Yuan Shikai sat in his office, a satisfied predator surveying his domain. The reports from the Tianjin arsenals were excellent. The production of the Imperial Dragons was exceeding even his own brutal quotas. But it was not the telegrams about steel and engines that brought a gleam of true satisfaction to his eyes. It was the message that had arrived that morning through a deeply encrypted, private channel, a channel whose existence was known only to him, Madame Song, and one other person half a world away.
Madame Song, ever efficient, entered and placed the decoded dispatch on his desk. It was from their agent in America, codename: Artisan. It was the first fruit of Project Atlas, the first tangible result of his investment in the broken American marine.
Yuan picked up the paper. The report was concise, clinical, and chillingly effective.
TARGET O'MALLEY IS AS PROFILED. WIDELY RESPECTED, PERCEIVED AS MODERATE, DEEPLY TIED TO COMMUNITY AND LOCAL CHURCH. IDEOLOGICALLY INCORRUPTIBLE BUT DRIVEN BY POWERFUL SENSE OF PATERNAL JUSTICE. SECONDARY TARGET, BLACK CREEK COLLIERY, IS A POWDER KEG OF RESENTMENT. SAFETY CONDITIONS ARE ABYSMAL. COMPANY IS VIEWED AS PREDATORY. RILEY ANALYSIS CONFIRMED. THE PROPOSED NARRATIVE OF 'MURDEROUS GREED' WILL BE EXTREMELY EFFECTIVE IN THIS ENVIRONMENT. AWAITING ORDERS TO PROCEED WITH 'EVENT' PREPARATION AND DELIVERY OF FABRICATED MATERIALS.
Yuan read it twice, a slow, grim smile spreading across his face. It was perfect. His pet project, his private intelligence operation born from a single, captured soldier, had delivered a more nuanced, more psychologically astute piece of intelligence than anything the official state apparatus could have produced. This was not just a weapon against America. It was a testament to the superiority of his methods. It was proof that he, not the honorable Meng Tian, not even the vaunted Spymaster Shen Ke, truly understood the nature of modern power.
As if summoned by his thoughts, an aide announced the arrival of a liaison from the Ministry of State Security—Spymaster Shen Ke's agency. The man was a mid-level bureaucrat, his face impassive, his movements precise. He had come to deliver the official intelligence assessment of the American domestic situation, a report requested by the Emperor himself to inform the planning of the Northern Campaign.
"Minister," the liaison began, bowing stiffly. He presented a thick, formal report, bound in imperial yellow silk. "As per the Emperor's directive, our agency has completed its assessment of the internal stability of the United States. Our findings are enclosed."
Yuan waved a dismissive hand. "Summarize it for me. I have little time for bureaucratic prose."
The liaison cleared his throat. "In short, Minister, our analysis of shipping data, industrial output, and reports from our agents in Washington and New York shows a low probability of significant domestic unrest. Their economy is strong and expanding. And while minor labor disputes exist, as they do in any industrial nation, their sense of national identity is unified. We assess the internal threat level as negligible. They are vulnerable only to external attack."
Yuan listened to the official report with a deep, blossoming sense of contempt and amusement. It was exactly what he expected. Shen Ke's network was brilliant at a certain kind of espionage—intercepting diplomatic cables, tracking troop movements, stealing technical blueprints. But they were blind to the subtleties of human nature. They could read a nation's balance sheet, but not its soul. His intelligence, provided by the gut-level intuition of a common American soldier and confirmed by his deep-cover agent, was infinitely more valuable. It revealed the hairline fractures that Shen Ke's powerful but clumsy network could never see. He now possessed superior information to the Emperor's own Spymaster.
A thrilling, dangerous thought took root in his mind. If he presented his Project Atlas findings to the Emperor, it would be a triumph. But it would also be absorbed into the grand, slow-moving bureaucracy of the court. The plan would be debated by the Grand Council. It would be questioned, analyzed, delayed. Perhaps the operational control would even be given to Shen Ke's ministry. His perfect, sharp-edged weapon would be blunted by committees and caution.
No. He would not allow it. In a moment of supreme, breathtaking arrogance and ambition, he decided to act unilaterally. He would not inform the Emperor of the specifics of Project Atlas. He would simply deliver the results, a gift of chaos laid at the Dragon Throne. He would prove his worth not through reports, but through action.
He accepted the official report from the liaison with a gracious nod. "Excellent work. Convey my thanks to the Spymaster. This will be most useful."
After dismissing the liaison, he turned to Madame Song, his eyes alight with a feverish energy. "The official channels are blind and deaf. We will operate in the shadows. The time is not yet right for the main 'event' in Pennsylvania, but we will begin to prepare the battlefield. We will salt the earth before we plant the seed of discord."
He began to pace, dictating a new message for Artisan, a message that would never pass through the formal coding rooms of the state.
"Use the private channel. Highest encryption." He paused, composing his thoughts. "Message begins: ARTISAN. YOUR ASSESSMENT IS ACCEPTED. PHASE ONE IS APPROVED, BUT THE TIMETABLE IS NOW INDEFINITE. DELAY 'EVENT' PREPARATION. YOUR NEW PRIMARY OBJECTIVE IS CULTIVATION. BEGIN TO USE THE PROVIDED FUNDS TO ESTABLISH YOURSELF AS A PHILANTHROPIC BENEFACTOR WITHIN THE MINING COMMUNITY. SUPPORT WIDOWS' FUNDS. DONATE TO THE LOCAL CHURCH. BECOME A GHOST OF CHARITY. AT THE SAME TIME, IDENTIFY AND CULTIVATE SECOND-TIER UNION OFFICIALS AND LOCAL JOURNALISTS WHO ARE AMBITIOUS, GREEDY, OR IDEOLOGICALLY MOTIVATED. BUILD A NETWORK OF INFLUENCE. FROM THIS POINT FORWARD, YOU WILL CEASE ALL CONTACT WITH ESTABLISHED IMPERIAL NETWORKS. YOU WILL REPORT ONLY TO ME, THROUGH THIS CHANNEL. ACKNOWLEDGE."
Madame Song transcribed the message, her expression unreadable, her loyalty absolute.
The message was sent, a secret whisper across the ocean. With that single command, Yuan Shikai had taken his private intelligence operation completely "off the books." He was now running his own covert war against the United States, parallel to and hidden from the Emperor's government. He was using the state's resources to build a private instrument of power, armed with superior, psychologically-driven intelligence. In his own mind, he was serving the Empire more effectively than any of his rivals. But he was also committing a profound act of treason. He was creating a ghost in the machine of the Qing state, a secret parallel structure of command and control that could, one day, grow powerful enough to challenge the machine itself.