While Cixi's spies were busy chasing the ghost of Weng Tonghe through the dusty corridors of the Imperial Archives, the gears of the empire's future were grinding into motion elsewhere. The newly formed Office of the Beiyang Fleet held its first major meeting, a gathering that would set the course for China's naval power for decades to come. The atmosphere in the chamber was a delicate balance of newfound purpose and old, simmering rivalries.
Prince Gong and Viceroy Li Hongzhang, representing the reformist, modernist faction, sat on one side of the long table. Across from them sat the contingent of high-ranking Manchu nobles appointed by Cixi, led by the pompous and deeply skeptical Grand Councillor Ronglu. Their presence was a constant, deadening weight, a guarantee that every decision would be a battle.
And at the head of the table, in the position of Deputy Commissioner, sat Li Fengbao. He was a quiet, unassuming man, his simple scholar's robes a stark contrast to the lavish silks of the Manchu nobles. He was out of his depth politically, but in his element technologically. Before him were laid out the preliminary proposals and technical specifications from two of Europe's premier naval powers: Great Britain and Germany.
The task before them was to decide which foreign shipyard would receive the first, immense, and deeply lucrative contract to build the two flagship vessels for the new fleet—a pair of modern, armor-plated ironclad cruisers.
Cixi's faction, as expected, immediately championed the British proposal from the Armstrong shipyards. Their reasoning had nothing to do with naval strategy.
"Great Britain is the master of the seas," Ronglu argued, his tone filled with self-importance. "Their Royal Navy is the envy of the world. To build our fleet with their ships is to align ourselves with prestige and proven power. It is a matter of face. Furthermore, a strong relationship with the British is essential for trade and diplomacy."
Prince Gong knew the truth. The British proposal was not only more expensive, but the British diplomats were demanding more political strings be attached, including preferential access to northern ports for their merchants. His faction argued for a more pragmatic approach, but they lacked the technical expertise to make a compelling counter-argument.
This was Li Fengbao's moment. This was why Ying Zheng had maneuvered him into this position. He rose, bowing respectfully to the committee, and began to speak. His voice was not loud or commanding, but it was clear, concise, and filled with an unshakeable confidence that came from absolute mastery of his subject.
He did not speak of prestige or politics. He spoke of steel.
"Esteemed Councillors," he began, gesturing to the detailed diagrams he had prepared. "The British proposal is for a fine vessel, it is true. The Armstrong design emphasizes speed and long-range cruising capability, suitable for a global power projecting its influence across vast oceans."
He then turned to the other proposal. "The German design, from the Vulcan shipyards in Stettin, is a different kind of beast entirely."
With meticulous, unassailable detail, Li Fengbao presented his analysis. He explained the concept of a 'citadel' armor scheme, which the German design used to concentrate thick steel plating around the ship's vital areas—its engines, its magazines, its main guns—leaving other areas more lightly protected. It was a design philosophy that sacrificed global cruising range for survivability in a decisive, close-range fleet engagement.
"The British ship is a wolfhound, designed to run long distances," he explained, using a simple analogy. "The German ship is a tiger, designed to kill in its own territory."
He then moved on to the armament. "The Armstrong guns are excellent, with a high rate of fire. But the German Krupp cannons are of a larger caliber. Their shells are heavier. They fire more slowly, but a single hit from a Krupp shell is more devastating. In the coastal waters of the Yellow Sea, where a decisive battle to defend our capital would be fought, the heavier blow is superior to the faster one."
Finally, he addressed the cost. "For the price of two British cruisers, the Germans are offering us not only two of their Dingyuan-class ironclads, but also two smaller, faster torpedo boats to act as escorts. Their price is simply more competitive."
He concluded his presentation with a quiet, firm statement. "If our goal is to build a fleet to patrol the world's oceans, we should choose the British. But if our goal is to build a fleet to defend the shores of the Great Qing from any potential invader—especially one who might strike from the east—then the German design is, by every technical metric, the superior weapon."
His argument was a masterpiece of pure, irrefutable logic. He had completely dismantled the vague, prestige-based arguments of Cixi's faction with a mountain of technical data. The Manchu nobles looked confused and out of their depth, unable to counter his points about gun calibers and armor thicknesses.
Li Hongzhang, the pragmatist, was completely won over. This was the kind of thinking he had been trying to instill in the court for years. "The man speaks the truth," the Viceroy declared, his voice booming. "We are not the British Empire. We are not building a navy to conquer India. We are building a navy to keep invaders out of China. We need the tiger, not the wolfhound."
Prince Gong, who had been listening with a deep, internal satisfaction, gave his full support. "Deputy Commissioner Li's expertise is a great asset to this committee and the dynasty. I agree with his assessment completely."
The momentum in the room had shifted decisively. Cixi's appointees, leaderless and distracted by the ongoing "witch hunt" their mistress had instigated, found themselves on the defensive. They could not argue against Li Fengbao's logic without revealing their own profound ignorance.
The vote was called. The committee, led by the expert opinion of their Deputy Commissioner and the powerful backing of Prince Gong and Li Hongzhang, voted overwhelmingly in favor of awarding the contract to the German Vulcan shipyard.
It was a monumental victory for Ying Zheng's long-term plans. The news, delivered to him that evening via an invisible message from Weng Tonghe, was received with a flicker of cold satisfaction. He had not only ensured that the foundation of his new navy would be built with the best possible ships for the specific conflict he foresaw with Japan, but he had also, in the process, firmly established his chosen expert, Li Fengbao, as the dominant, most respected, and most competent voice within the naval office.
Cixi thought she had placed her men on the committee to control the money. But Ying Zheng had placed his man there to control the technology. In the coming age of industrial warfare, he knew which was the more valuable asset. He now effectively controlled the entire technical development of the fleet. The first steel plates of his future victory were being laid, not in a shipyard in Germany, but here, in a quiet meeting room in Beijing.