Chapter Forty-Four: Ignorant and Incompetent

When Lan Yi surfaced from the sea, he couldn’t help but reveal a look of contentment reminiscent of a post-battle cigarette as he gazed up at the azure sky. Truly, stretching one’s muscles from time to time is beneficial for both body and mind.

All around him, there was only deathly silence—no sign of the living, only warships devoid of human presence or wreckage split clean in two, groaning their last amidst the swelling waves. Thick black smoke hung in the air, the mark of burning corpses, the column rising skyward to proclaim to every distant city and merchant vessel that could see this sea: the war here was over. Of course, they might believe it had only just begun. Lan Yi, too, was of that opinion.

Chen Qimei had once reported to Lan Yi that this punitive fleet was the combined naval force of the imperial powers in the north of Xinghan. Having lost their influence over the southern coast, the foreigners would surely marshal every available power to interfere with the rising group of martial leaders in the south. This was the typical mindset of the imperial powers: if they could not halt the rise of the martial class, they would at least muddy the waters, making sure the new rulers did not enjoy their ascent in comfort. Their means were primarily military, with economic disruption as a supplement. Their aim was to probe the strength of the martial faction and sabotage their productive capacity.

A world war was on the brink of eruption. The imperial powers had no intention of creating a quagmire in the Far East to sap their precious strength. Instead, they hoped the punitive fleet advancing south would force the martial group to the negotiating table, where they could be bound with economic chains—collars forged of bargaining chips.

But they could never have imagined that this intervention force, which by all logic should not have met with calamity so easily, would be wiped out so cleanly along the Xinghan coast—even with full mobility and supply ports at their rear. Nor did a single coherent message reach Yanjing before their total annihilation.

To the northern command, the punitive fleet simply lost contact at a certain moment. Before that, the last transmission they received was: something was coming from the southern sky, a white arc or meteor, which halted above the enemy ship.

Then, all communication was lost in an instant. Not a single telegram from the punitive fleet ever reached the command in Yanjing again.

At first, the command suspected radio failure or natural interference—perhaps the fleet, preoccupied with battle, was still pursuing the enemy and trying to reestablish contact. Yet the final telegram, sent before contact was lost, cast a shadow of foreboding over Yanjing.

Was it possible that the rising martial group in southern Xinghan had already mastered some form of aerial strike force? Even among the imperial powers, such forces existed only as paper concepts—aerial assaults on warships at sea belonged to the realm of science fiction.

After five hours of silence, Yanjing’s command realized the problem was grave. Fifty-seven warships of various classes, with over ten thousand crew—losing contact with all of them for so long could not be explained by technical failure or natural anomalies. Something far beyond expectation had befallen the combined punitive fleet.

Even so, the arrogant foreigners at Yanjing’s command had not yet considered the possibility of total annihilation. The reason was simple: if they could not win, surely they could escape. What could possibly stop an ironclad set on fleeing? Surely this ancient and decaying land did not, like the myths of India, possess some weapon capable of summoning ten suns to descend from the sky.

After ten hours of silence, the foreigners, now restless with anxiety, fear, and anger, finally acted—by venting their frustrations. They declared martial law in Yanjing and surrounding regions, issued letters condemning the incompetence and incitement of the current regime, and asserted that southern rebels now threatened the lives and property of imperial citizens in China, with the Qing court holding undeniable responsibility and being required to prepare for the consequences.

Such harsh language, and the so-called martial law, was in truth an excuse for their troops to indulge themselves. The imperial army remained unmoved, ignoring all provocations. The officials of this terror-stricken dynasty could only kneel in abject fear, for they truly didn’t know what had occurred in the south.

As for the southern viceroys, were they not all deeply entangled with the imperial powers, nominally loyal to the Qing, yet in practice ruling as independent warlords? The imperial powers had long encouraged such weakening of the court’s authority, never expecting that this would turn against them. For all anyone knew, the rebel Huo Yuanjia and the sorcerer Lan Yi were their own creations—and now things had spiraled out of control.

Of course, no prince or minister dared say this aloud, only in their hearts. Outwardly, they pleaded desperately, abandoning all dignity: “Do not be alarmed, dear allies—pause, investigate, and only then declare martial law.”

“We, the vast and noble China, would never stoop to such barbaric, underhanded attacks.” Yet all their eloquence boiled down to a single, unspoken plea: “Father, please, stop hitting us!”

The truth remained: if someone wants an excuse to strike you, no amount of tearful protest or self-defense will stay their hand—the beating will come all the same, the iron belt flying.

On the dragon throne, the three-year-old emperor understood nothing. He had no idea what was happening beyond the palace walls. He stared in confusion at his weeping ministers and the distant flames and smoke rising outside. He heard one despairing official choke out the words that, after two hundred and ninety years, the dynasty might soon be lost.

Why would it be lost? Wasn’t the throne still here? Hadn’t the land always been theirs? If someone dared to seize it, then… then he would summon that formidable uncle with the lame foot to drive out the villains!

For the first time, the young emperor felt anger. His rage was like a wolf cub baring rotten, unformed fangs at the shadow of some vast power and immense authority.

After twenty-four hours of silence, news of the punitive fleet finally arrived! In the midst of their revelry, the foreigners at Yanjing’s command received intelligence from an agent in Jinling. Shortly after sending his telegram, the agent’s residence was raided and seized by the martial group. The second Lotus of Thunder bloomed over Jinling’s power plant—an achievement that awed the entire city into submission.

The punitive fleet advancing south had been utterly destroyed. The cannibal sorcerer had departed from Puhai, following the railway northward—he was coming, he was already on his way.

His name was Lan Yi.