The Arrival

Nagasaki Harbor, once a gateway for Dutch traders and Portuguese missionaries, was now a fortress. The waters were patrolled by sleek Qing torpedo boats, and the hills surrounding the port bristled with the captured Japanese artillery, now turned outward to face the sea. It was into this formidable new reality that the American cruiser, the USS Olympia, steamed with a deliberate, confident slowness. Her hull was a clean, brilliant white, a stark contrast to the grim, functional grey of the Qing warships. She flew the Stars and Stripes from her mainmast, but beneath it, a large white flag of parley snapped in the breeze, a clear signal of her peaceful, diplomatic intent.

As she dropped anchor, a hush seemed to fall over the bustling port. Qing sailors stopped their work to stare at the foreign vessel, a ship not of a conquered enemy or a subservient ally, but of something new and unknown. On the shore, Theodore Roosevelt, Assistant Secretary of the American Navy, stood on the deck, observing the scene through a pair of binoculars. He was a man crackling with an energy that seemed barely contained by his crisp white suit.

He saw the perfect order of the port, the efficiency with which supplies were being unloaded, the dragon flags flying from every building. He saw the disciplined Qing patrols marching through the streets. And he saw the people of Nagasaki. He noted their blank, downcast faces, the way they shuffled along without meeting the eyes of their conquerors.

"Look at this, Captain," Roosevelt said to his military aide, a stolid and proper naval officer named Coghlan. "This isn't a mere military occupation. It's a reprogramming. He's building an anthill. Perfect order, perfect efficiency, and not a single trace of individual spirit to be found." He lowered his binoculars, his expression a mixture of awe and deep revulsion. "It is magnificent. And it is terrifying."

A launch was dispatched from the shore to meet them. As it drew alongside the Olympia, Roosevelt saw who was in it. It was not a junior officer or a diplomatic functionary. At the prow stood an immense figure, a man who seemed less like a soldier and more like a walking siege engine. His head was shaved, his face was a mask of granite, and he radiated an aura of immense, silent power. It was Meng Tian. The Emperor had sent his personal blade to greet them, a deliberate and unmistakable show of strength.

Roosevelt descended the ladder to the launch, his own retinue—Captain Coghlan and a nervous young translator from the State Department—following behind. As he stepped onto the launch, he extended his hand toward the silent giant.

"Theodore Roosevelt," he said, his voice booming with a hearty confidence. "On behalf of the President of the United States. I am here to see your Emperor. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, General."

Meng Tian looked at the offered hand for a long moment, then simply ignored it, his gaze cold and dismissive. "The Emperor will see you," he rumbled, his voice like the grinding of stones. "Follow me."

The short journey to the shore was conducted in a tense silence. Roosevelt, never a man to be deterred by a cold reception, attempted to make conversation, his voice a jovial thunderclap in the quiet air.

"A remarkable harbor you have here, General! I've been reading about your navy's recent victory. A bully performance! Absolutely bully! To have crushed the Japanese fleet so decisively, it is a feat that will be studied in our own naval war colleges for years to come!"

Meng Tian merely grunted in reply, his eyes fixed on the approaching dock.

The carriage ride to the governor's mansion was no different. Roosevelt, undaunted, commented on the city's architecture, the efficiency of the patrols, the quality of the stonework on the bridges. He asked questions about the army, their training, their rifles. Meng Tian answered with a single word, a slight nod, or most often, a profound and unnerving silence. It was a weapon in itself, designed to unnerve and intimidate. But Roosevelt seemed entirely immune to it, his own boisterous self-confidence a shield against the general's stoicism.

They arrived at the governor's mansion, the new center of Qing power in Japan. Roosevelt was escorted not to a grand audience hall, but to a small, stark, quiet room, bare of all furniture save for a few simple cushions on the tatami mats. He recognized the tactic immediately—it was a room designed to isolate and disorient, to strip a visitor of his status and comfort.

His translator and Captain Coghlan were made to wait outside. Only Roosevelt was permitted to enter. Inside, a single figure stood with his back to the door, looking out a paper-screened window at a serene rock garden. It was the Emperor. He was dressed in a simple, unadorned dark tunic, and his slight frame seemed almost boyish. He did not turn when Roosevelt entered. It was the final, calculated power play.

Roosevelt, deciding to seize the initiative rather than wait in awkward silence, strode into the center of the room, his boots loud on the tatami mats.

"Your Majesty!" he boomed, his voice filling the quiet space. "I am Theodore Roosevelt of the United States. I thank you for granting me this audience. It is a bully thing, a truly bully thing, to meet a man of such… consequence."

Qin Shi Huang turned slowly from the window. He was younger than Roosevelt had imagined, yet his eyes… his eyes were ancient. They were dark, bottomless pools of cold intelligence that seemed to see everything, to judge everything. He looked Roosevelt up and down, a predator assessing a new and unusual creature that had wandered into its territory. The American was loud, vibrant, and filled with a kind of raw, untamed energy that was a stark contrast to the quiet, controlled menace of the Europeans.

"You are not like the Europeans, Mr. Roosevelt," QSH said at last. His voice was quiet, but it held a strange resonance. The translator, standing nervously by the door, relayed the words. "They send whispers and spies and try to ensnare my officials in their webs of deceit. You send a fleet of battleships and then come to my door yourself." A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "I confess, I am curious. What does the American eagle want from the Chinese dragon?"

Roosevelt grinned, a wide, toothy expression of genuine pleasure. This was a man who appreciated directness. He could work with this.

"I am here, Your Majesty," he replied, dispensing with all diplomatic fluff, "because my nation believes in a world of open doors, not high walls. We see the great and terrible changes you have wrought upon this land, and while we admire your strength and your will, we are… concerned. We are concerned by the direction of your new order. My president does not believe that one nation, however powerful, should hold the only key to the commerce of an entire continent."

QSH listened, his head tilted slightly. When Roosevelt had finished, the faint, amused smile returned to his face.

"And you believe your nation should hold that key instead?" he countered, his words sharp and insightful. "You, who have just seized the Philippines from Spain, who have declared your Monroe Doctrine over two entire continents, and who now eye the vast markets of Asia with a hungry gaze? Do not mistake your own national ambition for a grand philosophy, Mr. Roosevelt. We are two of a kind, you and I. We are both men who seek to shape the world in our own image." He took a step closer. "Let us not insult one another with pretenses of benevolence. Now, tell me what you truly want."