It's Not Over Till It's Over - 2
Merchants' heated arguments and shopkeepers' wild finger-pointing. Compared to the chaos martial artists caused, it was mild fare. But the foundation of the realm lay not with murim folk, but with ordinary commoners. While murim rabble-rousers could usually be subdued by force—a mere public order issue—when the people themselves turned red-faced, it was no simple matter of deploying might or authority. It was a question of the people's hearts.
And I'd witnessed that heart of the people firsthand. An incident unfolding that neither the stern glares of the garrison troops nor my Left Deputy Censor-in-Chief's badge could easily suppress.
"You never intended to hand over the goods from the start, did you? You planned to screw us over! No wonder you kept harping on the penalty clause during the contract!"
"Ha! Of course a merchant's sensitive about penalties! Why dump your own incompetence on me?"
"What the hell, you bastard!?"
This was no mere squabble over a failed deal or botched delivery.
"Cut the crap and get out of my shop! You wanna take this all the way!?"
"Took you long enough to figure that out? Figures—with how dim you are, no wonder your business is in the toilet."
It felt less like a spontaneous flare-up and more like long-simmering resentment exploding in rage and mockery. My head was spinning. I hadn't gone looking for trouble; I'd just been passing by on the street and stumbled into the scene. At the exact same spot, the exact same time. What drove me madder still was how everyday this seemed to Geomju-bu's residents. Passersby didn't tense up or intervene—they just glanced over and went on their way, like watching a roadside dog bark.
This is their daily life... Truly horrifying. No collar-grabbing or fisticuffs yet, but the tension was at a boiling point—
"You son of a—!"
"You think you've got the only hands here? I've got 'em too!"
Ah.
Sure enough, the shopkeepers grabbed each other by the collar. Linger any longer, and the merchants would dive into fisticuff diplomacy.
"That's what happened."
"Embarrassing, sir. We've shown the Left Deputy Censor-in-Chief such a shameful sight."
When I recounted the scene to Geomju-bu's Branch Manager, he gave a wry smile and fiddled with his teacup. His reaction confirmed it: brawls in Geomju weren't outliers—they were routine. Otherwise, he couldn't stay so composed after a central inspector mentioned, "Saw folks fighting in broad daylight."
No, not composed—more like forcibly detached.
"We intervened as mildly as possible to disperse them without backlash, but it's just a band-aid. If this is happening all over Geomju, the authorities need to step in properly."
His expression soured further at my words, and my own mood soured with it.
Mild dispersal my ass. It was basically neglect. I sighed inwardly and took a sip of tea. To resolve it right, we should've heard them out instead of breaking it up. But I'd deployed Kki-ing-i and Kki-ong-i to force an end.
Kki-iiing!
Kki-oong!
"Wh-what is it!? What's going on!?"
"Wh-white deer? Wait! Don't eat that!"
A flashy distraction summoning Kki-ing-i and Kki-ong-i, Hengshan-style. It threw the feuding merchants and shopkeepers into chaos, drawing even the indifferent locals' attention. With the momentum broken, the fight fizzled. But this was no resolution—just a timeout. Give it a day or two—worst case, it might've reignited while I sat chatting with the Branch Manager.
No other choice for now. A pathetic fix, but unavoidable. People's livelihoods and emotions were at stake; unlike murim squabbles, you couldn't bulldoze through. If it'd been parakho scum, I'd have thrashed them on the spot and shipped them to Shanhaiguan. Standard procedure, no complaints. But pounding ordinary folk and exiling them? Even history's tyrants wouldn't stoop that low. So, spirit deer it was. A delay, not a cure, but it bought time.
"Geomju's atmosphere felt off overall. Not at a public order crisis yet, but the residents looked sharp as whetted blades."
"Spot on, sir. No better way to sum up Geomju."
"So, Branch Manager—what's going on in Geomju?"
He sighed deeply at my blunt question. Then a sip of tea, another sigh, another sip. Stalling, reluctant to speak. I didn't press. Even I, fresh off the boat, sensed the unease; how must the man in charge feel? Push too hard, and his nerves would shatter.
"As you said, sir, Geomju's security is decent. The Baekryeon Cult Leader in Shiwandaishan pressures murim folk just by existing, so Guangxi has fewer than Guangdong. Fewer armed thugs causing havoc."
Finally, he spoke cautiously.
"But that security might crumble soon. Few armed thugs, but another threat looms over Geomju."
"What threat?"
"Sir... ever heard of the Dongjok?"
"...Dongjok?"
"To you, probably the Jangjok. Taizu called them Jangjok, but locals still say Dongjok more."
Jangjok clicked. Their old name was Dongjok. News to me.
"Plenty of Dongjok live in Geomju and Guangxi. Inside the Central Plains fold, but distant from us ordinary folk."
I nodded; that much I knew. If they blended in, no special name.
"Disputes with them... that's Geomju's curse."
"Complicated mess."
"Very."
Awkward silence followed. Better if it'd been rowdy murim; ethnic strife was a nightmare.
The headache of headaches.
Nothing more grueling than ethnic feuds. Dongjok: Taizu's future knowledge renamed them Jangjok centrally, but locals stuck to Dongjok. A tiny minority empire-wide, yet Guangxi's largest among them—far from negligible here.
Even neighbors scrap over gain. I rubbed my forehead. Same ethnicity fights like dogs over profit. Different ethnicity, looks, tongue, ways, even weirder faith? Chaos squared. Petty gripes turn epic; curses escalate to full roasts.
Ethnic differences weren't trivial.
"Thankfully, they see themselves as Daesong subjects—no sedition. But fully integrated? Can't say yes."
"Dodging disaster by a hair."
"Yes. They've been Guangxi natives forever, so their wealth and networks give them an edge. Lets the minority hold their own."
Made sense: outgunned numerically, they needed solid footing to scrap like that. Too solid, though—crushing the Branch Manager's spirit in real time.
"Plus, as you know, Guangxi officials include..."
"Many Jangjok. Border admins mix central appointees and locals."
"Right. The Jangjok—or Dongjok—"
"Use whichever. Central does both."
A bitter smile escaped me. Two names for one people—like the feuding factions in miniature.
Dongjok, huh.
Central control weakens toward borders—inevitable. Daesong appoints top border posts centrally but allocates lower staff quotas to locals. Can't fully exclude or empower them.
Thus: "relative minority, ancestral wealth/networks, alien looks/behavior breeding resentment, internal faction"—a perfect storm.
Insanity.
Dongjok couldn't conquer the mainstream but wouldn't roll over either. Maddening balance.
"How'd they manage these feuds before?"
My lament drew a sly glance from him. Ominous. What now?
"Truth is, sir... ethnic tensions were milder back then."
"'Back then' being?"
"Before Taizu's uprising."
Instinct hit. Pre-Taizu: Yuan rule.
"The court-murim non-aggression era."
"Yes. Guangxi had a sect embracing all ethnicities; their presence and mediation kept disputes low."
I snorted. The non-aggression collapse's bill had come due here too.