Rise of the Arms Dealer in the World War-Chapter 32 - The Fall of the Empress Dowager

Empress Dowager Cixi's face turned crimson with rage as Emperor Guangxu's mocking laughter echoed in the hall.

"You insolent wretch!" she shrieked, her composure cracking like fragile porcelain.

Casting aside all pretense, Cixi stormed toward the Emperor, her hands trembling with fury. But before she could reach him, her ministers intervened, restraining her with hurried whispers.

"Your Majesty, the eyes of the court are upon you."

"Now is not the time—there will be opportunities later."

Her gaze darted around the room. Diplomats from foreign nations, palace officials, and courtiers all watched her, their expressions ranging from shock to barely concealed amusement. No matter how much power she wielded as Regent, striking the Emperor in public would unleash a storm she could not weather.

Realizing the futility of her outburst, she turned sharply on her heel, her fury simmering beneath the surface.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. "Let's see how long you last without me. Those ambassadors won't protect you forever."

Her thoughts churned with anger and disdain. Give them something to hold, and they'll come crawling back to me, she reassured herself. Ungrateful puppet—after all I've done for you!

With a last, smoldering glare at Guangxu, Cixi strode out, her mind already plotting her escape.

"Your Majesty, we must leave before nightfall," urged one of her attendants.

Cixi nodded curtly. "The Emperor will remain here. We leave on our own."

Despite a lingering sense of unease, she reasoned that the Emperor posed little threat. He lacked allies and the competence to govern. Besides, reinforcements from the Beiyang Army were already en route to Beijing, ensuring her eventual return to power.

Let him play his games for now, she thought. No one could supplant me as the true ruler of this empire.

As night descended, Cixi and a small retinue of loyal ministers and soldiers made their way toward the western gate, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

But the moment they passed through the gates, the shadows revealed an unwelcome sight.

There, waiting in the pale moonlight, was Captain Ito and his men. The Japanese officer stepped forward, his sword glinting ominously.

"Cixi! I've come for you!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the still night.

Cixi froze, her heart sinking. The Japanese have already taken the city!

"You wretched woman!" Ito snarled, his soldiers forming a circle around her entourage. "Did you think you could deceive us and get away with it? I'll kill you myself!"

Cixi forced herself to remain calm, stepping down from her palanquin. Her regal bearing did not falter, even as she faced the swords drawn against her.

"Captain," she said evenly, "I do not know what accusations you bring, but surely this is a misunderstanding."

Ito's grip tightened on his blade. "Misunderstanding? You dare—"

Before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.

Bang!

The sharp crack of a rifle broke the tense silence. Blood sprayed into the air, and Cixi stumbled, clutching her side. Her ministers cried out in alarm as she collapsed to the ground, crimson staining her robes.

Ito looked around wildly. "Who fired?" he roared, his voice thick with fury and confusion.

But the darkness offered no answers. The sound of distant footsteps and the faint rustle of movement hinted at another presence—one neither Cixi nor Ito had anticipated.

The Empress Dowager lay motionless as the night closed in, her escape unraveling into tragedy.

The crack of gunfire echoed across the chaotic battlefield. Empress Dowager Cixi, once the unshakable ruler of the Qing Empire, crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath her.

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For a brief, breathless moment, silence reigned. Hundreds of soldiers and her entourage stood frozen, their faces pale as they witnessed the impossible. Then, as the reality of her fall settled, chaos erupted.

"What... what have you done?"

"Where is a physician? Find a physician now!"

"This is madness!"

Captain Ito, who moments earlier had shouted threats at the Empress Dowager, now stood paralyzed. His earlier fury had been bluster—intended only to intimidate her into submission, not to carry out the ultimate act.

"W-we didn't do it!" he stammered, his voice cracking. "Who fired? Who shot her?"

His soldiers, stunned and terrified, kept their rifles lowered. None dared meet his gaze, though all knew the truth. Only Japanese soldiers carried firearms here, and the Empress Dowager lay bleeding from bullet wounds.

"We didn't do it!" Ito shouted again, his voice growing desperate. But the gathered crowd had already made their judgment.

"The Japanese killed the Empress Dowager!" someone cried.

The dam broke. The news spread like wildfire through the city, each retelling more damning than the last.

The commotion reached the Forbidden City, where Emperor Guangxu and the foreign diplomats had sought refuge. Upon hearing the news, the Emperor, accompanied by his ministers, rushed to the western gate.

As Guangxu arrived, he saw his mother's lifeless body surrounded by frantic attendants. Her fine robes were soaked in blood, her once-commanding presence reduced to stillness.

"How is she?" he demanded, his voice trembling.

A physician knelt beside her, his hands shaking. "There was nothing I could do. She... she passed instantly."

Guangxu staggered, his composure crumbling. His voice quavered as he spoke. "She was just speaking to me moments ago... This cannot be! Tell me what happened!"

No one dared answer, but all eyes turned toward Captain Ito. The Emperor followed their gaze, his tear-streaked face hardening into something cold and unreadable.

"Who killed my mother?" Guangxu roared.

Ito took a halting step back, his denial weak. "It wasn't us... I swear... It wasn't us..."

But the Emperor's piercing glare bore into him, the weight of a grieving son's wrath unmistakable. To the onlookers, it was clear—Guangxu had found his target.

"Captain, we must retreat before the rebels arrive," Ito's lieutenant urged, pulling him away.

Ito nodded dumbly, his mind a fog of panic. "R-retreat," he muttered.

As the Japanese soldiers withdrew, Guangxu knelt beside his mother's body. Ignoring the protests of his ministers, he lifted her himself, his slender frame trembling under the weight. He carried her back into the Forbidden City, his tears falling freely.

To all who watched—courtiers, soldiers, and foreign dignitaries alike—he appeared the image of a grieving son. None noticed the faint, satisfied curve of his lips as he passed.

The battle that had raged for days fizzled into a confused stalemate. Word of the Empress Dowager's death spread rapidly, paralyzing both the Righteous Harmony Society and the Japanese forces.

By dawn, the gunfire that had once echoed through Beijing fell silent. The remnants of the Society, leaderless and battered, scattered into the countryside. Meanwhile, the Japanese army, reeling from the diplomatic disaster, descended into chaos.

In the Japanese command tent, Major General Namoto unleashed his fury upon Captain Ito, striking him across the face in front of the assembled officers.

"You fool! Do you realize what you've done?" Namoto bellowed.

"I... I didn't shoot her," Ito mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Namoto slammed his fists onto the table. "It doesn't matter! The entire world knows she was shot by Japanese soldiers! Even if you didn't pull the trigger, we're all complicit!"

His voice dropped, heavy with despair. "This wasn't just a mistake—it's a catastrophe. You've destroyed everything."

Despite hours of interrogation, no one confessed to the fatal shots. Of the thousand soldiers present, none admitted to firing the bullets that killed the Empress Dowager. The truth, buried beneath layers of fear and denial, remained elusive.

Two days later, the allied forces arrived in Beijing—32,000 troops from seven nations. They entered a city eerily silent, its streets marked by the scars of battle and an oppressive stillness.

News of the Empress Dowager's death had reached them before their arrival. The account was as bizarre as it was unsettling: enraged by the Emperor's defiance, Cixi had attempted to flee, only to be fatally shot by Japanese troops.

The story seemed too wild to believe, yet every witness, including foreign diplomats, corroborated it.

At the hastily arranged state funeral, representatives from every nation gathered in awkward silence. Even the Japanese delegation attended, their faces drawn and pale.

In the wake of Cixi's death, power shifted dramatically. Her authority transferred not to a new regent but directly to Guangxu. The ministers, sensing the change, prostrated themselves before him, pledging their loyalty.

Grand Secretary Li Hongzhang implored the Emperor to keep the funeral brief. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing low, "the nation needs your guidance. The people must see their Emperor lead."

Guangxu agreed to a nine-day mourning period, during which he neither ate nor left his mother's side, subsisting only on water. His stoic grief unnerved the court and foreign delegations alike.

The Japanese ambassador and General Namoto were particularly anxious. Guangxu's silence seemed to carry the weight of vengeance.

When the funeral concluded, the Emperor's next moves remained shrouded in mystery. But one thing was clear: the puppet had cut his strings.

Two days before the first diplomatic meeting, JinHan and his operatives arrived in Beijing, stepping into a city still trembling from the aftershocks of upheaval.