The Visitor from the Island - 4: Haomun Rises Again

Calling it a revival might be a stretch, since the new Haomun had no real connection to the old one—not even the same characters in its name. But its identity as a sect where even the lowliest folks at the bottom of society could gather and laugh joyfully felt eerily similar to the past Haomun. After all, wasn't the original Haomun a gathering of society's very bottom rung?

The difference? Back then, it was the occupationally disadvantaged; now, it's those branded inferior by bloodline.

"Ah. Did they have a Haomun back in the old days too?"

Jang Gang's eyes went wide with surprise at my explanation, then he burst into laughter. "Then, just like the old Haomun, our sect will embrace all kinds of people! To repay the grace Your Excellency has shown us! We'll embrace those who see themselves as the dregs of society!"

"A fine vow. I'll look forward to it."

"Yes, Your Excellency!"

Jang Gang bowed deeply, and the ten comrades behind him followed suit.

These immigrants were no longer the persecuted wretches from Taiwan or rootless wanderers drifting through the Central Plains. They were the founding ancestors and merit subjects of the new Haomun.

Moreover, despite their harsh lives, they'd chosen the path of light over darkness. They hadn't formed a sect for personal gain but to give happiness to others like themselves. True exemplars.

This kind of Haomun is worth nurturing.

The old Haomun was a ragtag evil sect drawing every thug and lowlife—easy to join, no standards. No wonder the government viewed it dimly. But a sect where the vulnerable banded together for mutual support? That, the authorities might look upon favorably. After all, it aided the welfare and resurgence of the weak—advocating for those discriminated against by trade or birth.

Haomun (下娛門). I mulled over the new name Jang Gang had shared. A sect that finds joy even at the bottom. I hoped this new Haomun would forever uphold its founding ideals. It would break my heart if a sect I'd backed devolved into something twisted.

Word spread like wildfire through Tianzhou that a new sect had taken root on the former estate of the Jang family. And its name? Haomun. Enough to pique interest even from those ignorant of the Jang clan's righteous past.

"Heavens. Evil sect scum squatting on the grounds of a righteous clan like the Jangs, famed for justice and chivalry? These are end times!"

"Doesn't seem like an evil sect, though? In this day and age, would the government back one? Besides, that estate was under official management—why hand it to villains?"

"But it's Haomun! Back in the day, name the top evil sects, and it'd be the forest bandits, the Yangtze water pirates' eighteen strongholds, and Haomun!"

Of course, the name's notoriety didn't spawn only positive buzz. But bad press beats no press. A newborn sect couldn't afford to be picky—it needed visibility first, achievements second.

And this negativity? Once the truth emerged—that it wasn't a vicious evil crew but a welfare group under official protection and endorsement—it would backfire spectacularly. Trash turns out to be pure-hearted volunteers? That's reversal charm at its finest. The new Haomun's reputation would skyrocket ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠overnight.

And Jang Gang's a good man at heart.

His speech was clumsy, not yet fluent in Central Plains tongue—a minor flaw, hardly impeding communication. Set that aside, and he was prime founding patriarch material: super peak realm, unwarped despite a brutal upbringing, bold enough to cross the sea with his kin for a new life, grave eyes belying his awkward words.

Barring some sudden dark turn, the new Haomun would thrive under his leadership. A government-backed sect failing to grow would be the real anomaly.

"I've recommended it to my retired official friends and veteran soldiers. What can eleven people—including the sect leader—accomplish alone?"

"If they're your acquaintances, Branch Manager, their skills and character are guaranteed. Haomun's gained wings."

Not just material aid, but manpower too—an overwhelming endorsement.

No chance of it crashing now. I sighed inwardly in relief at the Branch Manager's words.

I trusted Jang Gang's passion and talent, but the world had cases where enthusiasm met inexperience and sputtered. The Branch Manager's involvement filled that gap instantly.

His contacts—retired officials and vets—were surely high-ranking in Fujian. Their joining would give Haomun administrative experts for great sect operations and core fighters as backers.

Plus, networks tangle. These newcomers brought their own connections, ensuring aid from all corners whenever Haomun needed it.

Perfect. Local powerhouses uniting to prop up one sect—like an untouchable famed faction from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠murim's glory days.

Han Un in Fujian sent a messenger pigeon. The Fujian origin made my brow furrow instinctively.

Gi Wang, Gu Gangwang, and Dong-gu Wang had already led a massive bandit purge there, even forming a penal brigade from ex-bandits. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠New incidents on top of that?

Is that guy cursed or something?

No other explanation for Han Un's magnet for chaos. Otherwise, why incidents everywhere he went? Why fresh trouble in a place the kings had cleaned?

Incomprehensible. The kings wouldn't leave loose ends, so all was quiet when they departed. Yet the moment Han Un stayed behind alone...

Won't see his like again.

I hadn't lived as long as the elders, but climbing to Left Censor-in-Chief, I'd seen plenty. None with Han Un's twisted fate.

What a guy. Anyone'd think he handled every Dochalwon case solo. He did shoulder one or two in three, sure.

"Ha."

Unfolding the pigeon-borne letter, a scoff escaped at the first line.

Taiwan. Super peak master. New sect. Three dizzying words in one sentence.

What the hell.

Chaos. What was he doing in Fujian? What sights had he witnessed to meddle in founding a murim sect?

I'd told him to co-opt factions, spark infighting—not invent new ones. Next he'd claim to birth a new murim entirely. Laughter kept bubbling.

The guy who'd revived Haomun himself—what couldn't he do?

...Not the old Haomun, at least.

Thank goodness. Same name, different beast. Core members: mixed-blood descendants of Central Plains folk and Taiwan natives, long discriminated against.

Government-endorsed. Vowed to make the scorned and downtrodden smile. Founding process and ideals? Impeccable.

If this Jang Gang held true, worth backing.

Taiwan. I closed my eyes, thoughts settling.

This Haomun embraced society's potential powder kegs. Its leader: a super peak who could've roiled the land rootless.

In exchange for one sect, we'd housed a disruptive force under official mercy. Could stop there—but...

Too wasteful to end it so.

Half Central Plains blood, half Taiwan native. Letting such a card idle? No.

Worried he'd stray? Exploit maximally first.

Beyond internal use—wield outward. Proof a Taiwan-blooded man could thrive in the Central Plains. That Taiwan could join it.

Time to prepare.

Mongols loomed north of the passes—no rash Taiwan conquest now. Tiny or not, war was war. With Mongol clash nearing, no squandering resources.

First: petition His Majesty to ramp Taiwan contacts, relocate willing migrants.

Then: dispatch merchant groups for native exchange.

Solidify base. Post-Mongol victory, seize Taiwan—gently or by force.

The Left Censor-in-Chief replied.

Using Jang Gang and kin to dominate Taiwan. Spot on—great minds think alike. I'd backed him for that very reason.

But now that it's happening... feels off.

I'd anticipated it, but synced thoughts with the Left Censor-in-Chief left a sour taste. Unpleasant, irksome for no good reason.