinces, solidifying your control and creating an unprecedented level of domestic security."

Li Hongzhang, now a very old man, his back bent but his mind still sharp, spoke next. "And the treasury, Your Majesty, overflows. The indemnities and taxes from the Japanese provinces, combined with our control of their trade, have made the Great Qing wealthier than it has been in five hundred years. Our new shipyards at Port Arthur and Nagasaki are producing modern, steel-hulled cruisers at an astonishing rate. The Beiyang Fleet is no longer just the most powerful navy in Asia. It is one of the most powerful navies in the world."

QSH listened, his expression impassive. He absorbed the information, the statistics, the reports of success. This was all good. A strong foundation was necessary for a tall pagoda. But he had not resurrected his empire merely to build a foundation.

"It is not enough," he said, his voice cutting through the self-congratulatory atmosphere. The ministers fell silent. "A strong house is still vulnerable if it is surrounded by hostile neighbors and ambitious rivals. For two years, the Western powers have watched us. They have whispered in their embassies. They have sold arms to the pathetic remnants of the Japanese resistance. They have treated us like a sudden storm, a temporary phenomenon to be weathered." He stood up, a slow, deliberate movement that commanded the absolute attention of every man in the hall.

"They believe we are content with our regional dominance. They believe the dragon, having feasted on a nearby island, will now return to its lair to sleep. They are mistaken." He descended the steps of the dais. "It is time for the next step. It is time we formally invite them to acknowledge the new reality of the world."

He turned to his chief scribe. "You will draft an imperial summons," he said, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Not an invitation. A summons. It will be delivered by our ambassadors to the rulers of Great Britain, France, Germany, Russia, and the United States of America. You will inform them that I, the Dragon Emperor of the Great Qing, am convening an 'International Conference on Global Harmony and Order.' It will be held here, in Beijing, in six months' time. Their presence is expected."

A wave of shock rippled through the assembled court. Li Hongzhang, a man who had spent his entire life navigating the delicate and often humiliating protocols of Western diplomacy, took a stumbling step forward.

"A summons, Your Majesty?" he asked, his voice aghast. "To Queen Victoria? To the Tsar of all the Russias? To the German Kaiser? They will see it as an unprecedented insult! An act of supreme arrogance! They will never come! They will refuse, and it will be a great loss of face for us!"

QSH turned to his old, cautious minister, and for the first time that day, a genuine, chilling smile touched his lips. "Oh, they will come, Minister Li," he said softly. "They will protest. They will call me an arrogant barbarian. But in the end, they will come. Because the summons will also contain a preliminary agenda for the conference. And it is an agenda they cannot afford to ignore."

He began to dictate the agenda items, each one a bombshell designed to shatter the foundations of the existing world order.

"Item one," he declared. "The immediate and unconditional renegotiation of all so-called 'unequal treaties' that have been forced upon the Great Qing over the past century. This will include the immediate return of all foreign concessions on Chinese soil. All of them. Including the British possession of Hong Kong."

Prince Gong's jaw dropped.

"Item two," QSH continued, his voice gaining power. "The establishment of a new global trade framework. All existing international tariffs and trade agreements are to be considered void. A new system will be established, with tariffs and duties to be set by a permanent international council, to be chaired here, in Beijing, by a representative of my government."

"Item three. A global naval disarmament proposal. To ensure lasting peace upon the seas, all nations will be required to reduce their naval strength to a level directly proportional to the length of their coastline. A standard by which our own navy, with our immense coastline, will be the undisputed global hegemon."

He paused, letting the sheer audacity of his words sink in before delivering the final, crushing blow.

"And item four. The formal and universal recognition of the Great Qing Empire's 'special administrative authority' over all of Southeast Asia, including the regions currently occupied by the French in Indochina and the British in Burma. These regions are to be considered part of our natural sphere of influence, to be administered under our guidance for their own prosperity and stability."

The court was stunned into a dead, terrified silence. It was not an agenda for a conference. It was a list of demands for the peaceful, systematic surrender of the entire Western colonial project in Asia.

Prince Gong finally found his voice. "Majesty…" he stammered, his mind reeling. "They will see this as a declaration of war."

"No," QSH corrected him gently, as one might correct a child who has missed the point of a lesson. He walked back to the great globe that sat beside the throne. "It is not a declaration of war. It is an invitation for them to surrender their global empires without one."

He placed his hand on the globe, his fingers spanning the distance from London to Beijing. "I am offering them a choice. They can come to Beijing as my guests, to discuss the terms of the new world order I am creating. We can negotiate the details of their graceful decline. Or," he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper, "they can refuse. And they can wait for my armies and my fleets to come to them. They can wait for me to hold this same conference in their own capitals, after their cities have burned."

He looked at his ministers, his court, his generals. "The choice is theirs. But the outcome is not. The Great Game they played for so long is over." He smiled again, that cold, reptilian smile. "The Dragon's Game has begun."

He turned to his scribes. "You have your orders. Draft the summons. Let the whispering wires carry my will to the far corners of the earth."