Throughout the entirety of the meeting in the evening, Lin Zexu and Deng Tingzhen struggled to align Arthur's relentless logic with the diplomatic habits they had spent a lifetime cultivating.
The British prince consort spoke with the composure of a seasoned statesman, yet his demands carried the weight of a military ultimatum. To the two Qing officials, he appeared at once an impeccably mannered European noble and a strategist wielding imperial power with the precision of a scalpel.
Arthur regarded them without a trace of impatience, though his very silence was a sharper warning than any shouted threat.
With a measured gesture he opened a gold pocket watch—one of those finely worked Continental models—and checked the time. He looked not like a man contemplating the fate of a city, but one verifying the punctual start of a ministerial session.
"I do not possess infinite patience," he said, his voice calm in a way that admitted no negotiation.
"The fleet of Her Majesty was not dispatched to idle off the waters of Guangzhou. I shall grant you three days."
He cast a polite, almost perfunctory glance toward Lin Zexu and Deng Tingzhen, as if listing trade conditions in a London drawing room rather than setting the terms of peace and war.
"Within those three days, I expect a satisfactory compensation plan. It must cover the losses suffered by our merchants, the value of the confiscated goods, and the expenses of the expedition. Let us round the sum to three million taels of silver."
Deng Tingzhen paled, as if caught unprepared during a parliamentary inquiry.
Arthur continued, impeccably:
"I also require a guarantee for the future of British commerce. In this city, conditions of free and stable trade must be ensured, not subject to the whims of local authority. As for the precise meaning of 'free' and 'equitable,' we shall define those terms."
He paused briefly, granting his counterparts a moment of futile hope.
"Should I not receive a suitable response at the end of the three days, I shall consider it a deliberate choice on your part to engage in total conflict with the British Empire."
Then, with a faint, icy courtesy:
"And in that case, my fleet will be more than pleased to undertake a complete urban redesign of your city."
With that, His Royal Highness turned and departed, flanked by guards.
The clock had begun.
The City Under a Glass Bell of Anxiety
For three days Guangzhou lived as if suspended between two eras: one no longer capable of containing European power, and another not yet defined.
Lin Zexu and Deng Tingzhen sent an urgent dispatch to the imperial court, describing in technical detail the destructive capacity of British artillery.
At the same time, they strengthened defenses, summoned militia, erected makeshift barriers—gestures more desperate than strategic.
But when the three days expired, no plan arrived from Beijing. No funds, no instructions, no promises.
The Fleet That Vanished
On the fourth morning, a milky fog settled over the river.
From the city walls, the sentries peered through their telescopes—and what they saw bewildered them more than any attack.
The great British ships had disappeared.
Only a handful of light frigates remained, motionless as guardians of some concealed truth.
Lin Zexu and Deng Tingzhen were equally disoriented. The ultimatum had expired. The city had offered nothing.
Why had His Royal Highness withdrawn the fleet?
The answer was not in Guangzhou.
Aboard HMS Queen of Vengeance
On the command deck, General Yili held an updated nautical chart in his hands, his brow furrowed with confusion and caution.
"Your Royal Highness," he said respectfully to Arthur, "had we pressed a little longer, Guangzhou would surely have capitulated. Why abandon such an immediate victory and sail north instead?"
Arthur's gaze settled on him with the composed superiority of a man raised in the corridors of power.
"General," he replied, "what do you believe is the true aim of this expedition?"
Yili hesitated.
"To compel the Qing dynasty to pay reparations… open the ports… restore British trade…"
Arthur shook his head with the patient air of a tutor correcting a diligent but naïve student.
"No. Those are merely consequences. Not objectives."
He approached a large world map fixed to the bulkhead and tapped the location of Beijing with a polished pointer.
"Our objective is to reach the political heart of the Qing Empire. To demonstrate to Emperor Daoguang that his authority extends only as far as his armies can protect. One does not negotiate with local governors when absolute power rests in the hands of a single ruler."
He returned to the table.
"Seizing Guangzhou would be a peripheral manoeuvre. The capital would replace it, and the dispute would begin anew. That is not how one establishes political precedents."
Then, with the unmistakable confidence of British aristocracy:
"We must strike where their system is weakest: not the periphery, but the core. The Bohai Bay, the Dagu Forts, and then the corridor leading directly to the imperial capital."
Understanding dawned upon Yili like a revelation.
"A political decapitation manoeuvre…"
A faint smile curved Arthur's lips.
"I prefer to call it a lightning naval campaign."
He issued the order with the voice of a man who already foresaw its success.
"Set course for the north. Bohai Bay. Prepare for the Dagu Forts."
Then, more softly, as though speaking to a fellow statesman:
"I am rather curious to see the Emperor's expression when he realises his capital is no longer untouchable."
The HMS Queen of Vengeance turned toward the open sea, the fleet following in disciplined formation.
Guangzhou had not been spared out of mercy, but because it was strategically irrelevant.
The next target was the seat of power itself.