Prince Gong's study, usually a place of quiet contemplation and strategic planning, was now a nerve center of contained fury. Weng Tonghe, the Imperial Tutor, had arrived not long ago, pale and trembling, and had nervously recounted the Emperor's strange and specific "dream."
The Prince had listened in absolute silence, his face a granite mask. A dream of a torn map in the west. A great white bear chewing on the border. The imagery was almost laughably simple, yet its implications were as serious as a declaration of war. He knew the "white bear" was a common pejorative symbol for the ever-expanding Russian Empire. This was no dream. This was a warning, delivered through the most bizarre and deniable channel imaginable.
"A white bear," Prince Gong repeated softly, after he had dismissed the terrified tutor. He turned to his aide, Batu, who had stood silently in the corner throughout the bizarre report. "The boy's faction is testing us again. This is more than court gossip about pearls. This is military intelligence."
"My lord, could it truly be just a child's nightmare?" Batu asked, though his tone suggested he didn't believe it himself.
"No," the Prince said sharply. "The timing is too precise. The geography too specific. The factions loyal to Cixi have been unusually quiet for days. They are hiding something." He trusted the strange source that had proven so devastatingly accurate before. "Batu, use our contacts at the Grand Council. I want to know if an urgent memorial has arrived from the Xinjiang governorate within the last week. I want to know what it says. Now."
His aide bowed and slipped out of the room. He was back in less than an hour, his grim face all the confirmation the Prince needed.
"It is as the dream foretold, my lord," Batu reported, his voice low. "A top-secret memorial arrived by military courier three days ago. Russian troops have crossed the border and occupied the Muzart Pass. The report is being held up by Grand Councillor Ronglu's office. They are debating how and when to present the news to the Empress Dowager."
Prince Gong slammed his fist on his desk. "Debating? They are hiding it! Ronglu and the others are cowards. They would let the Russians build fortifications on our land rather than risk Cixi's displeasure. They would sacrifice the western gate to save their own faces."
He knew he had a short, rapidly closing window to act before the news became public and the narrative was spun by Cixi's faction. His thoughts immediately turned to the military situation on the ground. The commander of the western garrisons was a man named General Chang Geng, an elderly Manchu noble whose primary qualifications for the post were his impeccable lineage and his unwavering loyalty to Cixi. He was a courtier, not a soldier, and he was completely, hopelessly unsuited to handle a confrontation with disciplined Russian troops.
"The 'Old Buddha' put her pet dog in charge of guarding the western gate," Prince Gong growled, using a common, derogatory nickname for Cixi. "And now a bear is at the door. I must force her to replace him."
He began to pace the room, his mind racing. This was his opportunity. He could use this crisis to challenge Cixi's absolute control over senior military appointments, a power she guarded jealously. He could force her to install a competent commander.
"But with whom?" he mused aloud. "I cannot propose one of my own allies. She would block it immediately, framing it as a self-serving power grab. I need a candidate who is brilliant, tough, and—most importantly—politically untouchable. A man neither of us can easily claim as our own."
He ran through the names of the senior generals in his mind. Most were either incompetent, corrupt, or firmly entrenched in one political faction or another. He was stumped.
It was at this moment that Weng Tonghe was announced again. The tutor looked even more terrified than before, as if he were a man being haunted.
"Forgive my intrusion, Your Highness," he stammered, bowing low. "But another… imperial query. His Majesty, he… he was having his afternoon lesson. We were reviewing the history of internal conflicts."
"Get on with it, man," the Prince said, his patience thin.
"His Majesty was reading about the final suppression of the Nian Rebellion," Weng Tonghe said, his voice a shaky whisper. "He turned to me and asked a question. He asked, 'Who was the general who finally crushed the Nian rebels? The one they called the living Zhuge Liang?' And then he asked, 'Is that general still a loyal servant of the Great Qing?'"
Prince Gong stopped dead in his tracks. The Nian Rebellion had been a brutal, drawn-out conflict that had plagued the empire for years. The general who had finally, brilliantly crushed it was a man named Zuo Zongtang. He was a strategic genius, famously incorruptible, and possessed of a fierce, unyielding personality. He was also notoriously independent, a man who spoke his mind with a bluntness that had offended nearly everyone in power. As a result, he was currently languishing in a minor, unimportant provincial post, distrusted by Cixi for his independence, and disliked by many in Prince Gong's own faction for his abrasive personality.
He was the perfect candidate. Politically neutral. Undeniably brilliant. A national hero whose name still commanded immense respect among the common people and the army. To propose him was not a power grab; it was a patriotic duty.
The Prince stared at Weng Tonghe, a look of profound awe on his face. The mysterious faction behind the throne had not only given him the intelligence about the crisis, but they had now handed him the perfect, irrefutable solution. This was not just political maneuvering. This was grand strategy of the highest order.
"Tell the Emperor," Prince Gong said, his voice now steady and filled with a newfound resolve, "that General Zuo Zongtang is indeed a loyal servant of the Great Qing. And he will be called upon to serve it again, very soon."
He now believed, with absolute conviction, that he was not acting alone. He was the sword arm of a brilliant, hidden power, a force that seemed to see the entire political chessboard with the clarity of a god. He was filled with a dangerous, exhilarating confidence. He was ready for a direct confrontation.