After court that day, Emperor Yongzheng stood in front of the huge map in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, deep in thought, his finger slowly moving along the coastline, his gaze profound.
There's still no news today.
"Father Emperor!" A clear child's voice came from outside the hall, interrupting Yongzheng's thoughts.
He turned around and saw that it was nine-year-old Hongyao.
The little guy is very handsome, resembling Lin Yun. He has beautiful features, bright eyes, and although he is not very tall, he has a straight posture and already has a youthful spirit.
He was dressed in an apricot-yellow prince's casual robe, with a brocade belt embroidered with a golden dragon tied around his waist, which made him look even more lively.
Hongyao studied the Four Books and Five Classics in his daily life, and he also excelled in horsemanship and archery. Under Lin Yun's influence, he learned a lot of Western knowledge.
Occasionally, Emperor Yongzheng would send him to the Qianqing Palace to listen to government affairs. Although the little guy was still young, he was already able to offer some unique insights.
Emperor Yongzheng granted his every request.
At this moment, he was not shy at all. He ran to Yongzheng's side with a grin, grabbed his arm, and shook it from side to side: "Father, I want to go out of the palace to play!"
Emperor Yongzheng was amused by his rascal-like appearance and reached out to rub his head: "You child, all you think about is playing all day long."
Although it was a reprimand, the tone was full of affection.
Hongyao blinked, his face full of anticipation: "Father, I heard that a new Western shop has opened in the capital. It has many strange and wonderful things. I want to go and have a look!"
Just as Yongzheng was about to nod in agreement, he suddenly heard hurried footsteps outside the palace.
Su Peisheng rushed inside, holding a secret memorial: "Your Majesty, an urgent dispatch from Fujian!"
Emperor Yongzheng's expression hardened, and he immediately took the memorial and began to examine it closely.
After a moment, the solemnity between his brows gradually faded, and a smile appeared on his face: "Good! Yinzhi has lived up to my expectations, and the first battle has been won!"
Hongyao leaned closer curiously: "Father, did Eighth Uncle win the battle?"
Yongzheng nodded and handed him the memorial: "The British Royal Fleet dared to intercept our Qing fleet, but was repelled by our army and fled with heavy losses."
Hongyao's eyes lit up, and he clapped his hands, saying, "Uncle Ba is amazing!"
However, Yongzheng's smile quickly faded.
The memorial mentioned that a Qing warship was damaged in the fighting and ran aground in Luzon, requiring the court to send someone to tow it back for repairs.
He pondered, "The sea is unpredictable; what if the fleet encounters a powerful enemy again..."
Seeing his father's worry, Hongyao tilted his head and thought for a moment, then suddenly said, "Father, Mother said that as long as we can fly, we won't be afraid of the fleet at sea!"
"It can fly?" Yongzheng was taken aback, then his heart trembled.
He suddenly looked at Hongyao: "Did your mother really say that?"
Hongyao nodded seriously: "Mother also said that it is very difficult to make, and she doesn't know how to make it either."
A sharp glint flashed in Yongzheng's eyes, as if he had grasped something crucial.
He immediately turned to Su Peisheng and ordered, "Go to the Ministry of Works and convey my decree: immediately dispatch craftsmen by fast ship to Luzon to tow back that stranded warship and repair it in Fujian!"
After Su Peisheng left, Yongzheng looked at Hongyao again, his tone tinged with urgency: "Did your mother ever mention what that flying machine looks like?"
Hongyao scratched his head, trying hard to remember: "Mother said that the machine looked like a big bird with wings and could carry people into the sky."
Emperor Yongzheng seemed lost in thought, muttering to himself, "To carry people into the heavens, soaring through the nine heavens, overlooking the earth. If such a weapon truly existed, wouldn't it be able to hit any target precisely..."
He immediately wrote a secret edict and ordered it to be sent to the Ministry of Works, requesting the craftsmen to discuss the feasibility of developing flying machines.
Then he looked at Hongyao, his eyes full of satisfaction: "You child, you have reminded me."
Hongyao proudly raised his little face: "Then, Father Emperor, can I go out of the palace to play?"
Yongzheng laughed heartily and patted him on the shoulder: "Granted! But bring plenty of guards and don't cause any trouble."
Hongyao cheered and skipped out of the hall.
As Yongzheng watched his retreating figure, the smile on his face gradually turned into deep thought.
He turned to look at the map again, his finger lightly tapping the South China Sea, and whispered, "Flying warships...do such a deadly weapon really exist?"
——————
In the Admiralty meeting room in Whitehall, London, the heavy oak doors were tightly shut, and the candlelight flickered on the gilded candlesticks, illuminating somber faces.
Lord Charles Greville, First Lord of the Navy, sat at the head of the long table, his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the surface as his gaze swept over each of the officers present.
A sense of suppressed anger and frustration filled the air.
"Gentlemen," Greville began slowly, his voice cold, "you have all likely seen the battle reports from the Far East."
The Royal Navy suffered two consecutive defeats at the hands of the Qing Dynasty fleet in the Far East—a humiliation unprecedented for the British Imperial Navy since the Battle of Trafalgar!
A battle report on the table was slammed open. The still-wet ink on the paper detailed the losses of the two naval battles: six battleships were heavily damaged and returned to port, three escort ships sank, and more than four hundred sailors were killed in action, while the Qing army's losses amounted to only one escort ship with minor damage.
Even more shockingly, the Qing army's artillery had a range far exceeding that of the British ships, and the shells were incredibly accurate.
"Who can explain this?" Greville's gaze pierced like a dagger as he looked at Colonel James, commander of the Far East Fleet.
"James, you personally commanded the second battle. Why did our warships, which had the advantage in firepower, experience, and tactics, lose to those 'yellow-skinned monkeys'?"
Colonel James's face was ashen, veins bulging on his forehead. He abruptly stood up, slamming his fist on the table: "Sir, this is not our fault! The Qing army's artillery technology should never have appeared in that backward country! Their shells had a range at least 20% greater than ours, and their trajectories were as stable as if guided by the devil!"
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