BREVILOQUENTBAUHINIA-BLOG:
ficwar prompt: Treaty of Nanking, godspeed and do your worst
The Treaty of Nanking was signed on the 29th of August, 1842 to mark the end of the First Opium War between the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and the Qing Dynasty of China. It was the first of what the Chinese called the Unequal Treaties.
The HMS Cornwallis is a hulking beast of a ship, Yao thinks as he climbs aboard. Two hundred men, seventy-four guns, and the arrogance of the English have carried her here. He believes it is unnecessarily grandiose, and the only real compliment that he can bestow upon it is that it will make a lovely home for the fish below them when it inevitably sinks.
He walks with his three representatives and his mind wanders before he can process the slurs being thrown at them. There are three patches in the side where the wood had been broken through. Two of the men passing by them are identical. Xiao Chun has begged him to come home with a gift.
Not food, he had stipulated, as Yao had fixed the small boy’s hair into a ponytail. He says this because he has seen Yao smoking opium and assumes that it’s something that makes him ‘sleepy’, the same way food makes him sleepy. Baba is always sleepy, though the child doesn’t know it. Yao can’t hide wounds he sustains from war. But he can shield him from the truth about the streets filled with opium addicts. The streets which he is sometimes found on.
Yao hates to lie to Xiao Chun.
“What is this thing you must discuss with me?” the Chinese man speaks over his representatives’ formal greeting and ignores the disapproving looks which he is given. His words are calm, but his eyes are fierce. These men are below him. They have not earned or deserve his consideration, especially after what they have done to his people. If he can, he will expedite this process as much as possible.
“Now, Yao, be reasonable.” the blond in the corner croons, and Yao knows that he smiles because he knows how much he wants to spit in his face. "Hostility is what got you into this mess in the first place. We will settle our differences like gentlemen and that will be the end of that. You hardly have to deal with us again. Please, have a seat. I fear this meeting will be quite a long one.“
His men sit, but he doesn’t. Any chance he gets to stand taller than Arthur Kirkland is a chance he will take, even if it means his still-healing leg causes him a bit (read: a lot) of pain.
“Very well.” Arthur treats this pointed display with the practiced amusement of an aristocrat and seats himself graciously beside Sir Henry Pottinger. ”On this day the twenty-ninth of August, eighteen forty two, we shall negotiate and sign a treaty between the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and the Qing Dynasty of China. Henceforth this treaty shall be known as the Treaty of Nanking.”
“Nanjing.” the older man corrects with a twist in his mouth. The act is pointless, but he cannot help saying it anyway.
“Yes, that.” Arthur dismisses. "If anyone has anything to contribute before we begin, I should like to hear it now, please.“
No one objects, so the portly Irishman before them begins to read the document which has already been drawn up. Yao sneers at the impertinence and watches the proceedings like a hawk. One small slip-up, one loophole, and he is there, picking at the words like a vulture picks at entrails. Later he will ruminate over how humiliating this all is. But for now, for China, he will do anything to spare his people the excess hardships they would endure.
In the end, his nitpicking is still for naught. He is still forced to abolish his trading system. He is still forced to open himself unwillingly to those Western powers who would sooner see him dead than suspend their greed. He is forced to abandon his quest for vengeance and is not even allowed justice since, as all his prisoners are given amnesty, he has no one left to punish. He is still forced into poverty and with time limits, at that, as if his countrymen are common slaves and all that matters is the product they are forced to make. What does it matter how long they live, as long as the Queen receives her recompense?
He has been beaten, robbed, and raped. And there is no shred of evidence to sustain him other than his battered pride and the treaty before him which he cannot touch.
"Wait.” Arthur leers, and Yao slowly builds his internal defenses because that is the look of a man who knows exactly what to expect, and he does not want to be caught off guard. "There is one more matter we must discuss with you.“
"And what might that be?”
Pottinger pauses in writing the second version and lifts his quill, then clears his throat as he reads from the rough draft. Yao notes the position of his finger at Article III, which apparently he had failed to mention until now.
“It being obviously necessary and desirable, that British subjects should have some port whereat they may careen and refit their ships, when required, and keep stores for that purpose, His Majesty the Emperor of China cedes to Her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain, etc., the Islands of Hong Kong, to be possessed in perpetuity by Her Britannic Majesty—”
He never gets to finish, because as soon as he hears ‘Hong Kong’ Yao is up and grabbing for Arthur’s chest and Arthur has a knife at his throat and they are mere centimeters apart and Yao is so very close to shoving his own knife through one of his glinting green eyes, screw this treaty and everyone involved with it.
“Sorry.” the British man almost laughs. "Official business and all that.“
Yao brings a fist to his face, and Arthur backs into a corner with a black eye and a split lip. Pottinger is on his feet and poised with a musket until he is waved down, while Arthur stands properly and fixes his clothing as if nothing had ever happened. Despite his bitter satisfaction, he knows that Arthur is still, silently, laughing at him.
”You want to try that again? Only let’s invite some of the crew in so they can teach you to actually swing. My, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Now, if I was you, I’d take a completely different tone if I wanted to convince someone about something.”
“You have already stipulated five different ports, any one of which you may use. Leave Hong Kong out of it.”
“My men are already situated there. And we don’t intend to leave.” Yao watches as he dabs at the bloodied lip with a small handkerchief and tucks it away, unconcerned. "And you are in no position to argue.“
Before the other man can protest, he continues, now offering what is supposed to be a charming smile. ”Let me put this plainly. You’ve lost. You decided to take up arms against me, and now it is my every will and intention to completely derail you and this filthy, misguided land you call the Middle Kingdom. There is only one Kingdom which matters, and that is mine. Now sign the damn treaty and get out before I shoot you.”
There are so many things Yao wants to do, so many things Yao wants to say that he needs to still his mind and body for. Arthur Kirkland will not reduce him to begging, not even for the little boy who waits for him back home. He needs every shred of pride that still remains. Just like he now needs the drugs which Arthur has practically forced down his throat.
Only the three representatives are required to sign the treaty, so Yao simply stands vigil while their signatures join the white man’s and then, finally, he is free to leave.
The brisk air momentarily distracts him but he is not deterred. He needs peace. He needs quiet. He needs to see Xiao Chun, because now every moment counts and he may never see the little boy again, if Arthur has his way.
常遠. In perpetuity. In his mind, the words are as condemning as ‘forever’.
The path home is lit by paper lanterns and he cannot even pay attention to their beauty anymore. His only focus is on the little trinket in his pocket which he clutches tightly enough he fears it might break. But no. He has to bring it home.
"What’s the matter?” asks the boy when he finally comes home. Xiao Chun is perceptive and knows the tense frame of his body and the frown on his face. He is either in trouble, or Baba is upset.
In this small child’s presence, Yao suddenly feels so tired. His leg finally gives way and he sways, collapsing onto the ground without preamble but attempting to make it seem like he did it on purpose. Does it work? He doesn’t know. Xiao Chun simply climbs into his lap and holds out his hand. What did you bring me? The gesture says, and the older man manages a smile of his own as he presents him with a small jade dragon.
Xiao Chun grows attached to this small charm and carries it with him wherever he goes. This is good— this is Yao’s intention. Because eventually Arthur will come, and Arthur will take him away and he will not know when next he will see this little one or hold him again, because Arthur is a bastard and though he pretends to be a gentleman, he purposely leaves out those sorts of courtesies because he knows they hurt. Xiao Chun should have a reminder of where he comes from. Something physical that Arthur can’t talk him out of, and which the boy is clever enough not to let him steal.
On the day Arthur arrives, nine months later, the day it happens, Yao’s leg has finally healed and he carries his boy on his shoulders. The day is bright and cheery. From time to time Yao will cast his eyes up and wonder why, because after today another one of his little children will be gone.
But then, he thinks, at least the boy won’t have to deal with rain until he gets to London.
Xiao Chun seems content to look around and mess with Yao’s hair until Arthur comes along, flanked by two men and holding himself as proudly as possible. He is about to speak, but the first thing out of anyone’s mouth is Xiao Chun’s sniggering and his remark that the man must not like having bugs on his face.
It makes him smile, but Arthur senses an insult and retaliates with clipped words and the swift retrieval of the little island he now has control of. Yao barely has time to bestow a swift hug and a tiny little kiss on Xiao Chun’s forehead before he’s tugged along. He wants to run after them. He wants to follow them back onto the ship. He wants to kill Arthur and take back his boy but he can only watch while he trots along until he realizes, wait, why isn’t he following me?
And as soon as he figures it out, he begins to struggle. The small child can’t fight Arthur’s grip, so he turns his panicked eyes to his guardian for help, crying when he receives none.
“Why?” he calls, further tugging at Yao’s heartstrings as he holds a hand out for him. "Why?! Are you giving me away? I don’t want to go! Don’t let him take me! No! Stop! I don’t want to go! Wait— wait! I’ll be good, I promise! Let me stay! Please!”
He never had the chance to teach the little one not to beg, and of course this lack of oversight punishes him. Yao can hear Xiao Chun all the way into the heart of the ship, screaming and crying for the man who will never come to claim him.
Yao does not leave the port, for a good, long while. He stares into the water and stumbles home, already having shed his own small ocean of tears. He rears an arm back to throw his pipe at the wall in anger, but stops himself at the last moment, slowly turning to look at it with already red eyes.
He comes full circle moments later, having lit the pipe and taken in another dose of opium before he can even process what he is doing. At first he hates himself for it, because this is what Arthur wants. He has no money, no freedom, no child, no privacy, no recourse.
But he forgets soon enough. Because after a while he can’t get Xiao Chun’s screams out of his head.
Not until he fills the bowl again.
From <http://wansui.tumblr.com/tagged/%E2%9C%98-%7C%7C-Prose>
Wednesday August 12, 2013.
BREVILOQUENTBAUHINIA-BLOG SAID: VBGFDJRH YELLS, MAKES DUBSGTEP NOISES, /FIRST OF ALL HOW DARE YOU/ OH MY G OD
