Little Academy Brats - 5
The Dochalwon's duties are always much the same. We compile reports from inspectors scattered across the land, clean up matters they can't handle on their own, and carry out the Emperor's commands. This vast framework hasn't changed once since the founding of the nation.
There's one existence that steps just a single foot outside this unchanging structure: Han Un. A left deputy censor-in-chief who wanders the provinces of Daesong, handling all sorts of tasks. Rolling around more desperately than any inspector. And yet, he faithfully carries out whatever he's assigned. Aside from collapsing at Jiayu Pass, he hasn't caused much of a stir—but even such a guy has sent a desperately urgent letter, which is rare for him.
Akrok Academy scholars are debating the treatment of the old murim.
Intensity: Maximum.
Impossible to control with ordinary methods.
Hunan Prefect Pojeongsa expresses strong objection.
A letter that maximizes urgency with short, hastily listed sentences.
"Debating the treatment of the old murim, huh."
The moment I saw the letter Han Un sent, I sighed once at the format and once more at the content.
The treatment of the old murim is a topic that hasn't been clearly resolved from the founding of Daesong to this day. Even the fierce founding merits softened with time after the founding war—but it's a subject that could set them raging again. And it's a vicious agenda that even I, the left censor-in-chief, can't dare mention.
It's only natural. Even as the head of the Dochalwon, I couldn't contribute to the founding war. Those who don't know that era's suffering have no right to speak on it.
"No one but a founding merit subject can discuss this."
Of course, if you're a high official in the capital rather than the provinces, you'll get involved whether you like it or not. It's been unresolved for decades, so those who rose to high positions in the merits' wake end up joining the debates. Though the surviving merits make it hard to speak freely.
"Why report this of all things."
Before long, my complicated feelings turned into a hollow laugh that slipped out.
A guy who moved on his own just fine if left alone, who poked into things I didn't even order—he's dumped a problem even I struggle with right into an official report. With an official letter like this, I can't pretend I didn't see it.
What's even more outrageous is Han Un's typical behavior, like with the Seokgosan Academy plaque. He ripped it down preemptively last time, but now he's giving prior notice? "He keeps all the fun to himself."
I wanted to watch how the academy brats would react if we took down their plaque too.
"Guess I'll have to see the Emperor again."
Anyway, just as Han Un reported it because he couldn't handle it alone, I can't resolve this on my end either. A young punk who didn't even fight in the founding war deciding on old murim matters arbitrarily? The Dochalwon would turn into the merits' playground overnight. The thought alone is dizzying. If the kings and dukes came swarming, no one but the Emperor could withstand them.
"...If I appeal to Giwang Highness, could he hold them off for a bit?"
The one silver lining is that Han Un's tangled up in this too. If I leverage that and plead, Giwang Highness might shield us from the merits. If he's in Kaepyeong, that is. He's in the capital today but could be elsewhere tomorrow, so I might not even get the chance.
In the end, I tidied up Han Un's desperate report and presented it to the Emperor.
"Seokgosan Academy's scholars grieved Us, but Akrok Academy's are surprising Us."
I bowed my head even lower at the Emperor's jade voice. A subject can't gaze freely upon the imperial visage, and besides, it was mortifying and regrettable to burden His Majesty—who treats all with perfect intimacy—with such a headache.
"Truly a laudable matter. For the scholars who will lead the realm one day to be so passionate in debate and interested in state affairs—how could We not commend it? Akrok Academy's reputation is well-deserved."
"It is possible only thanks to Your Majesty's virtue that blankets the world. Your Majesty's virtue is as warm as a spring breeze and sweet as honey, allowing the scholars to immerse themselves fully in learning."
"The left censor-in-chief's words are right, yet wrong. What blankets the world is not Our virtue, but the late Emperor's vast benevolence. It is the benevolence His late Majesty built that allows today's realm to exist."
I could say nothing to the Emperor's words, crediting the era of great peace entirely to the late Emperor. All subjects, merits included, know His Majesty's virtue. Gentle and compassionate, soft yet magnanimous. Without it, the order built by the Founder would have crumbled. Yet it hasn't—it has only grown firmer.
But I held my tongue. The Emperor's filial piety—crediting his father as emperor and sire as son—is yet another layer of his profound virtue.
"Left Censor-in-chief."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"We find Akrok Academy's scholars laudable, yet also regrettable. A problem We should have resolved long ago remains unsolved, so the private scholars step forward in Our stead."
"Your Majesty, how can You say such? The treatment of the old murim isn't a matter for simple conclusions—it requires the unanimous consensus of all ministers. What do these ink-stained youths, not even dry behind the ears, know to prattle on about?"
I shook my head at His Majesty's continued regrettable words. Akrok Academy's scholars rage because they're not stakeholders. They don't know how the merits' eyes turn murderous at every mention, how the hall's air grows heavy. If they knew even a fraction of that weight, they couldn't utter it. Common sense would forbid it.
"That is precisely why the academy scholars are beautiful. To gaze at ideals without yielding to reality, to cry out those ideals to reality-soaked ministers—that is their value."
"This foolish subject failed to grasp Your Majesty's lofty intent."
Yet His Majesty deemed even such ignorance beautiful. How merciful He is.
"However, that aside, We cannot deny the left deputy censor-in-chief faces a dilemma. If countless merits and ministers couldn't conclude it in decades, how could We leave it to him?"
With those words, His Majesty lightly tapped the armrest of the jade throne, as if deep in thought.
"Left Censor-in-chief, hear this."
"Command me, Your Majesty."
"What the left deputy censor-in-chief bears, We shall bear. Convey that he withdraw his attention from Akrok Academy and return to Kaepyeong."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Furthermore—"
I flinched involuntarily at the Emperor's ensuing command. The entire palace would soon be in an uproar.
Until the reply came from Kaepyeong, I gritted my teeth and kept Akrok Academy's commotion in check. For starters, I ordered them not to throw tantrums in inns like last time—confine debates strictly to the academy. And debates only among fellow scholars; never mention the old murim to ordinary folk. More precisely, not even to other scholars outside Akrok Academy. This mad debate mustn't spread outward. If it infects the world, the gates of hell open.
"You've worked hard."
"More than me, it's you."
As I spent my days watching scholars who talked like they could kill with words, ignoring those subtly hoping for my intervention or guidance—somehow, I grew friendly with Pungseung, the scholars' representative.
People bond over shared suffering, don't they? Pungseung and I felt a camaraderie suppressing this hell.
"Pungseung."
"Yes, my lord. Speak."
"You. Can't you stay at the academy instead of becoming an official?"
At the blunt words to my battle comrade, Pungseung's eyes twitched.
I get it. Just when he could legally escape this hell, a high official tells him to stay—emotions would surge. If my rank or blood were a bit lower, he might've grabbed my collar. Truth be told, I hate saying it. More capable officials mean less work for me. Scholars entering officialdom is something I'd welcome.
It's welcome, but...
You're coolest when you're here.
If Pungseung, the academy's brake, vanishes, what catastrophe might erupt? They voluntarily dragged in this insane debate on old murim treatment and argue it fiercely. No guarantee the next won't happen. What if they target officialdom directly next? Without Pungseung then? Unlimited debate without final conscience or restraint?
The prefect dies first. Socially or physically—probably the latter from overwork.
"...My lord. Though I am lacking, to become a nephew my uncle won't be ashamed of, I wish to walk the path of officialdom."
"I understand that resolve, but..."
Yet Pungseung's hard-spoken words hit heavier than the prefect's death. I hadn't realized at first, but Pungseung is Duke Weiguk Pungseung's nephew. The nephew of the Weiguk Duke I met at Jiayu Pass. No idea why a duke's nephew suffers here, but that title makes pressing him to stay awkward. If word reaches the duke: "The crown prince blocked your nephew's official path?"—embarrassing for both sides.
- Squeeeek!
"Hm?"
While pondering how to persuade him, a familiar cry came from behind my head.
Messenger falcon?
It was one. Larger and more ornate than most.
From Kaepyeong.
I swallowed hard at the sight. It must have carried the Emperor's reply all this way.
"Good work coming so far."
- Squeak!
The falcon perched on my outstretched arm, flapping its wings to boast of its efforts. Yes, I'll send you back stuffed with meat, don't worry—
"...Huh?"
My body froze the instant I unrolled the letter it brought.
Return to Kaepyeong, selecting six scholars from Akrok Academy to send with you.
They shall debate the treatment of the old murim before the ministers.
The Emperor's reply contained both heaven and hell.