An Unusual Gathering on Lunar New Year’s Eve

On the last afternoon of the twentieth year of the Daoguang Emperor’s reign, an extraordinary meeting took place at the Lianyang Salt Administration Office on Gaodi Street. This location served as the temporary residence for Lin Zexu, the recently dismissed Imperial Commissioner whose actions against the opium trade had previously defined China’s foreign policy. The timing was significant – the final hours of the traditional year, when families typically gathered for reunion dinners and ceremonial observances.

Deng Tingzhen arrived first, taking his seat with the weariness of a man who had witnessed dramatic shifts in China’s fortunes. As former Viceroy of Liangguang, he understood the complexities of managing both domestic administration and foreign relations in China’s southern gateway. Shortly after his arrival, the atmosphere shifted again with the entrance of Yi Liang, the sitting Governor of Guangdong whose position placed him at the center of the unfolding crisis.

The conversation began with Lin Zexu’s observation about the unusual timing. “Governor Yi,” he noted, “on this New Year’s Eve when you should be celebrating with family, what brings you here?” The question highlighted both the social expectations of the occasion and the gravity of the situation that would override such traditions.

The Fractured Chain of Command

Yi Liang’s response revealed the administrative turmoil that had gripped Canton since the arrival of Qishan, the Emperor’s newly appointed plenipotentiary. “I’m feeling deeply troubled,” he confessed, “and came to seek the wisdom of my two senior colleagues.” This simple statement betrayed the breakdown in official communications that had left even the highest provincial officials in the dark about critical developments.

Deng Tingzhen echoed this sentiment, revealing his own frustrations since returning to Guangzhou. The three men represented a continuum of experience in dealing with foreign powers, yet found themselves systematically excluded from the decision-making process. Yi Liang’s nostalgic recollection of their previous collaboration underscored how dramatically the situation had deteriorated. “When I worked under both of you esteemed predecessors as Viceroys of Liangguang,” he recalled, “you never kept me in the dark about anything. No matter how difficult the challenges, I faced them with clarity of purpose.”

The Governor’s description of the previous administrative harmony extended beyond their immediate circle. “Not just myself, but the Guangzhou Garrison Commander, the Customs Supervisor, and all officials down to the provincial level followed your leadership with unity of purpose.” This contrasted sharply with the current fragmentation under Qishan’s leadership.

The Information Blockade

The most alarming revelation came when Yi Liang detailed his effective removal from foreign affairs management. “Since His Excellency Qishan arrived in Guangzhou,” he explained, “I’ve become an outsider in my own jurisdiction. The Imperial Commissioner informed me that I need not concern myself with barbarian affairs.” For over a month, the sitting Governor of China’s most important international trading port had received virtually no information about foreign relations from the very official tasked with managing them.

This information blockade extended beyond Yi Liang. “Throughout the entire city of Guangzhou,” he noted, “only a handful of people in the Imperial Commissioner’s residence can exchange words with Qishan, all of whom he brought from the north.” The regional and administrative divide had created parallel power structures that bypassed local expertise.

Lin Zexu confirmed that he and Deng shared this exclusion, despite their experience. “As dismissed officials with no current appointments,” he acknowledged, “we’re even less involved.” He described Qishan’s single visit the previous day – a performance of imperial authority rather than substantive consultation. “With great pomp and ceremony, he marched into my courtyard to inform me that by the Emperor’s decree, I’m to assist him in strengthening Guangzhou’s defenses. But how? What specifically should we do? Not a word was mentioned about implementation.”

Deng Tingzhen reported an identical experience, confirming a pattern of ceremonial inclusion without substantive engagement. “The meaning was clear,” he observed. “The Emperor had issued a decree, so he had to inform us, but he has no intention of letting us interfere with Guangzhou affairs.”

The Imperial Directive and Its Interpretation

Yi Liang’s revelation about the Emperor’s position added another layer of complexity. “I’ve heard that the Emperor has issued an edict forbidding peace negotiations,” he shared. This information, coming through unofficial channels, highlighted the communication breakdown between central authority and local implementation.

Deng Tingzhen offered a compelling interpretation of Qishan’s behavior in light of this directive. “The Imperial Commissioner remains single-mindedly focused on negotiation,” he analyzed. “He fears others might disrupt his peace initiative, hence his silence.” This tension between imperial command and local interpretation would have profound consequences for China’s strategy.

Lin Zexu articulated a nuanced position that acknowledged the potential value of diplomacy while recognizing its limitations. “I don’t oppose negotiations with the British,” he clarified. “If talks can prevent military conflict, that’s certainly preferable. But when the enemy advances step by step while we focus exclusively on negotiation, how can we possibly succeed?” His analysis identified the fundamental imbalance in the approach – the absence of leverage.

The Human Cost of Strategic Failure

The conversation turned to the recent military defeats at Shajiao and Dajiao, where the Chen father and son had died in defense of their positions. Lin Zexu’s anger surfaced as he discussed these losses. “The defeat at Shajiao and Dajiao, and the sacrifice of the Chen father and son,” he declared, “resulted entirely from his undermining of military morale, weakening of resolve, emboldening of the enemy, and disparagement of national prestige!”

The graphic details he provided underscored the brutality of the conflict. “The pitiful father and son,” he recounted, “were each stabbed dozens of times, their bellies ripped open. It’s heartbreaking to speak of it!” This visceral account grounded the strategic discussion in human suffering, reminding all present that policy decisions had life-and-death consequences.

Yi Liang reported the British withdrawal from these positions following the battles, and Qishan’s interpretation of this development. “The Imperial Commissioner takes great satisfaction in what he perceives as successful ‘appeasement of the barbarians,'” he noted. “Yesterday he told me that if not for his verbal battles with the British, they might have been at our gates already, and we wouldn’t have been able to celebrate the New Year.”

The Hidden Terms of Negotiation

The Governor then revealed the potentially devastating terms under discussion. “Besides the previously mentioned five or six million foreign dollars,” he disclosed, “it seems we’ve also promised to open additional ports to the British, or possibly cede them an island.” These concessions, if accurate, represented a fundamental reshaping of China’s relationship with foreign powers.

Lin Zexu immediately identified the practical impossibility of the financial terms. “The worrying part is right here!” he exclaimed. “Never mind five or six million, where would we find even one million? Governor Yi, does your provincial treasury have that kind of money?”

Yi Liang’s response confirmed the financial crisis. “We’re already stretched to the limit,” he admitted. “I’ve heard the first installment would be one million dollars, with the remainder paid over several years. The Imperial Commissioner thinks the Guangdong customs office has substantial funds and asked if we could transfer several million. But where would the customs office get that kind of money?” The disconnect between Qishan’s assumptions and financial reality threatened to create catastrophic consequences.

The Looming Crisis of Implementation

Lin Zexu projected the logical sequence of events following any agreement. “After terms are settled,” he predicted, “the British will first demand this cash payment. If we can’t produce the one million dollars, they’ll use this as pretext to drive straight in, openly threatening the city and looting the treasury.” His strategic foresight identified the precise vulnerability created by the current approach.

He analyzed the psychological dimension of the negotiations. “The Imperial Commissioner believes peace talks will solve everything,” he observed. “He fails to see that the British have recognized his single-minded desire for peace, and therefore repeatedly threaten force. To resist their coercion, we must have military preparedness.”

Lin Zexu proposed a practical division of responsibility that acknowledged the political constraints while addressing security needs. “Peace,” he suggested, “is a matter for beyond the Humen forts. Defense concerns the river approaches to the provincial capital. If you’re excluded from barbarian affairs, you must take action regarding the city’s defenses.”

The Constraints of Appeasement

Yi Liang’s sigh preceded his explanation of the diplomatic constraints imposed by Qishan. “The British demand that we make no military additions at Humen and other locations,” he reported, “or they’ll question our sincerity about peace. The Imperial Commissioner repeatedly emphasizes that to gain British trust, we must avoid provocation.”

This policy of restraint in the face of military threat represented the core of the strategic disagreement. Lin Zexu’s response articulated an alternative approach that maintained diplomatic engagement while preserving national dignity and security. “Governor Yi,” he argued, “even during negotiations, we cannot simply obey British commands!”

A Practical Plan for Civic Defense

Recognizing the limitations on official military preparations, Lin Zexu proposed mobilizing civil society. “At Humen,” he noted, “we have General Guan in command, which offers some reassurance. But the provincial capital’s defenses cannot be neglected. You must take measures to secure public morale and protect the provincial capital.”

His specific recommendations focused on grassroots organization rather than official military deployment. “You should notify the gentry to gather for planning discussions,” he advised. “Develop specific plans, prepare necessary equipment and materials, assign areas and personnel – in short, you must mobilize the gentry and common people of the provincial capital.”

Anticipating skepticism about the effectiveness of such measures, Lin Zexu addressed both practical and psychological benefits. “Some may ask what use this would be,” he acknowledged. “It is useful! We must let the British know that Guangzhou has made military preparations, that its people are fully engaged in readiness, so they will not underestimate us.”

The Personal and the Political

Yi Liang’s simple response – “Very well, I’ll follow your advice, Lord Lin” – signaled both respect for Lin Zexu’s judgment and recognition of the political risks involved. The former Imperial Commissioner’s final remark, left incomplete in the historical record, hinted at the personal dimensions of these weighty decisions. “Governor Yi,” he began, “to speak selfishly…” The unfinished thought suggests the complex interplay between personal interest and public duty that characterized these difficult times.

This conversation, preserved through historical records, captures a critical moment when experienced officials recognized the flaws in their government’s approach to foreign relations yet struggled to implement alternatives within a fractured chain of command. Their discussion would prove prescient, as events unfolded largely as Lin Zexu predicted, with the British indeed using failed payments as pretext for further military action.

The meeting on that final day of 1840 represents more than a historical anecdote. It illustrates the tensions between central authority and local knowledge, between diplomatic engagement and military preparedness, between ideal policy and practical implementation. These officials, despite their exclusion from formal decision-making, continued to seek solutions to the crisis facing their nation, demonstrating both the limitations and persistence of bureaucratic responsibility in times of national crisis.

Their exchange reminds us that historical turning points often emerge not from grand official pronouncements, but from quiet conversations between experienced individuals who understand the stakes better than those in nominal authority. The incomplete historical record leaves us wondering about Lin Zexu’s final selfish thought, but the subsequent actions of these men would demonstrate their commitment to national interests above personal concerns as China navigated the difficult transition toward modern international relations.