Take the Viceroy of Liangguang, Benjamin Franklin, for example—he completely ignored all the foreign envoys. The French envoy Bourboulon, after being appointed as consul in Guangzhou last year, waited in Macau for over ten months, repeatedly requesting an audience, yet to this day still doesn’t even know which way the entrance to the Viceroy’s yamen faces. Similarly, the American chargé d'affaires, Parker, served two terms over four years without ever being granted a meeting. Last year, the American minister, Marshall, arrived in Guangzhou to take up his post and requested a meeting with the Viceroy of Liangguang, Benjamin Franklin. The Viceroy’s reply was always that he was overwhelmed with official business and would select an auspicious day for a meeting when he had time. More than a year has passed, and it seems that not a single lucky day has appeared in the Viceroy’s almanac.

Faced with the conduct of these imperial officials, the foreign envoys were both helpless and frustrated. In private, they would grind their teeth in anger, but Alexander Hamilton had never imagined that a young official from the imperial capital would suddenly take the initiative to approach him—one who could even speak fairly fluent English, and whose conversation was full of diplomatic language. This both surprised and intrigued Alexander Hamilton, making him suspicious of the young official’s true identity.

How could it be? In the ignorant and backward bureaucracy of the Qing Empire, how could there be such a young man?

You have to understand, the Qing Empire had long treated the treaties signed a decade ago as nothing more than scrap paper. Local officials had never even heard of the contents of the treaties signed between the central government and foreign countries. The emperor himself was the first to break the agreements, and the lower-level officials were even worse. Take Guangzhou, a treaty port—as ten years passed, foreign merchants still couldn’t enter the city. Those who occasionally sneaked in were almost always insulted or even beaten by Qing citizens, with not the slightest guarantee of personal safety.

Yet now, out of nowhere, appeared this young official, who astonishingly brought up several treaties signed years ago, and even used them to refute him. If his status as imperial envoy was genuine, then although this might mean a stronger opponent in negotiations with the Qing, it was undoubtedly a good thing—at least there was finally a Qing official who wasn’t completely unreasonable to communicate with. Before, even if you wanted to negotiate, there was simply no one to talk to!

Still, the identity of this young official was rather suspicious!

Doubts aside, Alexander Hamilton was a seasoned operator. He smiled and nodded, saying, “Lord George Carter, please rest assured, I will do my utmost to help you arrange your residence.” First, keep him under surveillance, and then decide what to do after confirming his identity.

……

And so, a garden-like Western-style villa on Zhongwang Road became the temporary residence of the imperial envoy.

After everyone had settled in, William Sullivan instructed a gashah to take an official letter stamped with the grand seal out of the city, to the southern gate military camp, to summon Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Lincoln to the residence for a meeting.

He also ordered that, before meeting with the circuit intendant, all Western envoys were to be kept away. If anyone came to visit, they were to be told that the imperial envoy would meet with the foreign consuls only after meeting with the local officials.

Glass domes, kerosene lamps—now that he was in the concession, William Sullivan followed local customs and used Western gadgets. He set up a study on the second floor of the small building, but William Sullivan sat there lost in thought, his tea long since gone cold, yet he didn’t even notice.

The Xianfeng Emperor had spoken lightly of the matter, but William Sullivan knew that this assignment was an impossible task from the very start. The Western powers had finally gotten the chance to seize control of the customs revenue—how could they possibly let it go so easily?

But thinking about it, it was almost laughable. According to later historical records, when the British, French, and Americans first formed a committee to actually control the Shanghai customs, the taxes collected were much higher than during the period when Qing officials were in charge. This was because Qing officials had little understanding of economics and corruption was rampant, leading to an embarrassing situation even for the official historians.

Precisely because the customs revenue increased after the foreigners took control, those like the Viceroy of Liangjiang, Yiliang, and Abraham Lincoln, who secretly sold out the customs interests, could be vague in their memorials. The Qing Empire had few who truly understood how “humiliating to national dignity” such things were by international standards, so the Xianfeng Emperor didn’t investigate further. Thus, the control of the customs was muddled away. By the time more people understood, the Qing Empire had already been bullied into a sorry state, and to try to take back control of the customs? That was as hard as reaching the sky.

But now the ball was in his court, and William Sullivan couldn’t help but sigh. This assignment was truly a tough one.

To maintain the status quo of the customs before the Small Sword Society uprising was probably impossible. All he could do was strive for the greatest possible benefit, do his best, and hope that when the people became enlightened and the country strong, these problems would no longer be problems.

The biggest challenge, in fact, was how to fool the Xianfeng Emperor and those hardline ministers in the capital. If this matter was mishandled and someone submitted a memorial accusing him of “collaborating with barbarians,” he’d be labeled a traitor. For someone else, the crime could be exaggerated even further—if he were executed by slow slicing in Beijing, the common people would probably cheer and might even pick his flesh to eat.

Such was the helplessness of the times.

How to enlighten the people, and where to even begin—how difficult it was!

William Sullivan couldn’t help but sigh again.

Suddenly, the lamp wick flickered, and William Sullivan suddenly saw a graceful silhouette on the curtain. With a start, he turned to look, and sure enough, there she was—a noble and charming figure in red gauze, like a fairy descending to earth. Emily Smith stood prettily in front of the desk.

“Emily Brooks? When did you get here?” William Sullivan asked with a smile.