Provincial Inspection - 3: North of the Yellow River
Habuk. In original history, this would have been called Beizhili, a region that had dominated the political and military heart of the Central Plains for centuries. Even in this world, where the capital was Kaepyeong instead of Beijing, it was an indispensable strategic hub—a massive barracks bracing against Mongol remnants who fled beyond the Great Wall to the north and Goryeo's growing presence to the east. And because it lay north of that temperamental beast, the Hwangha, it was called Habuk.
"I never get used to this place, no matter how many times I come."
That meant crossing the Hwangha was mandatory to reach Habuk. A nightmare. Reputation aside, the Hwangha was a lousy river. Sediments swept along from upstream piled up on the bottom, making depths unpredictable. The muddy waters obscured visibility, so even slightly larger ships frequently ran aground. No one could call it a good river with a straight face. On top of that, it flowed surprisingly shallow for its fame—drying up easily in droughts, overflowing wildly in floods. And if that wasn't enough, the riverbed shifted course on its own whims. No wonder the people of the Central Plains called it the "Flood Dragon"—a foul-tempered bastard of a dragon spawn.
"...Should I have just saved Habuk for last?"
"Wouldn't it be better to get it over with first, since we have to go anyway, sir?"
"Yeah, you're right..."
Despite Jo Wi-cheo's perfectly reasonable reply, I let out a sigh. True, if we had to go, better to knock it out early. There was that saying about taking the first hit being best, and skipping Habuk—right above Kaepyeong—might spark weird rumors about the Left Vice Inspector General stirring regional resentment. So this was the right call. It was right, but...
"Hahaha! What a flashy ship! Perfect for us guardians of the Hwangha!"
"Heh, surrender quietly, and we'll make it quick and painless!"
I closed my eyes at the booming voices. Unlike the Changgang, with its immense economic value and overseer Gu Gangwang, the Hwangha was tough even for official vessels, so these water bandit scum popped up now and then. The river was annoying enough to cross without these extra headaches. Amazing, really. Who were brave enough to pirate on this hellish river? If they'd channeled that courage elsewhere, they might've amounted to something.
"Wi-cheo."
"Yes, sir."
"Send this lot to Shanhaiguan."
Anyway, water bandits on the Hwangha were invariably locals from Habuk. They'd have some affection for their homeland, so they'd serve happily at Shanhaiguan. No need for indefinite patriotic service sentences for these Hwangha-pirating daredevils. With that done, we arrived at Jinju.
'They must've gotten a solid beating from the officials too.'
I chuckled, recalling the tearful past of the Lang Clan, now called the Jinju Lang Clan. Originally from Hobuk, not Habuk, they'd settled at a key spot along the Changgang, amassing wealth through river transport. But post-Song founding, that fortune turned toxic. To the high officials, the Langs—who hadn't fought the Mongols—were just fat piggy banks, cowards ripe for despising. Around the same time Namgung Clan was chased to Anhui, the Langs were uprooted to Habuk.
'That was a bit much.'
The Lang Clan's relocation was so brutal, rumors said their clan head fainted. At least Namgung only moved next door; the Langs crossed from Changgang to Hwangha. In compensation, their new base, Jin County, was promoted to Jinju, and they were dubbed "Jinju Lang Clan" as a local powerhouse... Honestly, it felt more like mockery than recompense. Branding a prosperous Hobuk trading family as Habuk notables?
'Crazy bastards.'
Thinking back, right after Song's founding was an era of unparalleled madness. Count the forcibly relocated sects and clans, and it'd hit three digits easy. Sure, it was excessive, but no sympathy here. Those murim powers had bet on Mongol rule lasting forever; Song's upset victory was the reverse. Lose a bad bet, and you pay up. Simple.
'Wonder how I'll shake these guys up.'
Stroking my chin, I eyed the distant Lang Clan estate. I believed in using murim folk as manpower for bureaucratic bliss—not pitying them. If it meant fleecing them like Namgung, I'd strip their souls bare. Why pity those who twiddled thumbs while Grandfather risked his life?
The Lang Clan estate was so ordinary, it belied their old title as Hobuk's premier house. No, Hobuk and Honam combined—they were murim's pinnacle. Even today's thriving Wudang and Hengshan owed their biggest patronage to the Langs. That was us.
'A useless past now.'
Watering the sponsor flowers, I began another peaceful, boring day. The higher you climb, the harder the fall—how true. Hobuk and Honam's overlords, we were exiled to Habuk overnight, most wealth "donated" away. Horrific, but we couldn't resist. The heroes who'd crushed the Mongols and repelled the world's top three masters? Defying them was suicide, in name or profit. Charging headlong into their momentum was madness.
Meanwhile, Wudang and Hengshan cozied up to the regime. Our defiance would've just made them shine brighter, us more pathetic.
'We weren't the only ones relocated.'
Not much consolation, but most top murim clans got shuffled by officials. Namgung from Zhili to Anhui, Zhuge from Shaanxi to Hobuk. Huangbo in Shandong dodged it, but under Ak Wang Clan's watch—better relocated, honestly.
'We'll rise again someday.'
A bitter smile as I gazed at the trifoliate orange tree. Planted after losing our citrus groves, it symbolized our uprooting yet resilient growth in exile. Yes, this too would pass. We'd rise. The world turned on rise and fall. What prospered crumbled; what crumbled prospered. We'd been weak nobodies who rose to Hobuk's top; this was just a temporary dip. Bad luck it hit during my tenure as clan head.
'My kids' generation might turn it around.'
Time would claim the merit officials hating murim. Then, milder or neutral sorts would rise. Then, we'd—
"Clan head!"
The voice shattered my reverie; I scowled. I'd just sorted my tangled heart.
"What's the racket this early?"
"Th-that is...!"
North Peak Division Leader caught his breath, face frantic.
"Officials are here! The Left Vice Inspector General!"
I nearly blanked out.
'Left Vice Inspector General?'
Gi Wang's grandson, Ak Wang's granddaughter's husband. The regime's hound that crushed Namgung's pride.
"Assemble everyone in the estate! Absolutely no slip-ups!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
Regaining composure, I barked at North Peak Leader. The entire Lang Clan must greet the Left Vice Inspector General. No hint of neglect. We had to exude total welcome. Overkill maybe, but he'd crushed Namgung on weird pretexts. No guarantee we wouldn't follow.
'This sudden...'
Biting my lip as he dashed off. No official scrutiny since Habuk; we'd grown lax. No warning, just this ambush.
The Lang Clan estate looked downright shabby next to mighty Namgung in Anhui. But that was the point. Why relocate them to weaken the clan if they'd thrive? Jinju, their spot, was a puny village compared to Hefei—no real moneymakers.
'Shabby present versus glorious past.'
A useful angle if played right. Habuk's top clans: Peng and Lang. Peng were natives shifted south to north; Lang, Hobuk transplants. Both beaten by regime, yet rivalry simmered. Lang lagged in raw power—no history or networks like Peng.
"Create sects that cooperate with the regime. Show gains from obedience. Make the people sing contempt for the uncooperative, sow internal chaos to prevent unity."
'Hmm.'
Left Do-eosa's parting words from Kaepyeong echoed. Sound advice: foster collaborators, demonstrate benefits, vilify resistors, divide from within.
'...Time to nurture these guys?'
Peng were rebuilding lately, I'd heard. Hard for officials to smash border clans outright, but private clan squabbles? Unavoidable unrest. As long as the regime stayed hands-off.