​

The RETURN of

HUANG ZHOU

​​​

In this, the second of three volumes, Huang Zhou is back with more conspiracies and secret plans to master the world!  

​

He seeks out the greatest minds of the Turn of the Century, hoping to assemble devices that will enable him to control the destinies of nations!

​

He manipulates empresses, presidents, and czars, spreading his unseen power over the world!

​

​And yet, can love melt his heart?

​

Read THE RETURN OF HUANG ZHOU today!

​​

 

EXCERPT: 

 

     A young man, tall but not as tall as his father, his long hair plaited in a Manchurian queue, his narrow eyes intelligent, his mouth barely restraining a smirk, entered Huang Zhou’s library. He wore a vest of red silk with gold brocade over a shirt and pantaloons of blue linen. This young man spotted Huang Zhou at his desk and gave a perfunctory bow. Huang Zhou, still with his head down, did not miss the brevity of the bow.

     Yet Huang Zhou could not hold the thought in his mind. This young man was his son, Sin Chung. Whenever Huang Zhou saw Chung, his mind invariably went back to his mother, Sin Yee, for whom he still held a deep love.

     Today, twenty-two years later, Chung swaggered up to Huang Zhou’s desk. “Hey, Pops,” he said, grinning. “How’s it going?”

     Before Huang Zhou could answer, Chung sat on the edge of his father's desk.

     Regarding his son, Huang Zhou said, “You shall remove your posterior from my desk at once, lest it receive twenty-five lashes.”

     Annoyed, yet prudent, Chung quickly stood up.

     “Why are you here, Number Two Son?”

     “Why do you always call me Number Two Son?” Chung said with a pout. “Yo Han has been dead over a year. I’m Number One now.”

     Huang Zhou’s eyes narrowed, nearly imperceptibly. “Although you never met your brother, Johann, and indeed, I never met him either, you shall show respect to his memory.”

     “Okay, I’m sorry. Anyway, can’t I visit my dear old dad, whenever I want?”

     “If you have a purpose in doing so.”

     “I do; don’t worry,” Chung said, emphatically. “I got a great idea. It’s something you’ve always wanted to do. I can prove myself to you once and for all, Pops.”

     “After you finish your proposal,” Huang Zhou said, with no hint of emotion, “report to Master Chao and inform him that you are to receive three lashes for addressing me in that manner.”

     “Pops—I mean, Father!” Chung began, astounded. “I’m not a child!”

     “Until you act as a man, you shall receive the education of a child. No, I will not hear your objections. Continue with your proposal.”

     Chung fumed and did nothing to hide his displeasure. Nonetheless, after a dramatic huff, he continued.

     “Father, you said more than once that your missions were stymied when you had to either sail around the Horn or travel over the Isthmus of Panama.”

     Huang Zhou gave no sign of acknowledgment or recollection of these incidents, but Chung spoke true. He simply bade his son to continue.

     “Father, you know the French are talking about digging a canal through the isthmus, but it got hung up.”

A subtle gesture of his eyes conveyed that Huang Zhou was indeed familiar with the project.

     “Okay, here’s the deal,” Chung continued. “The French have been talking about this thing for years, but nothing’s happened—not yet. I bet I can get them to go through with it—for our benefit!”

     Huang Zhou faintly cocked his head. “Your exuberance is noted. Yet did not the Colombian government insist on a sum which the French could not produce? And did not the French also decree that they possessed insufficient funds to back the engineering of such an endeavor?”

     “Yeah, yeah. But that’s no problem. They have the money, if I can convince them to move it from other things. And you won’t have to make any in your lab.”

     Huang Zhou looked off for some few seconds and nodded. He gave thought to his son, even recalling how first they met.

After finding that Sin Yee was with child, Huang Zhou had given her a fine house in Wuhan, but he had seen her rarely since then. There had been too much to occupy his mind, he said. The Second Opium War, the solidification of his position within the White Peacock, his experiments with chemicals and poisons, his trips across Asia to unify the various factions within the Council of the Seven, his instigation of the Russo-Turkish War which ended the repression of the Khurramites, and his efforts to establish a base of operations in San Francisco, from which he could influence affairs in the United States. In other words, anything other than face the responsibility of fatherhood.

     And now, the boy—it was difficult for Huang Zhou to think of Chung as a grown man, even now, at twenty-two—stood before him, demanding that he be given a task that would challenge most men.

     “It is rare that you appear in my chambers, Chung,” said Huang Zhou, “yet still more often than you are invited.”

     “Father, I’m your son,” the young man said, sounding younger than his age would imply. “I don’t need an invitation.”

     “I see that I must speak with the chamberlain concerning who has a standing invitation to these rooms.”

     “Father, I am here to present my plan. It will help us in so many ways! You have to listen!”

     “If I am so required, then by all means continue.”

     Chung gave no sign of recognizing his father’s sarcasm. Rather, he immediately presented his plan.

     “Monsieur de Lesseps built the Suez Canal, so he has the experience,” Chung said. “Now they made him the chief engineer of the French effort. He has thought of everything—the number of steam-shovels needed, the number of workers and how to feed all of them. He just needs some money so he can meet with the French Parliament and ministers. I have spoken with our agents in Paris and I know I can meet with de Lesseps. Well, indirectly, of course.”

     “My agents, you mean, with whom you have been given no permission to speak. You have no agents of your own.”

     “Father, let us focus on the important things. I can go to France and have your White agents, Perdrone and Priac, meet with de Lesseps and give him just enough financial backing to get this thing going. Just think, in a few years, you can sail through a continent!”

     Huang Zhou sat back in his chair, pressing his fingertips together. “I recall passing overland through the Panamanian jungles before you were born. The land is rife with malaria and yellow fever. Men who are unused to the region—Frenchmen, for instance—have no immunity to those diseases. Who shall dig this canal?”

     “We can get Negroes to do the work.”

     “Whether they wish to or not?”

     Chung shrugged his shoulders in the Western fashion.

     Huang Zhou sighed. “I seem to lose count of the number of obstacles that I envision standing in the way of this scheme of yours. Yet I also see you shall not be deterred. To do so would leave me no peace.”

     Chung stifled the sound he wanted to make.

     “So, can I do it?”

     “In memory of your most courageous and noble mother, I shall allow you to go to France and meet with Perdrone, not Priac. Priac is a killer. Have Perdone search for men in the halls of their government who may support this scheme. Should you find any who seem willing, send word to me and I will then make a decision of how to proceed. You may take Ahn, the medical student, and Samara Ali, the Hashashimite, with you. They both speak French better than you.”

     Chung broke into a grin.

     “Yeah, sure. Thanks, P—uh, Father.”

     “You may depart now, Chung. However, you will not forget to inform Master Chao of your punishment and make certain his blows are not deadened by your overpriced trousers.”

     Chung blanched, stiffened, but finally resigned himself to his fate. He bowed once more and departed.

​​​