The Great Qing
No one could deny that the dynasty was Strong. This dragon was not weak and dying, it was not diseased and ridden with the cancer of corruption. The False Emperor had done his utmost to make China strong, and he failed. She had lost Mongolia and Manchuria, and the Frenks came and dared to invade on the South. Yet the rest of China was a powerful iron wall, the immovable object against the many unstoppable forces of Earth. She was not, however; invincible, least of all from within.
China was always accustomed to the comings and goings of powerful rulers, supplanted and usurped almost daily during the Warring States and Age of the Three Kingdoms in the distant, well remembered past. The Age of Warlords was no different, during the Great Qing's original days when the Emperor was a weakling, supported by the Mandate of Heaven or not; many had splintered the Empire into rival factions that the Barbarians used to their advantage, both the Western Barbarians and the Barbarian Pirates of Wo.
Like tectonic plates the pressure in China built and built upon years of suffering and despotic tyranny, until finally; it snapped. Like a raging gale the fury of the people would be heard? Or would it? No. Just another absolutist to replace the most recent in a long string of recurring events that never changed within the Empire. An Emperor replaced a King, a King replaced an Emperor; that was the way of things within China, that was how it worked in the Middle Kingdom without exception.
They tried a Republic once, it fell to the Red Barbarians, who in and of themselves were purged just as quickly as the Republic before them. China did not like the thought or idea of Democracy, Republicanism was for the weak.
The masses needed a strong and powerful shepherd, not the deaf leading the blind. At the same time, that shepherd needed to be benevolent and know what mercy was. This where the False one lacked, the iron hand that was strangling the Chinese people to death, it needed to be removed, to be lopped off before China suffocated.
It took years of careful planning, careful deliberation and searching. That time however was over, and the time to act had come...
The Great Qing
Beijing - China
The Forbidden City
The room was not stereotypically dark, it was luxurious and tall like all of the many palaces and halls of the city within a city, the city no commoner set foot in; the city that had never fallen from the outside. From within, the story was different. In this palace built for an Emperor plotted and discussed those who would depose of him; the False Emperor. There were many of them, ministers and peoples of varying degrees of importance throughout the Empire; all of whom gathered around in hushed and hurried voices, this was the final stage, and they would be brief for the walls themselves had ears set against them.
"I hope no one here is afraid of dying." The Twelve spoke softly amongst them all; the Advisors to the Emperor themselves; all Twelve of them.
"It will not help if we are or not. Being Drawn and Quartered...Painful indeed." A General spoke then, bronze lacquered armor gleaming in the lighting.
"We do not need to be reminded of what should happen if we should fail." Another spoke as the tone of the conversation changed from speedy to frenzy in that moment.
"We can move tonight." The General spoke once more; "I have assured a lack of guards in that wing of the palace, and I have the loyalty of the Imperial Guard."
"Agreed; tonight is the night that China is liberated from this tinpot dictator."
Contrary to the public's over-dramatized opinion on the Chinese and Wo alike; Honor was not that big of a deal for them as people thought. Personal Honor, perhaps; but it was harder to lose than people thought it was. Per example whoever came up with the notion they didn't agree with assassination was a poorly misinformed fool. So were the thoughts of the nameless assassin that history would forget in the rise of the monarch that would follow this fool who dared to claim the mandate of heaven that did not belong to him.
The corridor was massive beyond belief; every surface plated in silver and gold, jade statues and riches unimaginable. The Hall of Treasures, the bounty of an expedition so old that most did not remember the Grand Treasure Fleet that brought the bountiful wealth that made this hallway back to China. It was this corridor; open, wide, unguarded; that led up to the bedchamber of the 'Emperor' of China; where normally there would be a posting of guards there was no sign of life, only empty posts.
Everything was according to plan thus far and was aimed to be kept that way. Closing on the door the Assassin drew a firearm, the semi-automatic laser pistol was not a tricky thing, perfected and made nearly silent, tell-tale whisper coming far too late to be noticeable. The blue-steel object was raised as the Assassin entered the chamber. It was, as with everything else in the palaces; massive. The enormous fourposter bed that dominated the center of the wood lacquered room was empty; the door to the connected study was ajar as well.
Carefully the Assassin moved forward, not making so much as a single sound on which to be heard as he approached the open door. His quarry he sighted within; a man indeed in the robes of an Emperor; aged decently and strong of body and mind; back turned to the door as he leaned over a desk writing in a careful manner, a hand holding a sleeve back while the other hand wrote characters with grace and ease.
"So you've come." The Manchu spoke simplistically; showing neither surprise nor fear. "I was expecting this long ago; when it never came, I became too lax; this is my penalty for sloth."
The Assassin raised the pistol. "Do not waste your words on me, Manchu Pig."
"No, Han dog; you are in all rights going to shoot me, I know this. I merely thought it would be soo---" The Manchu Emperor did not finish his words, his sentence cut short as the laser pistol was fired, the wound, cauterized instantly went directly through the Emperor's head, and then another through his heart to ensure death. The Corpse fell limp over the desk, spent and ragged as the Assassin turned from the room and left with ease, as though nothing ever happened.
In other parts of the palaces; where Manchu nobles resided, similar scenes had played out in the moments before, every collaborator and every statesman of that foul, barbarian blood was purged without exception to position, age or gender; from the eldest to the youngest entire families eradicated and all of it silently, perhaps that being the most terrifying part of it all, that in the morning, there would look to be no change; save the announcement of the Emperor's untimely death of illness; a heart attack in his age was not infeasible. The City within a City was once again covered in blood.
