Watching William Sullivan slip away, Emily Smith was momentarily speechless. Not only was this person completely impervious to reason, but even her own resolve to die had been turned into an awkward situation by his shameless joking. Faced with such a lazy scoundrel, what was one supposed to do?

Chapter Twelve: The Bluffing Emperor’s First Move in Shanghai

The foreign firms along the Bund stood in close rows, the roads were wide, and the Western-style houses and Sino-Western hybrid tiled buildings on Zhongwang Street were packed tightly together. At this time, Shanghai was already beginning to show signs of prosperity.

The Small Sword Society had occupied the county seat of Shanghai, and acting Jiangsu Surveillance Commissioner Jierhanga had gathered elite troops to camp on the outskirts to resist them. Together with local militia and village braves, their numbers exceeded twenty thousand. It could truly be said that camps faced each other and banners blotted out the sky.

Meanwhile, the United States, Britain, and France had organized foreign rifle squads to guard the safety of the concessions. As soon as William Sullivan and his party disembarked, several armed foreigners came over to check them. When Henry Foster arrogantly told them that they were imperial envoys of the Qing Dynasty, the foreigners didn’t understand a word. Seeing William Sullivan’s attendants in armor, they simply raised their guns to drive them away.

“Shing”—several Goshha steel blades were drawn, facing off against the foreign soldiers.

Running back and forth beside the foreigners was a middle-aged Chinese man, apparently a Chinese employee serving the Concession Roads and Docks Committee. He wore a stiff-collared tailcoat, but still had a queue hanging from the back of his head. With his nose in the air, he said to Henry Foster in a pompous manner, “The foreign masters have said, no matter who you are, you are not allowed to enter the concession. We treat both the Qing and the rebels equally and remain neutral! You’re imperial envoys? Then go around to the south gate and head to your camp outside the city!”

William Sullivan sighed inwardly. By now, most Chinese were used to the queue on their heads. Even after coming into contact with the West and looking down on their own country, it had nothing to do with the queue or the Manchus anymore.

With a crisp “smack,” the man in Western dress with the queue clutched his face and staggered back, looking at Henry Foster in shock.

After slapping him hard, Henry Foster was still not satisfied and cursed, “You little bastard, are you blind? Don’t you even ask who I am? Looking for trouble!” Having lived in the capital for so long, how could a few barbarians possibly be taken seriously by Lord Henry Foster?

Seeing Henry Foster go after the “Qing traitor” again, only to be blocked by the foreigners, and with communication breaking down into a noisy mess that was about to turn into a fight, Henry Foster paid no heed to the muskets pointed at his chest. He figured that even if the foreigners had the guts, they wouldn’t dare rough up the attendants of a Qing imperial envoy prince.

William Sullivan couldn’t help but laugh and cry. He quickly stepped forward and said loudly in English to the foreigners, “Gentlemen, I am an official of the Qing Dynasty. I understand your countries’ neutral stance, but I am here to negotiate with the envoys of Britain, France, and the United States. Please inform your superiors. Thank you!”

The foreign soldiers stared blankly at William Sullivan, while Henry Foster, Mr. Brown, and the others looked at him in astonishment. No one had expected that the young prince could speak a foreign language.

The foreign soldiers chattered among themselves for a while. One of them went to report, while the others kept their rifles at the ready, watching this arrogant group of Chinese warily.

A dozen minutes later, a luxurious carriage sped over. A tall, fat white man in his forties jumped down, his gray-brown eyes naturally carrying a hint of cunning.

He looked at William Sullivan and his group with suspicion, strode over, removed his hat in greeting, and said in awkward Chinese, “Hello, I am the British Consul, Arligo. May I ask where you have come from?”

Apparently, hearing that someone claiming to be a Qing official could speak English had alarmed the consul.

William Sullivan smiled and stepped forward, but replied in English, “Consul, hello. I am an official sent from Beijing to handle customs affairs, George Washington.” Having not used English for a long time, he was a bit stiff at first, but soon became fluent.

Arligo looked at William Sullivan in astonishment. He had never encountered a Qing official who could speak English before. In fact, among all the people of the Qing, only a handful of compradors active at the treaty ports and students at missionary schools could manage a few words of English, and even then, their accents were unavoidable. How could anyone have such clear pronunciation? When he first heard the report, he thought it was an exaggeration.

“Consul, I intend to set up my headquarters in the concession, which does not violate your country’s strict neutrality, does it? I am not a military officer, but a diplomatic envoy here to negotiate customs affairs with your country. Moreover, according to the Treaty of Nanking, the Five Ports Trade Regulations, and the Supplementary Clauses to the Five Ports Trade Regulations, the concession is land leased by our country to yours. Your country has no right to expel officials seeking refuge in the concession. Your recent actions have already violated the spirit of the treaties and undermined their legitimacy. The Qing will formally notify your country in protest.”

William Sullivan wore a serious expression, while Arligo was left somewhat bewildered. His impression of the senior officials of this decaying empire was extremely poor—they were all so arrogant and never followed the rules.