That evening, a formal invitation arrived at the spartan temporary quarters assigned to Meng Tian within the Forbidden City. The paper was thick and expensive, the calligraphy exquisite. It was a summons, disguised as a courtesy, to a private dinner at the personal residence of His Excellency, the Minister of Industry, Yuan Shikai. It was an invitation Meng Tian could not refuse. To do so would be a public declaration of enmity, a foolish move for a man who already felt the cold weight of the Emperor's suspicion upon him.
Yuan Shikai's mansion was a world away from the disciplined austerity of Meng Tian's life. It was a sprawling, ostentatious complex in the most fashionable district of Beijing, a declaration of wealth and power built not on old lineage, but on new, brutal success. Lanterns glowed like captured moons along the garden paths, illuminating exotic, flowering trees that must have cost a fortune to transport and cultivate in the harsh northern climate.
Meng Tian was greeted at the entrance not by a common servant, but by Madame Song. She was dressed in a dark, elegant silk gown, her poise and quiet competence as unnerving as ever. She was Yuan's shadow, his instrument, and Meng Tian sensed a formidable intelligence behind her placid expression. She led him through halls decorated with priceless antiques and Western oil paintings, a fusion of tastes that spoke of a man who took what he wanted from any culture.
He found Yuan Shikai waiting for him in a private dining room. The Minister was not in uniform, but in a loose-fitting robe of heavy, dark brocade, looking for all the world like a wealthy merchant lord at ease in his domain. The table between them was laden with a decadent, almost obscene feast: glistening roasted duck, rare fish steamed with ginger, mountains of delicacies from every corner of the Empire. It was a display of power meant to awe and intimidate.
"Admiral!" Yuan boomed, a wide, predatory smile stretching his lips. He gestated to the seat opposite him. "Or should I say, Chief Strategist? A magnificent promotion. The Hero of the South, now the Architect of the North. The Emperor clearly values your… unique talents."
The words were honeyed, but the tone was laced with sarcasm. Meng Tian inclined his head, taking his seat. "And you, Minister," he replied, his own voice a cool, level baritone. "I hear your work in the industrial sector has been equally… productive. It seems we both serve the Emperor's will, albeit in different arenas."
The opening pleasantries were a verbal joust, a testing of defenses. Servants poured expensive French wine, another of Yuan's affectations. For a time, they ate in a silence thick with unspoken rivalry, the only sounds the clinking of silver chopsticks against fine porcelain.
It was Yuan, predictably, who dispensed with the charade. He took a long, slow sip of his wine, his eyes glinting over the rim of the glass. "I must confess, Admiral, I was surprised to hear of your great success in pacifying the southern territories. Your methods… I have read the reports. Compassion, honor, winning the hearts and minds of the merchants." He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "These are the tools of philosophers and poets, not empire-builders. I would have thought a firmer hand was required. Tell me, how exactly does one politely ask a saboteur to stop blowing up your supply ships?"
The question was a direct, mocking challenge. Meng Tian placed his chopsticks down, his control finally beginning to fray. The memory of Warehouse Four, of the smell of blood and fear, rose in his mind.
"And what would your solution have been, Minister?" Meng Tian asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "To execute a hundred innocent merchants for every guilty one? To burn their villages to the ground as you did in Manchuria? Your 'firm hand' would have given us a province in flames, a victory with no spoils. There is more to building and holding an empire than just butchery."
The insult landed, but Yuan only laughed louder. "Butchery is merely a tool, Admiral. A highly effective one. Like compassion, I suppose. The difference is that one works." He leaned forward, his bulk seeming to consume the space between them. "Order is not built on trust; it is carved out of the rock of fear. And that is a lesson you learned in the end, didn't you?"
Yuan's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "The rumors from Batavia are so… colorful. They speak of disappearances in the night. Of a certain Dutch planter having a most unfortunate and fatal accident. It seems the honorable Admiral Meng has a butcher's knife hidden under his fine white uniform after all. I am not mocking you, Admiral. I am congratulating you. You are finally learning what it takes to truly serve the Emperor's ambition. You are becoming one of us."
To be congratulated by Yuan Shikai for his most dishonorable act was the greatest insult Meng Tian had ever endured. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of the ceremonial sword at his side before he forced it to relax.
"And now that you are the architect of our next great war," Yuan continued, satisfied that he had drawn blood, "we must discuss the army we will build. This new campaign against the Russians cannot be fought by your honor-bound marines and their codes of conduct. That is a force for colonial pacification. A war against the Tsar requires a new kind of army."
He refilled his own glass, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "My factories are producing the Type 1 Dragons. Unstoppable land-ships of steel and fire. They require a new kind of soldier to crew them. Not a principled hero who might question an order. Not an honorable warrior who might hesitate to shell a village. We need cold, efficient technicians who will follow orders without question. Men who are extensions of the machine they operate. An army built on my principles, Admiral: ruthless efficiency and absolute obedience. No honor, only victory."
He had finally revealed the true purpose of the dinner. This was not a welcome. It was a power play. He was making a bid to influence the doctrine, the very soul, of the new army that Meng Tian was now charged with planning. It was a direct challenge to everything Meng Tian believed in, to his faith in the spirit of the honorable warrior.
Meng Tian looked at the decadent feast before him, at the gluttonous, brilliant, and utterly amoral man across the table. He was no longer fighting a proxy war in the jungles of Sumatra. The new battlefield was here, in this room. And the prize was not a province, but the future of the Emperor's legions.
"The Emperor's army will be built on loyalty and courage, Minister," Meng Tian said, his voice as cold as steel. "Not on fear and sadism. A beast cannot be controlled, only caged. And a cage can always be broken."
Yuan Shikai smiled. "We shall see, Chief Strategist. We shall see." The battle lines had been drawn.