The Battle of Humen had not been a battle at all.
It had been a demolition operation, executed with the alarming precision.
When the Union Jack was finally planted atop the shattered remains of the Weiyuan Fort, the gateway to the Pearl River estuary lay wide open.
The news reached Guangzhou and unspooled the city's nerves at once.
Merchants scrambled to pack their valuables, eager to flee inland before the "Red-Haired Devils" arrived.
Common citizens bolted their doors and windows, trembling at rumors that the foreigners slaughtered without hesitation and burned without remorse.
Inside the Governor-General's residence, however, panic had matured into chaos.
Lin Zexu stood stiff before a map of the coastal defenses, fists clenched.
His "golden lock and bronze gate" had fallen in hours.
He could not understand how.
Governor Deng Tingzhen, meanwhile, paced the great hall with the panic of a cornered animal.
"It is over! It is finished!" he muttered. "Sorcery—this must be the sorcery of the Red-Haired Devils!"
The assembled officials shouted over one another.
"Lord Lin! Send envoys at once—sue for peace! If Humen collapsed so easily, what hope has Guangzhou?"
"But Commissioner Lin destroyed millions of catties of their opium—how can they forgive such an insult?!"
At that moment a guard stumbled in, breathless.
"Report! Governor! Commissioner! The— the leader of the Red-Haired Forces has sent a letter!"
A hush fell.
The guard offered the document with trembling hands.
The letter was not written in Chinese.
Not even an attempt.
It was composed in formal English, sealed with the arms of the Royal Consort.
Attached was a brief Portuguese summary, sparse to the point of insult—just enough meaning to be unavoidable, yet dripping with the political posture of a power too confident to accommodate anyone.
This was not diplomacy.
It was a reordering of hierarchy.
Lin Zexu's eyes narrowed as Deng Tingzhen read aloud the translated passage:
"By order of His Royal Highness Arthur Lionheart, Consort to Her Majesty Victoria, representatives of the Qing administration are to present themselves outside the South Gate of Guangzhou at first light.
The Royal Fleet will maintain its position until satisfactory arrangements regarding post-hostilities administration are concluded."
No greetings.
No honorifics.
Not even the courtesy of acknowledging the Qing court's existence as a sovereign equal.
Politically, the message was devastating.
For centuries, the Qing Empire dictated the terms of foreign engagement.
But this letter ignored the empire entirely, treating Guangzhou as a local district under temporary supervision.
It was a command disguised as scheduling.
Governor Deng's legs nearly gave out.
Lin Zexu read the translation twice, fury tightening his jaw.
This letter was not merely offensive—it was a flag planted on the concept of Qing sovereignty.
The Next Morning — South Gate of Guangzhou
In an atmosphere thick with humiliation and dread, the civil and military officials of Guangzhou, led by Lin Zexu and Governor Deng, personally opened the southern gate to receive the man who had shattered their coastal defenses.
Her Majesty's flagship, The Queen's Vengeance, could not enter the shallows of the Pearl River, but Arthur Lionheart could.
He disembarked from a small boat bearing the Consort's banner, escorted by a phalanx of Royal Marines and the polished discipline of industrial Europe.
Arthur Lionheart stepped onto the stone quay wearing a deep navy ceremonial coat—the attire of a man who wielded power.
As he advanced beneath the arch of the South Gate, even the wind seemed hesitant to disturb the stillness.
The Qing officials lowered their heads.
Not a single one dared inhale too loudly.
They glanced at him covertly: impossibly young, sharply handsome, and carrying the effortless authority of someone entirely accustomed to shaping the fate of nations.
Arthur ignored their trembling forms.
His gaze moved directly to Lin Zexu, whose expression held defiance, outrage… and the first hints of despair.
That was the man Arthur had come to speak with.
He ascended the city walls with deliberate calm.
Behind him, marines secured the position with mechanical precision.
An aide stepped forward, prepared to translate—English to Portuguese, Portuguese to coarse Cantonese.
But Arthur lifted a hand.
He did not intend to speak their language.
He had no need to.
He stood before them, the empire behind him, and began in cold, clipped English:
"Gentlemen. You may consider yourselves addressed."
The translator repeated the words in halting Cantonese.
The effect was chilling.
Deng Tingzhen stared, wide-eyed.
Lin Zexu felt the political insult cut deeper than any blade: the foreign leader would not even grant them the dignity of direct speech.
Then the aide announced loudly:
"The man before you is no mere general of the British Empire!
He is His Royal Highness Arthur Lionheart, Consort to Her Majesty Queen Victoria, Monarch of the British Empire!"
A shock rippled through the assembled Qing officials.
A queen?
A woman ruling a nation?
Her husband leading armies?
It inverted every principle of their political cosmos.
Arthur let the silence linger, savoring their disorientation.
Then he approached Lin Zexu with a courteous, lethal smile.
"Lord Lin," he said through the translator, "your destruction of the opium trade has been… useful. It has provided me the opportunity to discipline certain factions within my own empire."
Lin Zexu's breath caught.
"Useful?" he growled. "You destroy my defenses, kill my men, threaten my city—and you speak of usefulness?!"
Arthur's expression remained gentle, almost sympathetic.
"Commerce is commerce, Lord Lin. Losses must be compensated.
War is war. Costs must be recovered."
He stepped closer.
"I have crossed half the world with thousands of men and the full industrial weight of Britain," he said softly, almost kindly.
"Do you truly believe such an undertaking comes without… expectation of recompense?"
Lin Zexu felt his knees tremble.
This was not the barbarian he had imagined.
This was a statesman of an empire that dealt in calculation, not emotion.
For the first time, Lin Zexu felt something deeper than anger.
He felt the futility of standing against a world whose rules had already changed.
Arthur clasped his hands behind his back.
"Now then, Lord Lin. Governor Deng."
He smiled—polite, immaculate, merciless.
"Shall we negotiate your compliance?"