The port of Tianjin was a chaotic, energetic hub of activity, a place where the old China met the new with a jarring clang of steel and a cloud of coal smoke. The new ironworks were rising from the mud, their skeletal steel frames a testament to the new regime's industrial ambition. But the true pride of the new era now sat anchored in the deeper waters of the harbor: two sleek, grey warships, their smokestacks pristine, their hulls unscarred by battle.
They were not the great German ironclads—those would take years to build. These were smaller, faster, unarmored cruisers, purchased from a British shipyard as a stopgap measure. They were not meant to be battleships, but they were the most modern, steam-powered vessels in the entire Qing navy, and their purpose was critical: they were to be the first training ships of the Beiyang Fleet.
On the main deck of the lead ship, the Chaoyong, Viceroy Li Hongzhang and Prince Gong stood inspecting the vessel. The deck was clean, the brass fittings polished to a mirror shine, and the rifled Armstrong guns were objects of beautiful, lethal precision. Beside them stood Li Fengbao, the naval office Deputy Commissioner, his quiet satisfaction evident as he explained the workings of the steam-powered capstan.
They were also there to inspect the first class of cadets for the new naval academy, young men drawn from across the empire, their faces bright with a mixture of patriotism and ambition. Among them was one who stood out, a young officer from Fujian province named Deng Shichang. He was in his late twenties, with a sharp, intelligent face and eyes that burned with a fierce, unwavering intensity. He had distinguished himself in the entrance examinations with his grasp of mathematics and his ferocious dedication. He was, Li Fengbao had noted, a natural leader.
It was into this atmosphere of hopeful progress that an imperial order arrived, delivered by a fast courier from the capital. It was an edict from the Grand Council, bearing the vermillion seal of the Empress Dowager Ci'an. It was a strange, almost trivial-seeming command.
Prince Gong unrolled the edict and read it aloud. The order was direct. The new cruiser, the Chaoyong, under the temporary command of the promising Cadet-Officer Deng Shichang, was to prepare to sail immediately. Its mission: a "goodwill voyage" to the tributary Kingdom of Ryukyu. The official purpose was to convey the Emperor's formal greetings to the loyal vassal king, to present him with gifts, and to "reaffirm the ancient and sacred bonds of tribute and protection between the Dragon Throne and its loyal subject."
Li Hongzhang frowned, his thick eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Ryukyu?" he said, his voice a low growl of disapproval. "Why are we wasting precious coal and a brand-new ship on a voyage to that diplomatic backwater? Their king sends us tribute once every few years. It is a worthless, forgotten scrap of land. There are a dozen more important strategic priorities."
Prince Gong looked at the edict, at the clear, undeniable authority of the imperial seal. He remembered the Emperor's strange "dream" of the white bear, a prophecy that had proven to be terrifyingly accurate. He remembered the boy's pointed questions about the Ryukyu Islands, questions that had seemed so random at the time. He was beginning to understand that in this new era, nothing the Emperor did was random.
"The Emperor's will is not to be questioned," the Prince said, his voice firm, silencing any further debate. He looked at Li Hongzhang. "His insights have proven… potent. If he wishes to show the flag in Ryukyu, we will show the flag in Ryukyu. There is a reason for it, even if we are not yet wise enough to see it."
The Viceroy, though still grumbling about the waste of resources, did not argue further. He too had come to respect the strange, almost supernatural foresight of the new power in the palace. The order was given.
The news was delivered to Deng Shichang. He was to be given his first command, a mission of great diplomatic importance, a personal directive from the Son of Heaven himself. His heart swelled with an immense pride. He would not fail.
Two days later, the Chaoyong steamed out of Tianjin harbor, its smokestack belching a proud plume of black smoke into the clear blue sky. The voyage itself was a revelation for the young crew. They were sailors who had only ever known the creak of wood and the pull of a sail. Now, they felt the steady, powerful thrum of a steam engine beneath their feet, a tireless iron heart pushing them across the waves at a speed they had never imagined. They drilled relentlessly, learning the complex art of naval gunnery, of calculating range and trajectory, of coordinating their actions with the precision of a machine. They were being forged, along with their new ship, into a modern fighting force.
The mission was a direct result of Ying Zheng's "lesson" on tributary states. It was the physical manifestation of his new, proactive foreign policy. He was not content to wait for the Japanese to act on their ambitions. He was not content to react to a crisis after it had already begun. He was using his foreknowledge to change the facts on the ground, to alter the strategic reality before the crisis even had a chance to erupt.
The arrival of a modern Qing warship in the harbor of Naha would be a profound shock to the Japanese, who had for years operated under the assumption that the Qing navy was a non-existent force, a fleet of rotting junks that could not even leave its own coastline. It would be a clear, undeniable signal that the sleeping dragon was beginning to stir, that its gaze was now fixed upon the small, forgotten kingdom that Japan had been so quietly, so patiently preparing to swallow. Ying Zheng was not just sending a ship; he was sending a message, a declaration that the old days of Qing complacency were over. He was proactively, deliberately, lighting the fuse on an international crisis, because he knew it was the only way to force his own reluctant court to fully commit to the military modernization the empire so desperately needed to survive. He was a chess master, and he had just moved his first piece onto the international board.