You, Off to the Island? - 1
Lately, every day felt unbearably monotonous. As a scholar pursuing Confucian ideals and a man of letters wielding the brush, serving the realm, the people, and His Majesty was the greatest honor imaginable—but when there's no real work to sink your teeth into, a man's drive inevitably wanes.
Of course, the Hanlim Academy wasn't short on tasks. In terms of sheer volume, it ranked among the busiest bureaus in all of Daesong. But amid that mountain of duties, nothing sparked my interest.
The restoration of Wu Anjun's martial arts was fun, though.
I let out a small sigh and took a sip of tea. The Left Vice Inspector General, touring the provinces, had uncovered Wu Anjun's martial arts manual in Shaanxi. How my heart had raced when that lost legacy of Wu Anjun suddenly surfaced. I'd even shoved all other work aside to focus on reconstructing it. The name alone—Mie Yuk Guk Pyeong Cheon Sin Geom. An audacious title for a mere warrior, daring to invoke the subjugation of nations and the pacification of the world. But for Wu Anjun Baek Qi, it was well deserved.
It was the best.
Even now, the memory warmed me. Mie Yuk Guk Pyeong Cheon Sin Geom was the martial art Wu Anjun wielded, but the manual itself wasn't penned in the Warring States era. Yet the one who compiled it into a manual had described it using the script of the Qin dynasty. A splendid choice. Most people overlooked it, but script is more than a mere tool for recording— the very choice of characters alters the feel of the content, infusing it with profound power and history. The compiler understood this perfectly, deciding to record Wu Anjun's arts in the script of his era.
"Can't we get another one like that?"
I muttered my true feelings without thinking. If another such manual appeared, this boredom would vanish in a flash. Honestly, if Baek Qi's arts had resurfaced, the odds of discovering General Lian Po's weren't zero. If such a miracle happened in my lifetime—
"Scholar, sir!"
"Hm? What is it?"
The door burst open, and my attendant rushed in. His movements were so frantic and noisy that I couldn't help tilting my head. The man lacked flexibility, sure, but he'd topped the civil exams—plenty of knowledge and etiquette there. For him to barge into a superior's room like this?
"H-His Majesty! His Majesty has arrived!"
Ah.
That explained it. No wonder he was losing his mind. I need to get used to this. At the same time, I felt a pang of sympathy for my fidgeting attendant. Hanlim scholars couldn't afford to panic at His Majesty's visits. His Majesty had deep knowledge and interest in scholarship, so these surprise inspections weren't rare. My attendant was new to bureaucracy and unaware, but he'd adapt in time. I had.
"If His Majesty has graced us, a loyal subject can't sit idle. Let's go."
"Yes, sir!"
I rose casually, noting the desperation on his face. I wondered what books His Majesty sought today. Last time, he'd taken tales of the warlords who rose in the late Sui dynasty—perhaps early Tang texts this time? His Majesty truly defied the grasp of ordinary minds.
"Are you referring to the old Haomun's martial arts?"
"Indeed. And not limited to Haomun's—any martial art simple and quick for anyone to learn will do."
I'd expected scholarly or historical texts, not martial arts. And not supreme peak techniques befitting His Majesty's dignity, but mass-produced basics anyone could pick up.
"Among the old Haomun's arts were things like Silent Sword, Secret Shadow Sword, Ghost Step, and Shadowless Heart Method—but those were for their cadre warriors. Far from simple to learn."
Haomun had fallen decades ago, memories fuzzy, but His Majesty requested it. My mind raced faster than usual. Haomun gathered the lowliest of the realm's masses, lacking the ability or will for systematic training. They relied on sheer numbers, information, and unity. Martial arts were for cadres to control the rank-and-file, preventing rebellion or desertion. Thus, Haomun arts were distant from "easy"—more like the world's most insular.
"For easy ones, there's Three Talents Sword, usable even by village martial instructors, and also Pure Heart Sword, Mad Wind Step, Bright Purity Heart Art—"
Reporting third-rate arts—at best second-rate—to His Majesty felt oddly surreal. Recommending such mundane fare seemed disloyal in itself.
"Quite a list."
Fortunately, His Majesty grew more pleased the longer I spoke.
"Have those freshly transcribed and sent to Tianzhou. They'll form the foundation for the new Haomun. Add any you deem suitable at your discretion."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I nearly flinched at "new Haomun," but stifled it to avoid an unseemly display. New Haomun? My mind filled with the bizarre term. What had happened while I was buried in the academy? Dull as I was to worldly news, I'd have heard of a new sect—especially a new Haomun.
Recent development?
Even more baffling. The bandit purges in Fujian led by the Three Kings were recent enough that even I knew. For a new Haomun to spring up right after? No wonder Fujian officials were spitting blood—the pace was relentless.
I petitioned the Emperor: wouldn't it be fitting to bestow suitable mass-produced martial arts for the new Haomun? Not directly, but via the Left Censor-in-chief, requiring a full imperial review—I expected a long wait. The throne isn't a neighborhood hardware store; requests don't get rubber-stamped.
Including old Haomun arts, thirteen martial manuals will be sent. Currently transcribing; they will arrive in Tianzhou by next month.
It worked.
Incredibly, it did. I'd sent the hawk to Kaepyeong—how long ago?—and already the Left Vice Inspector General replied. With specifics on numbers and timeline.
What the hell?
The speed defied common sense, leaving me unsettled. Daesong's sprawling bureaucracy was its essence—infamously labyrinthine in procedures. My office and the Left Vice Inspector General thrived on emergency shortcuts, ignoring half the red tape. But with the Emperor involved? It should crawl through proper channels.
Yet this velocity. Was His Majesty bored lately? A serious question.
Good is good.
Quick replies suited me fine. With a firm timeline, no need to linger in Tianzhou.
Or so I thought.
"You from Kaepyeong too?"
—Squeee!
Until the second hawk arrived from the north. The ten-minute gap between them drew a wry chuckle. Not even hourly—ten minutes? A novel experience.
"Good work flying here."
—Squeee~
I gently stroked the hawk's head, then unrolled the missive. What could warrant dispatches ten minutes apart...?
Discussions underway for Taiwan expedition led by Left Vice Inspector General and Haomun Leader. Remain in Tianzhou until further orders.
"What the fuck."
—Squeak?
The curse slipped out instinctively. Taiwan expedition? What Taiwan expedition? I'd considered it while aiding the Yangtze, but only after Haomun stabilized. A newborn sect launching overseas? Absurd. Mongols mattered more than some island now.
Typo?
Defying logic, I rechecked. Surely a slip—the elders were battle-hardened eccentrics, but heart, not intellect, was their flaw. No way they'd debate nonsense.
[Discussions underway for Taiwan expedition led by Left Vice Inspector General and Haomun Leader. Remain in Tianzhou until further orders.]
No way...
"Left Censor-in-chief, sir."
"What?"
"Hawks arrive daily lately. Who's sending them?"
"Left Vice Inspector General."
"Ah."
Left Assistant Censor-in-chief's instant understanding drew a smirk.
"He must be antsy. Doesn't usually spam the hawk post, does he?"
"Sudden Taiwan trip'll do that. Once you set precedent for sending him abroad, no guarantee it stops at one."
Han Un had operated solely within Daesong borders till now. But a Taiwan jaunt creates precedent: "Left Vice Inspector General can go overseas." Darkens an already shadowed future. He could return to Kaepyeong post-Fujian tour. Now a new overseas detour? Eyes on home, forced to wander again. Horrific even for someone else.
Too soon, though.
Thankfully, the Taiwan talks seemed destined to fizzle. Everyone knew Mongols trumped Taiwan. The elders and nobles gathered to establish precedent: Daesong eyes Taiwan. Later, with leisure, it smooths the path—even generations hence. "The late Emperor discussed Taiwan with his ministers." One phrase suffices.
The man himself oblivious.
Imagining Han Un's fretting brought laughter anew.