Events

The day was not auspicious. Or perhaps it was, depending on who you ask. It was cloudy, with lightning gathering and threatening to ruin the event. To the Emperor and his loyalists, this was not a good sign. To those who wanted revenge, it could not be more clear.

Lin Zexu was brought to an inner patio of the Forbidden City. He kneeled, aware of his doing and how arrogant he had been, to think the Qing was prepared for a war of this magnitude. He could still contribute to the silent war against the barbarians, but the Council had been unanimous: he had to die to set an example. But his efforts were to be remembered, and as such he would be executed in private, under the eyes of the Dragon. It constituted an impure rite, and that was both the privilege and punishment granted to Lin Zexu on the day of his death. To die with honour, and to die honourless. To die having done a great service, yet a great disservice. 

He died in silence, for the last of his desires would be to bother the Emperor. A swift execution. His paradox would outlive him, his story inscribed into the memory of Zhongguo. 

The Emperor published a few poems in his honour. One of them was of Lin Zexu himself, and as such was recognised in the small book. An exception if there ever was one. The message was obvious: the opposition to the barbarians had not stopped, but the Empire could not be so aggressive. 

“Swallowing a hundred rivers,

As it is virtuous vast is the sea;

Towering thousands of feet high,

As it is desire-less the cliff's mighty.”