Nanjou's Street-Sleeping Experts
Nanjou. Gansu's central city, situated along the upper reaches of the Yellow River. About a thousand years ago, during the Sixteen Kingdoms of the Five Barbarians period, it even served as a national capital and enjoyed no small prosperity as the starting point of the Silk Road. Of course, saying it's prospered since ancient times is just a crude way of putting it—it's been sucking the sweet juice out of the land for hundreds, even thousands of years. Thanks to that, its current prosperity can't compare to the old days, but it's still the heart of the region and a city that holds onto its history.
It's peaceful. Maybe that's why. Nanjou, revisited after the Maek incident, felt more serene than I'd expected. It's not overflowing with laughter like the great cities of Zhili, Hubei, or Zhejiang. Being a frontier even within Daesong, and with the recent beast outbreaks, there's a touch of worry in the air. But compared to the days when Maek—Buong's dad—stripped the place bare of iron and copper, making Gansu's Prefectural Governor and Regional Commander clutch their necks in despair, the atmosphere here was relatively fine. This is about average for the 14th century, right?
"It's better than I thought. Either the beast disturbances haven't reached Nanjou yet, or Gansu is handling it well."
Grandfather nodded in satisfaction the moment he gauged the city's mood. If it was the former, Gansu's civil officials would have time to prepare countermeasures; if the latter, the incidents were being resolved before the central government even needed to step in. Either way, it was welcome news from his perspective.
"Hmm?"
"What's the matter?"
As he kept scanning Nanjou, Grandfather tilted his head and pointed to an alley so obscure you might not notice it without drawing attention to it.
"Why are those guys camping out instead of staying in a perfectly good inn? They're not the type to go hungry on the streets."
At his words, I peered intently into the alley. If Grandfather deemed them above street-beggar level, they had to be at least first-rate at minimum. The realm where you'd be treated as a seasoned soldier anywhere, where wars between factions were decided by first-rate mobilization. That's what first-rate martial artists were.
It wasn't normal for such experts to be groaning on the roadside instead of an inn. But familiar faces.
Unfortunately, I'd seen first-rates roughing it on Nanjou's streets before. The warriors dispatched from Qongqushan to safeguard Nanjou's peace. The ones who'd stood guard 24/7 across the city to catch Buong's father, who turned the place upside down. Poor victims waiting not in inns for quick response, but right on the streets.
Gongdong-pa again.
The Gongdong-pa warriors I'd seen during the Maek crisis were back on Nanjou's streets. Their ambush experience hunting Maek must have been highly rated, pulling them into indefinite stakeout duty once more. Truly tragic—it drew a sigh from me unbidden.
Once you nail one job perfectly, you instantly become the expert, doomed to handle the second, third, and beyond. It's human fate. They say veterans do it well, so instead of letting rookies grow, the pros carry the load until death. A catastrophe that "tragic" can't even cover. Even those so-called experts weren't born veterans.
Besides, if you dump everything on veterans, when do the newbies become vets?
"Yun, what's wrong? Know them?"
At my reaction, Grandfather's attention shifted from the alley to me. Know them? All too well—enough that reuniting here was lamentable.
"Th-they seem to be Gongdong-pa warriors."
"Kuhaha, those guys?"
Grandfather burst into laughter at the name. He knew my Central Plains pilgrimage well. I'd sent letters to Giwangjeo now and then during it, and after returning to Kaepyeong, I'd recounted various incidents over tea with him. So he couldn't be unaware of the Maek crisis that brought Buong to me—or how it reduced Gongdong-pa warriors to Open Branch lackeys in Nanjou.
His reaction was inevitable. Up close, tragedy; from afar, comedy—and here were the protagonists right before us.
"Coming to Nanjou was the right call! We'll get to see some precious faces!"
Still chuckling, Grandfather strode into the alley without hesitation.
...Wait, no way.
"Young friends, you've worked hard! Keep this old man company for a chat!"
Oh no.
The Gongdong-pa warriors, faces heavy with the world's trials and sighs, stared blankly at the ground. At the sudden voice, they whipped their heads around and leaped up in shock at Grandfather's presence.
Natural reaction. Trained martial artists are sensitive to energy, unlike civilians. And unless a Hwa-gyeong master deliberately conceals it, you can't miss their aura.
"W-we meet the great one!"
For them, it was like a heavenly being descending without warning. Of course, encountering a Hwa-gyeong master was an honor for any warrior. But that's when formally received in a proper setting—not suddenly on a back alley street. Bewilderment outweighed glory now.
"Eh?"
"Long time no see. Doing well?"
Among the flustered warriors bowing to Grandfather, my eyes met the frontmost one's, and we exchanged greetings. He stuck firmly in my memory. Baek Joo-il, top disciple of Gongdong-pa. Leader of the Nanjou veterans, temporarily Nanjou Branch Chief of the Open. And if I remembered him, he remembered me.
"L-Left Deputy Censor-in-chief?"
"Now it's Right Deputy Censor-in-chief."
I chuckled at the old title, but Baek Joo-il paled. My presence revealed the mystery Hwa-gyeong master's identity. Traveling with Giwangga's crown prince, the Right Deputy Censor-in-chief—and looking uncannily similar? Obvious who.
"Prince Giwang, long life, long life, eternal life eternal! Top disciple of Gongdong-pa, Baek Joo-il, greets the exalted Prince Giwang!"
His desperate, piteous triple long-life echoed down the alley. Prince Giwang's surprise fan meeting unfolded amid the warriors' fervent welcome—screams mixed with triple long-life counted as welcome, right? For everyone's mental health, let's call it that.
"It's an honor yet a shame to meet Your Highness in such a humble spot. No inn could contain your dignity, but still, we should receive you properly attired in a decent one..."
"Hoho, it's fine. I know you young ones toil for the realm and its people—how could I expect lavish treatment?"
Yet the fan meet was still in the alley—which felt, well, very odd. After pulling all that aggro with the triple long-life, was this okay?
Even flush-with-cash Gongdong-pa warriors were living on the streets, not inns. Prioritizing instant response over bodily comfort. Dragging such sacrificial souls to an inn would mock their dedication and righteousness. When I subtly suggested moving, Baek Joo-il waved it off awkwardly.
What could we do? It looked pitiful, but we had to respect their resolve.
"But you don't look like you've been out here just a day or two. How long exactly?"
"Not that long, Your Highness. Seven days as of today."
Wait, no? Screw respect—should've dragged them to an inn anyway?
A week roughing it.
Even in field manuals, survival training or extreme cold is 4-5 days max, 5-6 at most. And they at least pitch tents—not just bare ground. More heartbreaking: calling a week "not long."
How long did they roll on these streets during the Maek crisis?
"Heh. Hardships in youth forge stronger men, but this is excessive."
"No, Your Highness. Our minor toil is fleeting, but farmers' tears from our negligence last forever. Enduring a little discomfort is only right."
Grandfather's lips curved noticeably. A founding merit sect's young talent grasping justice and chivalry delighted this elder, furious at the old murim.
"Worth the endurance? Nanjou's peace suggests you're working hard."
"Not perfect, but our efforts wipe away those tears, so it's rewarding. However..."
"However?"
"I'm feeling what the barbarians must have, struck by the Central Plains' lofty, wondrous might."
"Hahaha!"
Grandfather roared with laughter at the heartfelt lament. The Central Plains' hallmark was overwhelming numbers. Armies leveraging that crushed the eastern barbarians, northern nomads, western foreigners, southern savages since antiquity. Northern nomads' symbol? Beasts as numerous as the Central Plains' people.
With those beasts swarming over borders, Baek Joo-il felt like a barbarian under invasion. So while Grandfather laughed, Baek Joo-il and I just offered wry smiles.
Bombarded by reports pouring in from across Gansu, I finally caught a breath. This sweet respite—if I could savor even a moment—was a blessing. Better than nothing, when folks had camped on streets for days.
"Right?"
The guy beside me, munching bamboo. The bear cub from Baeksu-mun, gifted during the Maek rampage in Yunnan. Amid crushing workload, he brought simple peace to my heart, so I stroked him fondly. Without him, I'd have collapsed from overwork long ago—
"Prefectural Governor, sir!"
Ah.
I closed my eyes in weary resignation at the urgent voice. Not even a full moment—barely half of half.
"What is it?"
"Th-that is! Right now, in Nanjou—Prince Giwang and the Right Deputy Censor-in-chief have arrived!"
"What."
My mind blanked at the unimaginable crisis. The Right Deputy alone was bad enough... Prince Giwang too?
Is this the end of my official career?
Whatever it was, I'd apparently committed some massive blunder without knowing.