Kill Each Other From Now On - 2
After hinting that the Censorate might push something their way, I evolved from an unwelcome guest at the Yeon Clan to their most honored VIP. Past grudges? They hold no meaning against the present. Besides, it wasn't me who drove the Yeon Clan from Hobuk all the way to Habuk—it was the officials back then. If anything, I've left nothing but good memories with the Yeon Clan.
"During the time the Yeon Clan was in Hobuk, the successive family heads loved cultivating tangerine trees."
Perhaps because of that, Yeon Sa-geon, who had briefly stepped away, returned with a bottle of liquor that looked anything but ordinary at first glance.
"This liquor was personally brewed by the one who first planted a tangerine tree. You could say it embodies the history of the Yeon Clan itself."
At those words, Jo Wi-cheo—who had been silently devouring meat—turned his gaze toward Yeon Sa-geon. The man who vented the stresses of touring the provinces with meat and booze. And now, dangling a famed liquor steeped in family history right in front of him? It was like tossing a hog with bound limbs before a starving lion.
"Liquor tied to the Yeon Clan's history. Just hearing about it has me excited."
"Haha, if I'd known you'd be this pleased, I would've brought it sooner."
And I wasn't much different. One of the few joys in this damn nationwide tour was sampling the local famous foods and liquors. At least that made wandering the land worthwhile. Especially since this was liquor brewed by the Yeon Clan, famed for their tangerines. If it was made by the head who first planted the tree, it must have aged for centuries. Whether mere liquor could last centuries didn't matter. In a world with martial arts, centuries of aging was no big deal.
"Thanks to you, milord, our family's history will flow anew. Offering our past history in return is only fitting."
Meeting my gaze and Jo Wi-cheo's, Yeon Sa-geon smiled affably as he uncorked the bottle.
Whoa.
Even from a distance, the faint tangerine aroma wafted over. Incredible. Whether it was the result of centuries of aging or the Yeon Clan's accumulated expertise, I couldn't say. If it was the latter, the Yeon Clan could've thrived as a liquor-selling family rather than a murim clan.
"Might I have the honor of pouring for you, milord?"
"Of course. The honor is mine."
As I extended my cup, the old Yeon Clan vanished, replaced by a new one bowing its head before the Censorate.
"If the chance arises, I'll bring some famed liquor next time."
"I'll await it with pleasure."
With that, the unspoken pact between the Censorate and the Yeon Clan was sealed. The Peng Clan bastards would be shocked if the Yeon Clan suddenly awakened and bit off their own limbs. I was already thrilled imagining their faces.
"Wi-cheo. Come join us."
"Yes, milord."
With a slight smile, I called him over, and Jo Wi-cheo—who had been eyeing us intently—hurried forward. These things you never forget to include. He'd sulk hard if overlooked.
Right after the banquet ended, I drafted letters to Habuk's Pojeongsa, Anchal-sa, and Do Ji-hwi-sa.
The letters stated that the Yeon Clan of Jinju had fully submitted to the Censorate's authority and pledged devoted cooperation, so the Censorate should commend the family for repenting its past sins.
Nothing's more reassuring than the government's favorable gaze.
If the administrative Pojeongsa viewed the Yeon Clan positively, every new venture they proposed would get top-priority approval, and their rivals would learn firsthand what bureaucratic red tape meant.
If the judicial Anchal-sa saw the Yeon Clan as one to protect, they'd hand down lenient rulings in any trials and swing the executioner's axe at their disputants.
If the military Do Ji-hwi-sa shielded the Yeon Clan, in clashes with other murim forces, only the opponents' warriors—not the Yeon Clan's—would be singled out and crushed.
A perfect shield and support. Rival forces might curse up a storm every time the government flexed its muscle. But what could they do?
If it chafes, they can bow their heads too.
Protecting compliant, diligent private factions was the Censorate's right and duty. What civil servant prioritizes vicious petitioners over honest ones? The officials of this world followed the same logic.
When a "founding merit clan marked by the leadership as a shameless murim force" clashed with a "murim force that bowed its head to the government despite past karma," they'd naturally side with the latter.
Hmm.
As I tied the letters to the legs of the express pigeons, I added a few lines to the one for the Pojeongsa.
Jinju's potential is boundless, yet the vast territories under government oversight have prevented proper development thus far. However, with the Yeon Clan's pledge of devoted cooperation, it merits consideration to promote Jinju's development and prosperity through them.
Perfect.
The already flawless letter was now even more so. The government's protection and goodwill alone could revive the Yeon Clan, sure. But that just meant strong backing, not that the clan itself had grown in stature.
It meant if urgent matters pulled the Censorate away, the Yeon Clan would face the Peng Clan and other murim forces without shield or support. A dire situation.
Let an allied faction get pummeled and wiped out while you looked away? No other murim group would trust the government's hand after that.
Hence, promoting Jinju's development—the Yeon Clan's base. As a bonus, pour in development funds and manpower through them, naturally bulking up the clan's weight.
Time to boost regional growth too.
If they still couldn't grow after this, it was on the Yeon Clan. Handing them regional development rights on a platter and failing to use it? That's an intelligence issue. But I didn't think a centuries-old family would be that dim.
We departed Jinju amid the Yeon Clan's lavish send-off. I'd dropped that good news would soon come from the capital, and Yeon Sa-geon looked ready to kowtow in grand salute. I hoped that devotion lasted forever. After all this help, turning greedy would break my heart.
I can't smash a clan I nurtured with my own hands.
Since we'd started on good terms, let's end well too. The Yeon Clan wouldn't want to get smashed by the government twice over.
—Kki-ing.
"Whoa, hold on."
At Kki-ing-i's cry, I pulled a tangerine from the sack and gave it to her.
After moving from Hobuk to Habuk, the Yeon Clan switched from tangerines to these sour oranges. They'd loaded us up, insisting we couldn't leave empty-handed. I'd worried about eating them all, but Kki-ing-i loved them unexpectedly. No waste now—lucky.
"Tasty?"
—Kki-ing!
Watching her munch away made even me feel warm inside.
"Milord, we'll arrive at Hangsan soon."
I nodded at Jo Wi-cheo's words.
Jinju of the Yeon Clan and Hangsan of the Hang-san-pa were closer than expected.
"Pay respects quickly, then head to Bojeong."
"Yes, milord."
This journey aimed to divide murim factions and secure cooperative ones for the government, so no need to stir up the already friendly Hang-san-pa.
But like Hengshanpa, Hang-san-pa had aided in the founding war—a merit sect. Passing nearby, basic courtesy demanded a visit.
"...Gifting them tangerines might be awkward, huh?"
—Kki-i-ing!
Answering wasn't Jo Wi-cheo, but Kki-ing-i. Got it, you greedy thing. I'll save them for you, so calm down.
The Peng Clan had long made Handan its home.
Handan, one of the Central Plains' most historic cities. Though its history didn't guarantee prosperity—we couldn't nod confidently there—living in a city of ancient traditions and heritage was one of our Peng Clan's prides.
Unlike ragtag upstarts who founded clans late and lucked into boom times, we Pengs boasted true tradition and nobility. It was as if that pride manifested physically.
Occasionally, jealousy-blinded thugs accused our Peng Clan of barbarian blood, but it was just sour grapes from dim-witted losers. We paid it no mind.
"The Peng Clan is to relocate to Bojeong immediately."
Then disaster struck our quiet existence.
Sudden officials, abrupt relocation order.
"What do you mean?! We've lived in Handan for generations!"
My grandfather, then family head, protested the cruel command, but the official didn't blink.
"When the realm's heroes united to drive out the Mongol northern bandits, the Peng Clan shirked its duty. This is a capital crime deserving clan extermination, yet His Majesty's boundless mercy grants you this chance."
They mocked our one weak spot.
Unjust. Our Peng Clan was too close to the Mongol heartland. Rising up meant instant annihilation, and Handan's innocents would suffer too. We swallowed tears in silence—yet they call it shirking duty?
Had the Peng Clan been trampled by Mongols, no grave would stand. Hypocrites blathering irresponsibly.
But we couldn't vent rage. Defying the newborn, sky-high dynasty meant courting extinction.
"Fulfill your duty now: go to Bojeong, defend Beokgyeong, stand against northern bandit threats."
With that, we left our beloved home for alien lands. Lamentable, but survivable. Unlike families shipped to distant regions, we stayed within Habuk. A blow, but not fatal.
We were slowly regaining momentum when...
"The Left Vice Censor-in-chief who visited the Yeon Clan is heading to Hangsan..."
An unwelcome report arrived.
Of all people, the Left Vice Censor-in-chief.
My teeth ground instinctively.
Mobilizing all Peng connections revealed: the one who smashed and relocated Habuk's sects and clans was Giwang's doing.
And now his grandson set foot in Habuk again.
What mischief this time?
If the Left Vice Censor-in-chief resembled Giwang even a tenth, the Peng Clan's future looked bleak.