The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 972 The Emperor Has Arrived, Everyone is an American!

May 1, 1885, Tijuana, Mexico.

The morning sun shone on the dilapidated fishing port, and the sea breeze, carrying the salty smell, blew past the crooked wooden houses. Juan Mendoza squatted in front of his crumbling shack, scraping fish scales with a rusty knife. His fingers were rough like tree bark, and the grime of fish was forever etched between them.

"Juan! Look out at the sea!" Old Pedro's hoarse voice suddenly boomed.

Juan looked up, his cloudy eyes narrowing into slits. On the distant horizon, four dark dots were rapidly approaching. As they drew closer, their outlines became clearer—ships! But not the usual fishing boats, but warships like steel behemoths! Their bows cleaved through the waves, and the black, red, and yellow tricolor flags fluttered in the sea breeze.

"It's a warship of the American Empire!" Old Pedro's voice trembled, whether from fear or excitement, it was hard to tell.

Juan's knife clattered to the ground. He remembered what the pastor had said at the True Covenant church last week: "Emperor Hong Tiangui is the savior of the Americans; he will lead us out of white slavery."

Suddenly, the harbor erupted in commotion. Ragged mixed-race fishermen and Indigenous laborers surged toward the docks from all directions. Some retreated in fear, while others pushed forward as if possessed. Juan was swept up in the crowd, smelling the stench of sweat, fish, and a strange sense of anticipation.

"boom!"

A gunshot rang out from the port guard post. Mexican soldiers in faded uniforms scrambled up the watchtower and fired wildly at the sea with their rifles. But the warships did not slow down at all; instead, they sounded their horns, the piercing sirens cutting through the morning mist like sharp knives.

"They're here! They're really here!" cheers erupted from the crowd.

Juan watched as the bow of the first landing ship roared open, and a steam-belching steel behemoth roared ashore. It had a round turret and short, thick cannons, and its tracks kicked up clouds of dust as they rolled across the sand. Even more shocking, among the soldiers leaping from the steel behemoth were quite a few dark-skinned Native Americans!
“Americans! They are our compatriots!” Old Pedro excitedly grabbed Juan’s shoulders and shook him.

A tall man in a black military uniform with a gold cross badge on his chest climbed onto the tank turret and shouted in fluent Spanish: "Fellow countrymen of Tijuana! His Majesty Emperor Hong Tiangui declares that from this day forward, you are all citizens of the American Empire! Each household will receive 50 acres of land!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. Juan felt a wave of dizziness. 50 acres? Even the wealthiest indigenous people in Tijuana couldn't imagine owning 50 acres of land—although the Republic of Mexico now covers nearly 200 million square kilometers with a population of only around 1000 million, so land shouldn't be scarce. However, land in Mexico is extremely concentrated, with about 1% of the population (including American companies) controlling 97% of the arable land. Moreover, Mexican landowners can monopolize water resources, making it difficult for indigenous people and people of mixed race to obtain irrigation even if they own land.

As for the silver and gold mines in Mexico, they belong to a very small number of wealthy white people and large foreign (British and American) companies, and have absolutely nothing to do with the vast majority of indigenous people and people of mixed European and Indigenous descent!

Moreover, the Republic of Mexico has little "trickle-down effect." The average annual income of the vast majority of indigenous people and people of mixed European and Indigenous descent is only 50 to 80 US dollars, which is only one-eighth to one-quarter of the average income of the United States.

Meanwhile, the True Covenant movement in the American West has been spreading to the Republic of Mexico for the past two or three decades, and has also opened a channel for Mexican Indians and people of mixed European and Indigenous descent to become "Americans" (Indigenous people in the American West) - as long as they can pass the "Chinese, English and True Covenant test" organized by the True Covenant movement, they can obtain American West citizenship and 50 acres of land in the "red states" - referring to Montana, West Dakota and Idaho!
Therefore, in Tijuana, which was right next to the Western American Empire, all the young Native Americans and people of mixed European and Indigenous descent considered themselves "candidate citizens of the Empire".

“Liars! They’re lying to you!” A white officer, leading several soldiers, pushed his way through, brandishing a pistol and threatening, “Go home! This is an invasion!”

But no one listened to him. Suddenly, an elderly Native American woman with a wrinkled face knelt down and cried out in Nahuatl, "The Savior has finally come!"

Suddenly, artillery fire erupted from a Type 33 tank. The 37mm cannon roared, ripping the roof of the port guard post off. The white officer turned deathly pale, his pistol falling to the ground.

"The Emperor is here, everyone is an American!" A True Covenant pastor appeared out of nowhere, holding up a cross and shouting.

The words spread like wildfire among the crowd. Juan saw his neighbors begin to sing and dance, some even tearing down their tattered Mexican flags. Several mixed-race militiamen simply threw their guns on the ground and ran to give directions to the Imperial soldiers.

"Juan! Hurry to church!" Old Pedro grabbed his arm. "Go register to become an American!"

Juan stumbled along with the crowd toward the Covenant Cathedral. Along the way, he saw Imperial soldiers distributing bread and salt from house to house—gifts symbolizing liberation in Covenant tradition. A little girl received a loaf of bread, her dirty face breaking into a smile—a smile Juan had never seen in Tijuana.

A long queue had already formed in the square in front of the church. Juan stood in the line, listening to the excited discussions of those around him about the land they were about to acquire. A well-dressed mixed-race businessman said, "My cousin went to Idaho last year and now has a 50-acre farm. His son is still in elementary school, and it's all free."

As the sun rose directly overhead, Juan finally reached the registration desk. Behind the table sat a bespectacled Native American official with a bronze badge bearing the inscription "Ministry of Revenue and Naturalization of the American Empire" pinned to his chest.

"Name?"

Juan Mendoza.

"age?"

"32 years old." "Faith?"

"True Covenantists".

"Can you read?"

"Can write his name and can recite the first five chapters of the True Testament."

The official handed him a piece of cardboard with a black eagle emblem: "Congratulations, citizen Juan Mendoza. This is your temporary ID. Pick up your land title at the city hall next Monday. You can choose 50 acres of land in any red state of the Empire. Of course, your current residence, Sub-California, will also become one of the red states of the Empire."

Juan took the piece of paper, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. He remembered his father's dying words: "People like us will never own our own land."

Now, people like him are finally saved.

At the same time, on the US-Mexico border, in Ciudad Juárez.

The crisp sound of military boots echoed across the border bridge. General John MacArthur, mounted on a thoroughbred Arabian horse, watched with a detached eye as his troops marched into Mexico. Infantry phalanxes marched in perfect unison, their bayonets gleaming in the sunlight; cavalry banners fluttered in the wind; and the diesel engines of twelve M2 "Grey Wolf" tanks roared, drawing gasps of amazement from the white Mexicans watching along the roadside.

"General, Mayor Juarez has come to greet you," the adjutant reported.

MacArthur glanced disdainfully at the obese man in the well-tailored suit. The man was spouting obsequious platitudes about the "free world" and "defenders of democracy" in broken English. The general waved his hand impatiently: "Tell him our troops are here to protect Mexican democracy, not to attend a tea party."

Along the streets, well-dressed white ranchers held up elaborately crafted English signs: "Welcome Freedom Fighters!" "White Supremacy!" "Down with Hong Tiangui!" Several stylishly dressed girls threw flower petals at the soldiers, eliciting laughter from them.

"General, the 3rd Cavalry Regiment reports that they encountered a small group of resistance in the east of the city," a communications soldier ran up to report. "The other side claims to be the 'American Self-Defense Force.'"

MacArthur chuckled coldly. "Tell Colonel Wilson I don't want prisoners." He turned to his adjutant and said, "Send a telegram to the President: Our troops have successfully entered Juarez, and the local people are giving us a warm welcome. We expect to advance to Chihuahua within a week."

As the troops passed through the central plaza, MacArthur noticed a group of ragged Native American laborers squatting at the edge of the plaza. They watched the imposing army in silence, their eyes filled with deep hatred, not welcome—the Native Americans of Mexico at that time did not aspire to become citizens of the United States, because citizenship in the United States was only open to white people!
"General, should we disperse them?" the adjutant asked.

“No need.” MacArthur narrowed his eyes. “Once we reach Mexico City, these barbarians will understand the power of civilization.”

May 3, National Palace, Mexico City.

President Diaz sat motionless at the conference table, two telegrams laid out before him. One, from Peñasco (located on the border between the Western United States and Mexico), reported that American troops had taken control of the Baja California peninsula and would soon capture Peñasco Harbor (located in the Gulf of California); the other, from Juarez, informed him that United States troops were advancing south.

“Mr. President, we must make a choice immediately,” General Reyes, Secretary of Defense, wiped the sweat from his brow. “There are two American armies to the north, and two American armies in Nicaragua to the south.”

"A choice?" Diaz suddenly sprang to his feet, grabbing an oak chair and slamming it onto the conference table. "What did Mexico do wrong? To be invaded by two Americas at the same time?"

The conference room fell silent. After a long pause, Treasury Secretary González cautiously said, "The United States of America at least recognizes our sovereignty."

"And then?" Diaz sneered. "Let our land become a battlefield between the United States and the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom? Let Mexicans die for the interests of foreigners?"

Education Minister Gavino Barreda suddenly spoke up: "Mr. President, news from Tijuana: Hong Tiangui has announced that all Mexicans can become citizens of the American Empire and will also be allocated land."

"What?" Diaz's eyes widened.

“Yes, and,” Education Minister Gavino Barreda swallowed, “it is said that tens of thousands of Native Americans and mixed-race children have already registered.”

Díaz slumped back into his chair. He recalled the events of decades ago when the United States annexed vast swathes of northern Mexico. History was repeating itself, but this time, even his own people had abandoned Mexico.

"Mr. President!" the communications officer rushed in, flustered. "The ambassadors of the United States and the United Kingdom urgently request an audience! They say that President Garfield and Prime Minister Gladstone have jointly proposed that Mexico immediately join NATO to jointly combat the evil axis centered on the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, the German Empire, and the American Empire!"

(End of this chapter)