The Immortal Treasure Mirror did not immediately cut away after the Dutch flag descended. Instead, the camera lingered on the scene, as if deliberately allowing viewers across the land to digest what they were seeing.
Little Black One loomed beside the wounded Western vessel like a black cliff rising from the sea. Up close, the difference between the two ships was even more unsettling. The Dutch ship looked tall and proud, yes, but it was a creature of wind and canvas. Its ribs were wood. Its strength came from favorable weather and experienced sailors.
Little Black One, in contrast, seemed born of iron intention.
Smoke rose steadily from its funnel. The paddle wheels churned with mechanical indifference. Even at low speed, it moved with a certainty that did not depend on heaven's mood.
On the viewing platform in Xi'an, no one laughed anymore.
Even Zhu Cunji leaned slightly forward.
On screen, armed sailors from Gao Family Village secured the Dutch vessel efficiently. They moved in coordinated teams, weapons ready but not wildly brandished. Orders were crisp. No chaotic looting. No drunken cheering.
The reporter walked carefully across the connecting plank, now standing partly between the two ships.
"Viewers," she said calmly, "the Dutch vessel has formally surrendered. According to the privateering license issued by Dao Xuan Tianzun, contraband cargo and military supplies will be confiscated. Civilian goods will be inventoried and handled according to maritime regulations."
Maritime regulations.
Mi Qianhu's eyelids twitched.
Regulations?
Since when did pirates speak of regulations?
Yao Xingjuan stepped into view again, hands on his hips, looking less like a brigand and more like an officer inspecting a captured position.
"We are not here to slaughter," he said. "We are here to establish order. If they behave, we behave."
The reporter nodded with professional seriousness.
"As Captain Yao Xingjuan has stated, the goal is deterrence, not indiscriminate violence."
Mi Qianhu could not help himself.
"Deterrence?" he muttered. "They sound like a ministry."
Zhu Cunji heard him.
"Perhaps they are becoming one."
Mi Qianhu shot him a glare but said nothing further.
On screen, several Dutch sailors were lined up on deck, guarded but not mistreated. One of them, a bearded man with sunburned skin, appeared to be arguing loudly in a language most viewers would not understand.
The reporter leaned slightly toward Yao Xingjuan.
"He appears dissatisfied."
Yao Xingjuan chuckled.
"Of course he is dissatisfied. His ship is damaged. His cargo is seized. His pride is wounded. If he smiled, that would be poor acting."
The reporter laughed softly.
"So the acting is convincing now?"
"Yes. Much better."
The camera zoomed in briefly on the lowered Dutch flag, fluttering limply in the sea breeze. Then it panned back to the black hull of Little Black One, lingering on the rotating paddle wheel, water foaming and churning as though the ocean itself had been harnessed.
Back in Xi'an, Mi Qianhu's mind was racing.
He remembered discussions in the capital about foreign ships. Reports from Fujian and Guangdong. Complaints from coastal officials about red haired merchants demanding privileges. The court's response had always been slow, tangled in debate and ritual.
Yet here, in this floating iron beast, he saw response without hesitation.
Not memorials.
Action.
The broadcast finally shifted back to the studio.
The male anchor folded his hands politely.
"That concludes our maritime report."
The female anchor smiled.
"Next, a brief update on infrastructure development in the liberated territories."
Mi Qianhu nearly choked.
Infrastructure?
After cannons and captured foreign ships, they were going to talk about roads?
The screen changed again.
Now it showed laborers working along a broad dirt road, laying stones, measuring distances with tools that looked far more precise than rope and guesswork. Wooden frames supported early bridge structures across a shallow river. In the background, what looked like iron rails were being positioned carefully on prepared ground.
The reporter's voice narrated over the footage.
"The expansion of transport routes continues. Improved roads and rail lines will allow faster troop movement, more efficient trade, and better disaster relief response."
Mi Qianhu's fingers curled against the rope binding them.
Faster troop movement.
More efficient trade.
Better disaster relief.
Each phrase struck him like a quiet hammer.
Zhu Cunji finally spoke again, his tone no longer teasing.
"You see, Mi Qianhu, what troubles you is not that they fight bandits."
Mi Qianhu remained silent.
"It is that they build."
Sun Chuanting added quietly, "An army can be suppressed. A system is harder."
Mi Qianhu's jaw tightened.
He did not want to agree.
Yet he could not deny what he had witnessed.
Bandits defeated in ten breaths.
Tens of thousands captured through calculated artillery intimidation.
Foreign ships seized under formal license.
Steam powered vessels roaming coastal waters.
Roads laid with long term planning.
Rail lines hinted at.
This was not random rebellion.
It was structured ambition.
The female anchor concluded the infrastructure segment with a gentle nod.
"Under the guidance of Dao Xuan Tianzun, development continues steadily. Shen Si Du Xing. Think carefully, act steadfastly."
The phrase lingered in the air.
Mi Qianhu stared at the screen.
Shen Si Du Xing.
He had seen the four characters before. He had even mocked them once.
Now they felt less like a slogan and more like a method.
The broadcast began transitioning to lighter segments. Agricultural yields. School enrollments. A brief demonstration of a new water pump design.
Zhu Cunji leaned back again, exhaling.
"Tell me honestly," he said. "If you were still in the capital and saw only memorials, would you believe any of this?"
Mi Qianhu answered slowly.
"No."
"Would His Majesty believe it?"
Mi Qianhu hesitated longer.
"… No."
The Princess Consort finally spoke, her voice soft but clear.
"Then perhaps the greater problem is not what Gao Family Village is doing."
Mi Qianhu looked at her.
"It is what others refuse to see."
Silence fell again.
The ropes around Mi Qianhu's wrists had not loosened. The knots were tight. The humiliation remained.
Yet something else had shifted.
For the first time, the thought did not arise that he must escape at all costs.
Instead, a quieter and far more dangerous thought surfaced.
If this truly is the future, then what is loyalty?
Loyalty to a throne.
Or loyalty to a realm.
The Immortal Treasure Mirror dimmed slightly as the program ended.
Around Xi'an, countless viewers dispersed, chatting excitedly about steam ships and artillery, about pirates with licenses and roads that promised connection rather than division.
On the platform at Caishikou, Zhu Cunji stood.
"Untie them later," he said casually. "Feed them."
Mi Qianhu blinked.
Feed them?
Zhu Cunji smiled faintly.
"If you are to continue watching tomorrow, you must maintain your strength. I would hate for our most dedicated critic to collapse from weakness."
Mi Qianhu almost retorted with another curse.
The words rose to his lips.
Then stopped.
For tonight, at least, he said nothing.
Somewhere far away, in the waters near Yizhou Island, Little Black One continued to move through the darkening sea, its paddle wheels turning steadily, indifferent to old loyalties and new doubts alike.
History, like steam, had begun to build pressure.
And once pressure builds long enough, it does not ask permission before moving the world.