Please, Don't Raise Your Voices - 6
With the Emperor's declaration of a break, the already murmuring spectators began gathering in small groups, openly chatting away. Sure, it wasn't proper for us elders to make noise while the young scholars debated below, but the Emperor himself had granted this free time. The shackles holding back the adults had been lifted, so now it was the old founding merits' turn, not the young scholars'.
"That's not wrong. Just keeping the murim in check and under surveillance is already consuming a massive amount of administrative resources. Imagine the uproar if we tried to forcibly disband the martial sects on top of that—I'd rather not."
"No one wants rivers of blood. But if the situation demands it, shouldn't we walk that path willingly?"
"We'd have no choice against foreign invaders. The problem is shedding the blood of Central Plains folk—not in chaotic times, but in this era of peace."
The founding merits and ministers, who had gathered expecting to watch the young ones' spirited show, now exchanged their own views with serious expressions. The radicals among the scholars scratched at the old heroes' grudges, while the moderates appealed to their reason. This stirred up both fury at the murim and anguish over reality at once.
Thanks to that, the spectators watching the debate couldn't laugh at the youngsters' boldness or nod in approval at their caution. They offered only ritual praise for the scholars' bold and wise demeanor during the break, encouragement to become fine officials in the future—and nothing more.
Is that a relief? It was a complicated feeling. It was encouraging that the merits hadn't lost their tempers and tried to crush the scholars, but the discussion on handling the old murim—meant to stay among the scholars—had spread to the merits themselves.
They don't seem inclined to stop it. Wondering if this was okay, I glanced sideways and saw the Emperor surveying the hall with a relaxed expression. He clearly had no intention of intervening, whether the merits chattered or not. After all, he'd set up this imperial debate in the first place, so he'd anticipated the merits' stirrings.
"Yun."
As I watched Jin-i whispering with Pung-seung, Grandfather patted my shoulder lightly.
"Don't overthink it. Debates are for the scholars, and reflections are for us old folks gathered here. You've fulfilled your duty by bringing those young ones here at His Majesty's command."
He offered that small comfort. No need for a young official to meddle in the merits' debate.
"He's right. Responsibility is good, but fretting over things that aren't your burden is just exhausting. All you need to do is gauge what the future leaders are thinking."
Even Ak Wang, sitting beside us, consoled me. I was touched. Was it because our wedding was approaching? Ak Wang, who had already treated me almost like family, now felt fully familial in his gentleness.
"If you stick your nose where it doesn't belong, won't Yeon-i just end up sad? Focus on quietly holding the wedding."
"I'll keep that in mind."
His signature gruffness remained, of course, but knowing even that gruffness came from affection, I just nodded.
"Once this imperial debate ends, it looks like the elders will gather for a second round—"
"I just said there's no need to worry about it. Now that you're a third-rank official, do the words of us old kings not even reach your ears?"
"Heh heh, well now. Looks like we're so outdated even our grandson dismisses us. Guess we should just die off when we get old."
"I'm sorry..."
I could only nod. If I asked about what came next, Ak Wang's scolding and Grandfather's lifespan jabs would fly in tandem.
But how could I ignore it? The merits were clearly buzzing. A policy shift on the old murim might happen right here—how could I not care?
If policy changes, I'll be the one rolling in the mud eventually. Tears nearly welled up, but I held back. I'd locked eyes with Jin-i, who wore a bitter expression after whatever he'd discussed with Pung-seung.
Yeah. No matter how tough it is for me, it'll be worse for you.
Hang in there, little brother. Once we get past this hurdle, you'll shine as the brilliant, well-connected next-gen minister.
The short break ended, and the imperial debate resumed.
"If you fear the blood from lancing a boil, that boil will only grow and rot the body. Destroying and rebuilding the murim won't be easy, but it's the path we must take for Great Song's future."
"The murim that survives to this day is a wound to staunch, not a boil to excise. Have the massive sects and clans—the so-called pillars of the murim—ever caused trouble since Great Song's founding? They were too quiet before the founding—that was the problem. They've never stirred up chaos."
The debate, rife with shouts and finger-pointing before, now proceeded in a more solemn, quiet atmosphere after the break. The scholars' hot hearts and cool heads hadn't truly calmed, though.
"May I speak this time?"
The imperial debate had shifted: no longer could scholars shout freely. What had been a strict debaters' forum before the break had become a participatory discussion with merits joining in after. In vulgar terms, shit had hit the fan.
No need for a second round after all. It was bitter. In my lowly imagination, I'd figured the scholars' debate would end, followed by the merits' round two. But these heroes who'd fought for Heaven's Mandate in the pivotal reversal had easily surpassed my expectations. No waiting for round two—they'd seized round one as their own.
"It's true the current murim forces are hard to call outright harmful. Our exalted ancestor executed the true villains who defiled the realm, and under His Majesty's wise and benevolent rule, the silenced murim bows its head and follows order."
A merit who'd naturally taken the floor praised the founding Emperor and current sovereign before stating his view.
"Thus, they're not harmful—but nor are they beneficial. There's no value or reason to gloss over the karma they've piled up over a millennium."
Like most merits, he advocated smashing the murim.
"The young scholars boldly cried out, so this old man will speak frankly too. When Heaven's Mandate shifts, the old order that failed to protect it gets swept away—that's natural law. The Yuan who once held it, the tragic Ancestral Song, and before them the Tang, Sui, and Han."
Perhaps unwilling to spew curses and shouts in front of the young scholars—unlike the legends of 'unrecordable remarks'—the speaking merit continued calmly.
"But what of the murim? For over a millennium, they've gripped power and enjoyed privileges. When barbarian states rose, they even bowed to barbarians to suck sweet honey. They leeched off every Mandate, every dynasty, reveling in endless glory."
No one could deny it—it rang true. The murim remained murim through emperors' changes, nations' falls. Even as commoners suffered and the land bled, the murim endured. Because they wielded direct force, received considerations for official convenience. Their might from force, wealth, connections bought fear and awe from the people.
"Why? Why did this happen? The imperial house that establishes new Mandate, the merits, the officials who uphold the realm—they vanish when eras shift. Yet why does the murim—rusty sword sheathed eternally—endure forever? Isn't it time to overturn this bizarre phenomenon?!"
At those words, not a few merits—and even ministers—nodded. Simply put: 'Officials roll like dogs for the realm, so why do those freeloading on privileges still live fat and happy?' Blunt and certain above all.
It was bizarre. When dynasties fell, royals, nobles, officials got crushed—that made sense. They'd failed to lead properly, so bearing responsibility in death was fate. But as that merit said, the murim always escaped accountability. Despite enjoying official favors and privileges beyond maintenance—ruling regions like kings—they never shared the nation's fate. That millennium of resentment had fully exploded since the founding war. If anything, they'd endured it too long.
"If such a bizarre event lasted over a millennium, there must be reason."
But if they'd acted ruthlessly on that resentment, the murim wouldn't exist now.
"Not all murim folk enjoy privileges. Those we hate and despise are just the elite few at the top—the masses are no different from ordinary commoners. The only difference is whether they can use martial arts."
Coincidentally, a somewhat moderate merit rose opposite the smash-the-murim advocate.
"The masses are controlled by the elite, yet protected by them too. If we destroy all murim, how will those unprotected, uncontrolled warriors act? The chaos would dwarf the Yangtze Waterway Eighteen Bandits or the Seventy-Two Green Forest Strongholds."
From this rebuttal, the debate shifted to merits leading, not scholars. Was this a relief? The suddenly sidelined scholars didn't panic or sulk—they sparkled with excitement, listening raptly to the real powerhouses' discussion.
Fine... if you like it, whatever...
"Enough."
The long debate halted at the Emperor's command. "Handling the old murim has always been no simple matter. This gathering was to hear the young scholars' views, not to demand solutions from you ministers."
The merits subtly bowed at the veiled rebuke.
"Yet having heard your fervor, I can't lightly dismiss it."
His ominous tone made everyone flinch. What? Why say that? It wasn't heading to a conclusion anyway—just let it pass.
"Destroying and rebuilding the current murim is tabled. It requires detailed discussion and evidence. But we cannot deny the need to scrutinize the murim more closely."
As the Emperor's words lengthened, the bowing merits prostrated fully, sensing a weighty decree.
"Ascertain the numbers and locations of all warriors belonging to murim clans and sects. If they don't report voluntarily to the bureaucracy, we will investigate directly—and those who refuse will face strict punishment."
Just like that.
Insane. I bit my lip unwittingly. The bureaucracy already roughly knew each sect and clan's scale, had compiled their arts and countermeasures. Yet the Emperor ordered a formal, seemingly pointless census? The reason was crystal clear: a test of your honesty and cooperation with the state. Fail here, and we won't guarantee how we'll treat you. If policy turns to murim destruction, you'll be first in line for the beating. A threat.
All murim clans and sects shall report the numbers and locations of their warriors to the relevant authorities.
Non-compliance will result in direct investigation and severe punishment.
A declaration strengthening the current murim oversight policy without outright destruction. No smashing—but survival demands even more vigilance and groveling...
Who's... going to do the investigating? Instinctive dread surged. Even with voluntary reports, verification is needed; for non-reporters, personnel must track them down... Who handles that? If categorized, it's intelligence. Intelligence could fall under inspection.
No way. Us? Does the Dochalwon have to shoulder this madness?