Beiyang Dream

Chapter 1 The Preparatory Class for the Beiyang President

April 17th, 1886 (the 15th year of the Guangxu Emperor's reign), morning.

There were still five years and three months until the battle of 1894.

In Tianjin, in a cell crammed with seven or eight students at the Beiyang Military Academy, Chang Yuan was violently shaken awake. The person had a tremendous grip, shaking him so hard his brain felt like it was turning into tofu. He groggily opened his eyes and first saw a large face—round, honest, with a mouth so wide it could fit a steamed bun.

"Zhenbang! Wake up! What time is it? You're still sleeping! You have a big exam today!"

That voice was so loud it made your eardrums buzz.

Chang Yuan's mind was still replaying the last scene before his death in his previous life: the dense grid lines of the CAD drawing, the half-cold cup of coffee, a sudden tightness in his chest, and everything going black before his eyes. He subconsciously muttered, "Exam after exam... is the client rushing for the drawings again?"

As soon as he said it, he froze on the spot.

This accent is the authentic, well-known Tianjin dialect.

The large face moved even closer, its hot breath hitting his face: "Are you having hysteria? The big exam! The questions were personally set by Minister Li! Lord Yin has said that if you do well, he'll treat you to a meal at a restaurant! If you don't do well..." The large face scrunched up like a bitter gourd, "then he'll treat us to a beating with a stick, thirty strokes of the cane, not one less."

Chang Desheng rubbed his eyes and saw clearly this time.

The man in front of me was tall and broad-shouldered, like half an iron tower. He wore a gray-blue coarse cloth uniform, which looked like the uniform of a Qing Dynasty soldier, except that there was no "soldier" or "brave" character on his chest.

Who is this person?

Thinking of this, four words automatically popped into Chang Yuan's mind: Cao the Third Fool.

What's this name?

Just as Chang Yuan thought of this, another basketful of memories squeezed into his brain, which was as smooth as tofu pudding, including the name of this Cao San Shazi—Cao Kun, courtesy name Zhongshan!

What? His name is Cao Kun... the same name as the President of Beiyang, the one who bribed his way into the presidential palace?

No, he seems to be Cao Kun, but he's not the president yet. He's a "repeater" at the Beiyang Military Academy—he should have graduated last year, but he studied for another year because he was too bad at his studies.

Chang Yuan's eyes widened as he looked Cao Kun up and down, cursing inwardly: "Damn it, where the hell did you get me here? Did I... time travel? Is this for real?" He secretly pinched his thigh—ouch, that hurt!

Cao Kun was taken aback when he saw him pinching himself: "What are you doing? Pinching yourself for no reason?"

Chang Yuan swallowed hard, his voice slightly unsteady: "No...nothing, you just said...what's the test today?"

Well, it seems I can't change this Tianjin accent anytime soon!

"A major exam! The essay questions personally assigned by Minister Li!" Cao Kun stamped his foot anxiously. "Your father spent money to get you in, all for this one moment! If you pass, you'll go to Germany to get a prestigious degree, and come back to fill a vacancy! If you fail..." He lowered his voice, "Lord Yin has already spread the word that anyone with a really bad score will be kicked out and sent to the army as a common soldier!"

Beiyang Military Academy, studying in Germany, getting a prestigious education, becoming an official...

These words, like tiny hammer blows, pounded into his still-dazed head. Fragments of his original memories rushed back: it seemed to be the fifteenth year of the Guangxu Emperor's reign, or 1889 in the Gregorian calendar… His name was Chang Desheng, courtesy name Zhenbang. The spendthrift son of the Chang family, a clerk in Tianjin, he loved to gamble and fight. His father, at his wits' end, pulled some strings and got him into the military academy. As for his grades there… they were consistently near the bottom! Last month, he barely managed a six on the exam—six points in mathematics, drawing, and policy essays (out of five, a total of fifteen).

Chang Yuan cursed under his breath.

Fine, wear it if you want, but don't even pick a good one. He's dressed up as a terrible student; with grades like that, how will he ever... send the Qing Dynasty off? I wonder what he looks like? Looking at those old photos, it seems like the warlords of the Northern Warlords all had rather unattractive appearances.

He quickly grabbed Cao Kun's arm: "A mirror! Do you have a mirror?"

Cao Kun frantically pulled a palm-sized bronze mirror, its edges dented, from under the covers and handed it to him: "What's wrong with you? You've forgotten what you look like after a good night's sleep?"

Chang Yuan had no interest in paying attention to him. He simply took the bronze mirror, took a deep breath, and held it up to his face.

The mirror was somewhat blurry, tinged with green rust, vaguely reflecting a face. Upon closer inspection, it was actually quite presentable! Early twenties, high nose bridge, deep-set eyes, and a sharply defined jawline. His skin was a bronze tan from years of sun exposure. He had thick eyebrows and large eyes.

This is not the pale-faced civil engineer from my past life who stayed up all night drawing.

Instead, he was a tough young man from the 19th century.

He tilted his head to the side, and the corner of the bronze mirror reflected the thick, long braid behind his head. The end of the braid almost reached his waist, hanging heavily.

Chang Yuan felt a wave of disgust. In his past life, he hated period dramas with queues (braids) the most, wishing he could jump into the screen and cut them all off. Now, well, it's his turn to have queues on the back of his head too.

He reached out and tugged at his braid. It was thick and stiff, feeling like a rope in his hand, and his scalp ached from the pulling.

"What kind of inhuman design is this…" he muttered, his mind automatically starting to calculate: This braid weighs at least a pound and a half. Wearing it like that every day will definitely strain my cervical spine; it'll surely cause hyperplasia eventually. And this braiding method—the friction is too great, making it difficult to clean and prone to accumulating dirt and bacteria. It's neither hygienic nor neat. Just for his own cervical spine, he'd better abandon it long ago.

"What, inhumane?" Cao Kun didn't understand what he meant. He snatched the mirror, grabbed a prison uniform from the bedside table, and shoved it over the man's head. "Stop looking at yourself! You won't see anything! Get dressed! It's time!"

Chang Yuan was hastily dressed in a coarse, gray-blue uniform with large patches under his armpits. His mind was still processing information: Chang Desheng, from the Chang family of Tianjin, son of a clerk, a poor student at the military academy. Cao Kun, the future president. 1889... five years until the First Sino-Japanese War.

He suddenly stared at Cao Kun's honest, round face, and a slightly surprised thought popped into his mind: Damn it... I've become a candidate for the Beiyang warlord?

Fine, Changdesheng it is, at least it still bears the surname Chang.

I'll try my best to make a good living in this life. If nothing else, I should at least try to get rid of this Tartar court as soon as possible. If I have the chance, I'll become the president!

"Let's go! It's too late!" Cao Kun grabbed his arm and dragged him outside.

Short, abrupt German commands drifted in from outside the window, like a hammer striking a stone slab. Chang Desheng, dragged out of his cell by Cao Kun, had his last thought: How are they going to test math and drawing skills?

It's not that I'm afraid of doing poorly on the test, it's that I'm afraid of doing too well and attracting attention.

As for policy essays... I don't think I'm very good at writing them!

......

The military academy's drill ground was already packed with people, all dressed in identical grey-blue uniforms, with queues hanging down their backs. From a distance, they looked like a line of zombies. Chang Desheng glanced at them and estimated in his mind: there must be two or three hundred of them. He wondered what rank one had to get to go to Germany for further training? And what kind of official position could one get after that? Could they take advantage of the chaos during the First Sino-Japanese War to make a fortune?

What's that old English saying again? Chaos is a ladder!

His mind started calculating again: Given the current situation, there are at most ten spots for studying in Germany, maybe only five. What rank would I, a mediocre student, get? My essay writing will definitely be terrible, and my math and drawing skills can't be too bad, but they can't be too good either. I need to play it safe and just barely get two perfect scores. And I absolutely mustn't go beyond the syllabus...

"Zhenbang." Cao Kun nudged him with his elbow and gestured towards the front of the line with his chin.

Chang Desheng looked and saw a skinny man standing at the very front, looking like a bamboo pole. He had a long face, high cheekbones, and droopy triangular eyes, but his mustache was neatly trimmed. His uniform was buttoned all the way up, and he stood ramrod straight, chin slightly raised, not looking at anyone.

"Duan Qirui," Cao Kun said in a very low voice, "is smart, always ranking first or second in exams, but he's too arrogant. Look at him, he owes money to everyone."

Chang Desheng's heart skipped a beat; this was the Tiger of Beiyang!

Looking to the side, a slightly chubby man with a round face was squinting and laughing with someone, looking exactly like a Qing Dynasty version of Feng Gong. This must be Feng Guozhang—the future second-in-command of the Zhili clique in Beiyang! Yes, the second-in-command, Chang Desheng has already decided that he wants to be the leader of the Zhili clique!

At this moment, Duan Qirui's gaze swept over, lingering on Cao Kun. He curled his lip slightly, turned his head to the person next to him, and said, "I didn't expect that idiot Cao San hadn't been kicked out yet..."

Cao Kun's face flushed red instantly, his fists clenched, and he looked ready to punch someone. Chang Desheng patted him on the shoulder: "Don't pay any attention to him today, there will be plenty of opportunities in the future!"

That's the absolute truth. Once our direct line finds Wu Xiucai, are we still afraid of not being able to defeat Duan Qirui's Anhui clique?

Upon hearing this, Feng Guozhang turned around, smiled, and clasped his hands in a fist salute to Cao Kun: "Zhongshan, don't worry, study hard, you'll definitely pass."

Hearing encouragement from his "second brother in the direct line," Cao Kun's expression softened slightly, and he returned the greeting with a cupped hand.

Chang Desheng then caught sight of a man in the corner, of medium height, with calm eyes and eyebrows, looking down at the tips of his shoes, as steady as if nailed to the ground.

"That's Wang Shizhen, who also graduated last year and is here today to take the entrance exam for studying in Germany," Cao Kun whispered. "He's not very talkative, but his skills are quite solid."

This is the dragon of Beiyang, Chang Desheng noted.

The buzzing voices on the playground suddenly subsided, and then fell completely silent.

It turned out that the chief examiner, Yin Chang, had come up on stage.

This was a Manchu, I think he was from the Guarjia clan or something else, I can't remember. He looked to be in his thirties, a little chubby, with a neatly trimmed mustache. He was wearing the official robes of a fourth-rank civil official, with a brocade embroidered on his chest.

He stood on the stage with his hands behind his back, his gaze slowly sweeping over everyone in the audience. There was no expectation in his eyes, only disappointment. It seemed that these warlords of the Northern Warlords were not very well-educated!

"quiet."

His voice was low and slow, and his tone was unpleasant.

"Today's major examination combines mathematics, drawing, and policy essays into one exam," Yin Chang said. "The policy essay topic was personally drafted by Li Zhongtang."

There was a "buzzing" sound from below, like a small swarm of bees exploding.

Yin Chang ignored him and continued, "If you do well on the exam, you'll study abroad in Germany, return home, be given a real post, promoted, and your wife and children will be granted official positions." He paused, his voice turning colder, "If you fail, if you rank last—pack your bags and go home. From now on, don't mention you graduated from the Beiyang Military Academy. The Military Academy can't afford that disgrace!"

Chang Desheng noticed that several people in the front row instinctively shrank their necks. Yin Chang's gaze swept over him and lingered on his face for a moment.

Chang Desheng recognized that look all too well. It was the same look those difficult clients gave him when they looked at his first draft proposal in his past life: You're definitely not good enough, get out of here and don't waste my time.

He sneered inwardly: "Promote my wife and children? Do I need your Tartar court to bestow titles upon me? Once I've made it big, I'll do it myself!"

"Zhenbang." Cao Kun nudged him again, his voice a little weak, "I... I'm bad at math, those foreign codes make my eyes dizzy."

"Don't panic," Chang Desheng glanced at him sideways, "You have good eyesight, just take a look at my test paper later."

"But you only got two points on your math test last month!"

"That was me hiding my true strength, you understand?" Chang Desheng, still worried that Cao Kun might not be at ease, added, "This time you can copy with confidence, I guarantee you'll pass!"

At this point, the procession began to move towards the large tile-roofed house in the west wing, which would serve as the examination venue.

Chang Desheng started thinking to himself again: Studying in Germany to gain experience—this project must be won!

After the gilding process, it's time to plan for the Year of Jiawu (1894). The Year of Jiawu…that's a lucrative year for accumulating merit and building a strong team. If handled well, perhaps one could even seize the lion's share and replace…the President of the Republic of China!

The examination hall was located in a row of tall, tiled houses behind the school buildings. The windows were set high, and the midday sun slanted in from above, casting a warm glow on everyone. The desks and chairs were arranged neatly, with writing brushes, ink, paper, an inkstone, a pencil, a wooden set square, and a compass on each table.

That pencil was a Western import, quite rare back then. Chang Desheng picked it up and examined it. It was hexagonal, painted black, and sharpened at one end, revealing the lead. Having been used to mechanical pencils in his previous life, holding this old-fashioned pencil felt a bit like stepping back in time.

In each of the four corners of the room stood a soldier with a queue (a type of braided hair) holding a gun. They wore uniforms, carried waist knives, stood ramrod straight, and didn't even blink. Chang Desheng glanced at them a few more times—the guns were old-fashioned muzzle-loading flintlock muskets, with long, gleaming barrels; they were probably just for show, meant to intimidate. If they actually used guns to kill people in the examination hall, that would be quite a spectacle.

He and Cao Kun sat next to each other. When he sat down, Cao Kun turned around, winked at him, and made a "copy" gesture under the table.

Chang Desheng nodded almost imperceptibly.

The exam papers were handed out quickly. A thick stack of mulberry paper, with math and drawing problems at the front, and the strategy questions on a separate sheet at the back.

He started with arithmetic. The first problem was: "There is a field of one mu, the sum of its length and width is forty steps. What are its length and width?" Chang Desheng thought to himself, "Isn't this just a basic quadratic equation... I can just solve the system of equations and be done with it."

Is this what the Beiyang Military Academy tests? No wonder they couldn't defeat us in the First Sino-Japanese War.

Second question: Given a 5-12 triangle, find the hypotenuse. Pythagorean theorem...easy!

Question 3: A cannonball has an initial velocity of 300 feet and an elevation angle of 30 degrees. What is the farthest distance it can reach? It's a parabola; just apply the formula to calculate it.

The questions weren't difficult at all, but Chang Desheng still kept a watchful eye. Instead of smoothly working through them, he proceeded methodically, writing a few strokes, pausing, scratching his head, and even calculating with his fingers, putting on an air of "This is so hard, I'm not very good at it." He was slightly faster than most people around him, but not in a conspicuous way.

In the front row, Duan Qirui was frowning as he worked on calculations, his pen scratching loudly on the draft paper. Feng Guozhang was biting his pencil, staring intently at the problem as if trying to bore a hole through the paper. Behind him, Cao Kun was scratching his head, his face flushed red. Diagonally opposite was a fat man, sweat dripping down his chubby face, almost onto his exam paper.

The drawing question was a cross-sectional view of a gun emplacement. In his previous life, Chang Desheng had spent eight years drawing in a design institute, meticulously sketching with pencil, ensuring perfect straight lines and proportions. The gun emplacement was a bastion-style structure, complete with ramps, breastworks, gun emplacements, ammunition depots, and ventilation shafts. Dimensions were clearly marked; everything that should be there was there. Nothing that shouldn't be there was missing… The answer couldn't exceed the scope!

The German instructor, Hannagan, was patrolling the exam hall with his hands behind his back. He paused behind Chang Desheng. The German was tall, with short, light blond hair, blue eyes, and a short mustache like a Prussian officer. His German uniform was buttoned all the way up to his chin. He glanced down at the cross-sectional diagram of the fortress that Chang Desheng had spread out on the table, a look of surprise on his face—this guy only got two points last time, and now he's going to get full marks? It seems the Chinese aren't that much dumber than Europeans; as long as they're willing to study hard, they can improve very quickly…

Cao Kun, with a sidelong glance, finally managed to copy the answers to a few math problems. As soon as Hannagan walked away, Chang Desheng moved the test paper closer to the table so that he could copy the cannon diagram he had drawn. The two worked together seamlessly.

After finishing the math and drawing questions, I turned to the last separate paper for the policy essay questions.

The paper was of the finest quality, Xuan paper, soft yet resilient, and the title was copied in the meticulous, official script. Upon seeing the two large characters "策问" (Ce Wen, policy inquiry) at the top, Chang Desheng subconsciously sat up straighter.

Policy Question:

Beiyang served as the gateway to Beijing, with the ports of Lushun, Weihai, and Dagu forming a strategic defensive position. Since the establishment of coastal defenses in the first year of the Guangxu Emperor's reign, the purchase of ships and cannons, the construction of platforms and docks, and the expenditure of funds amounted to tens of millions of taels of silver. However, Western countries' ships and weapons became increasingly sophisticated, and naval warfare tactics changed annually. Japan, a small and insignificant nation, has recently been keen to emulate Western warships and train its navy, demonstrating its considerable ambitions.

Now, I ask you students: In defending the three ports of Beiyang, which should be the priority? Is the key to coastal defense to guard the ports or to patrol the seas? How can the land forces and the navy complement each other?

Students have been studying military affairs and discussing current affairs for years. Each of you should express your views in detail in a written document, avoiding empty talk and fabricated arguments. This minister will personally review it.

The inscription below is signed: Li, Imperial Commissioner for Trade of the Northern Ports, Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince, Grand Secretary of the Wenhua Hall, Governor-General of Zhili, and First-Class Earl of Suyi.

The policy questions had to be written with a brush. Chang Desheng ground the ink while looking at the questions, and finally settled on the long list of titles.

Li Hongzhang, Li Hongzhang, you knew everything all along? Then why didn't you strike first? You're such a coward!