Murim: From Forest to Weeds
They called it wu (武) for halting the spears (戈止) of oppression aimed at the common folk. Those who harbored righteous intent (人) and embraced the people (夾) were dubbed xia (俠). And so officials trusted warriors, the masses admired them, and across this vast Central Plains, those warriors flourished like a forest, bringing harmony to the world. That was murim (武林).
"The parakho who dubbed themselves the Yin Ying Sect took Chu Yeong as their ringleader and tormented the innocent populace."
But what happens when warriors turn a blind eye to the cries of the common folk and fail to embrace them? When officials no longer trust warriors and the masses cease to admire them—what becomes of those warriors who once flourished like a forest?
"Their crimes are far from light, yet His Majesty the Emperor regards even such parakho as subjects of the realm. How could one not be moved to tears and proclaim this Mount Tai-like grace?"
The answer is simple. Murim is no longer a forest harmonizing the world—it's become weeds fit only to be burned. Warriors are now parakho who neither belong to nor obey the state, ripe for suppression as disloyal elements.
"His Majesty the Emperor, in boundless mercy, has granted new life to these parakho who lived ugly, meaningless existences. This Left Vice Inspector, Han Un, presumes to relay His Majesty's command: Become shields that bring peace to the realm against the savage Mongol northern bandits!"
Thus, the state recycled these world-disrupting warriors with ruthless efficiency. Oppressing the common folk? Full of youthful vigor, are we? Round 'em up and ship 'em to the front lines. Defying officials? Can't follow orders properly? Off to the army you go. The state fills its manpower shortages, the masses distance themselves from these sword-swinging parakho, and the warriors get a fresh start—what joy!
Even the Primeval Lord of Heaven and Buddha would nod in approval at such benevolence.
"Chu Yeong and his 27 accomplices are to report to Shanhaiguan."
And since His Majesty had graciously left it to my discretion to assign these parakho's postings, I conveniently chose Shanhaiguan. From that perpetually understaffed fortress's perspective, more hands were always a blessing.
"Sh-Shanhaiguan...!"
"V-Vice Inspector, sir, please wait a moment! Shanhaiguan is—!"
Thankfully, the parakho seemed so overwhelmed by the grand honor of Shanhaiguan duty that they could barely speak.
"My lord."
"What."
As the soldiers rounded up the thrashing, joyful parakho, the Inspector Escort—who, through no fault of his own, was touring the provinces with me—approached.
"The Shanhaiguan Commandant says to stop sending him weirdos."
"Ah."
Too much of a good thing, apparently. Not a blessing after all.
"Send 'em to Guyongguan, then."
"Yes, sir."
After a moment's thought at the Inspector Escort's words, I designated Guyongguan as the dumping ground. Shanhaiguan or Guyongguan—six of one, half a dozen of the other.