Yuan Shikai's private office was a sanctuary of calculated power. Unlike the chaotic grandeur of the court, everything here was ordered, functional, and of the highest quality, from the solid oak desk imported from England to the detailed industrial schematics that served as artwork on the walls. It was here that Yuan was meeting with his top engineers, the brilliant, driven men he had personally headhunted from across the globe. The mood in the room was electric with the thrill of discovery.
"We've done it, Minister," said Chief Engineer Tong, a man whose youth was belied by the intensity in his eyes and the permanent grease stains on his fingernails. He carefully placed a small, dark grey bar of steel on Yuan's desk. "It is not the Emperor's… miracle. But it is a breakthrough nonetheless."
The engineers had been working in a state of feverish, obsessive competition ever since the Emperor's demonstration in Wuhan. Driven by a mixture of scientific curiosity and sheer professional pride, they had relentlessly analyzed the impossible ingot. They could not replicate its perfect crystalline structure, but in trying, they had stumbled upon something new.
Tong explained their discovery. "A two-stage heating process combined with a chemical wash of our own design. A carbon and nitrogen compound. It forces a molecular realignment in the outer layers of the metal. Case-hardening, but on a level we've never achieved before. It's thirty percent stronger than our previous best naval plate, and crucially, Minister, we can mass-produce it."
Yuan picked up the steel bar. It felt dense, solid, alive with potential. This was a true asset. Not a divine miracle to be worshipped, but a practical, industrial weapon he could control. It would give his shipyards an undeniable edge. It would allow him to create superior armor plating for his experimental armored legions. It would be his secret, a proprietary advantage in the ruthless game of power he was playing against his rivals, the state arsenals, and even the Emperor himself.
"Excellent work, gentlemen," Yuan said, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "This process, this formula… it is now the highest-classified secret of our operations. All documentation is to be sealed in my private vault. You will all sign new oaths of secrecy. This knowledge does not leave this room."
His engineers nodded, understanding the immense commercial and political value of what they had created.
It was at that exact moment that Yuan's chief aide entered the room, his face pale, holding a lacquer box bearing the Imperial Seal. He bowed low. "Minister, an Imperial Edict, delivered by special courier from the Forbidden City. It is to be read immediately."
A knot of apprehension tightened in Yuan's stomach. Unscheduled edicts were rarely good news. He broke the seal and unrolled the silk scroll, his eyes scanning the elegant, forceful calligraphy. As he read, his expression of triumph slowly hardened into one of cold, frustrated fury.
The document announced the immediate establishment of a new government body: the "Imperial Patent and Trademark Office."
With sweeping, revolutionary language, the edict introduced the concept of intellectual property law to China. It was a concept so foreign, so Western, that Yuan had to read the sentences twice to fully grasp their implications. The decree stated that any new invention, chemical formula, or industrial process developed within the Empire must be registered with this new office.
"To unleash the genius of the Chinese people," Yuan read aloud, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "and to ensure that innovation is rewarded as a service to the Dragon Throne, the inventor or company shall, upon registration, be granted an Imperial Patent. This patent bestows exclusive rights to the commercial use of said technology for a period of fifteen years. Any who would seek to license this technology, including the state itself, must pay a fair royalty to the patent holder."
Yuan's engineers gasped. This was unheard of. It was a stunning incentive, a promise of wealth and fame that would undoubtedly spur a wave of invention across the nation. It was a brilliant, modern idea.
But Yuan kept reading, and he knew there would be a catch. There was always a catch with the Emperor. He found it buried deep in the dense, legalistic text of the final section.
The clause stated that any invention, upon registration, that was deemed by the commission to be of "Critical Importance to National Security" or the "War Effort" was subject to special provisions. The inventor was still guaranteed their patent and their royalties. However, they were also required, by law, to immediately submit all technical specifications, blueprints, and working models to the office of the Supreme Overseer and to the Ministry of War.
Furthermore, the edict stated, the state reserved the right to be the sole manufacturer and user of any such critical technology, with the "fair royalty" to be determined by a state-appointed board.
Yuan Shikai let the scroll roll shut in his hands. He felt a profound, chilling clarity. He had been so focused on the trap of his promotion that he had failed to see the much larger cage the Emperor was constructing around him, around everyone.
This wasn't just a law. It was an intelligence-gathering machine of breathtaking genius.
It incentivized every inventor and engineer in the land to innovate, and then legally compelled them to hand over their most valuable military secrets directly to the government. The Emperor had created a system that would funnel every single technological breakthrough in the nation directly to his desk, and to the desk of Yuan's greatest rival, Meng Tian.
Yuan was trapped. Utterly and completely trapped by the Emperor's infuriating, forward-thinking brilliance.
He looked at the bar of new steel on his desk. It was no longer a secret weapon. It was a dilemma.
If he kept his new steel-hardening process a secret, he could be discovered and executed for the highest of crimes: withholding a vital war technology from the Son of Heaven. The risk was immense.
But if he followed the law and registered his patent, he would receive wealth and public acclaim, but he would also have to immediately hand over the complete formula to the military. He would be legally required to arm his rivals, to give away the very edge he had just created.
He felt like a master chess player who had just discovered his opponent had unilaterally changed the rules of the game. He had been outmaneuvered, not by a political plot, but by the cold, inexorable logic of a modern legal system. He was being forced to play by a new set of rules he did not create, and every fiber of his being rebelled against it. For Yuan Shikai, who believed in controlling everything, there was no greater frustration.