The Eyesore is the Culprit - 2
There was no need to linger long in Yangyang, so after a brief exchange, I rose from my seat. Unless one of Yangyang Wangfu's officials had detailed knowledge of the murim scenes in Hobuk and Honam—which didn't seem to be the case from what I'd heard—they weren't privy to the finer details either.
At least that's a relief.
I'd missed a chance to gather info comfortably from my seat, but I let out a quiet sigh of relief inside. Even with Yangyang Wang absent, this was the Wangfu tasked with keeping Hobuk and Honam murim in check. For one of their officials—especially one filling in for the Wang and facing down a Deputy Censorate Inspector—to be ignorant of murim movements? Optimistically, it meant this disturbance wasn't something the Wangfu needed to step in for. Pessimistically, it suggested they were swamped with work and blind to external affairs—but even accounting for that, Hobuk and Honam were probably in decent shape overall. If things were truly dire, they'd have mobilized troops ages ago to cleave murim leaders in half.
Fell under the waterfall, huh.
More intriguingly, among the info the official shared was something downright bizarre: the heirs of a Muchang-based family clan, sparring with swords in perfect harmony, had both tumbled amiably under a waterfall. The spot? None other than Pogi-hyeon.
Isn't that where the Red Cliffs are?
From my humble memory, the Red Cliffs were definitely in Pogi-hyeon. The county itself wasn't famous, but the cliffs etched it into people's minds as an eerie landmark. Suddenly, a reasonable suspicion arose: maybe the vengeful spirits of soldiers slaughtered at Chibi had bewitched these murim folk. If ghosts were pulling the strings, it even explained murim factions going berserk in these times—actions beyond common sense were par for the course with possessions.
"We'll confirm the details ourselves. Thank you for the warm reception amid your busy schedule, my lord."
"Warm reception? Had Your Highness been here, we'd have welcomed you far more grandly, but as an inadequate wretch, I've surely slighted our noble guest."
I offered a cupped-fist salute to the official, who returned it with a slight bow. True, with Yangyang Wang present, they might've thrown a feast and all the trimmings. But with Yi Yeon-i waiting back home, I needed to wrap this up fast—sharing just the essentials like this suited me better than pomp.
Officials know officials' hearts best.
From the start, Iseongwangs like him had to fete guests to uphold authority, while this man knew the grind of paperwork hell. No contest which was easier to deal with.
"Once the matter's settled, I'll send a report to Yangyang Wangfu as well."
"Your gracious words humble us."
I'd handle cleaning up murim myself, but Yangyang Wangfu needed to know what chaos their local sects had stirred. Post-resolution, I'd document cause, process, outcome—everything. Leaving a paper trail like that pays dividends when you need favors later.
Of course.
Hobuk boasted three famed cities. First, Yangyang in the north. Even those ignorant of Central Plains history or geography knew the name, and it lived up to the hype: a metropolis and strategic hub from antiquity to now. A major Han hub, it served as a key anti-Mongol bastion in Southern Song days—its stature speaks for itself.
Second, Yiling in the southwest. The one with real renown, predating Qin's unification with its formidable might. The name itself—Yiling—meant "barbarian tombs," i.e., a massive Chu royal necropolis. Kings don't get buried just anywhere; this was possible because Yiling was Chu's birthplace and heartland. Its glory's dimmed today, but it remains a Hobuk standout.
Last, Muchang in the southeast.
This is the real deal.
Hobuk's heart, home to the Prefectural Governor, Provincial Inspector, and Provincial Commander. In time, it'd merge with Hanyang and Hankou into Wuhan.
To grasp the situation firsthand, I headed straight for Muchang to verify the "paired waterfall plunge" the Yangyang official mentioned. Conveniently, it was both Hobuk's core and adjacent to Pogi-hyeon.
"Wi-cheo."
"Yes, my lord."
"Looks like we came to the right place."
The moment we entered Muchang, instinct screamed it: here. This was where the uproar demanding Dochalwon's intervention had erupted. Something had definitely gone down in Muchang and vicinity. Otherwise, how to explain the sidelong glances from locals or the heavy atmosphere pressing on our shoulders? A stark contrast to Yangyang's calm—Muchang was anything but peaceful.
"What now, sir?"
Jo Wi-cheo asked, and I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. Textbook move: meet the Prefectural Governor for intel. Yangyang Wangfu might be distant or understaffed, but the Prefect couldn't feign ignorance—events in his own backyard? He'd lose the title otherwise.
Non-textbook: bypass him and crack down on murim directly.
Effective, no doubt.
We'd raced from Kaepyeong to Yangyang nonstop, exchanged bare pleasantries there, skipped every other town or village, and beelined here. News of the Deputy Censorate Inspector's arrival? Impossible at this speed. Even if miraculously heard, no time to react. So raiding settled clans and sects now would leave them scrambling in panic—but the Prefect would panic too.
An unannounced censor crashing in was bad enough; skipping him to start swinging swords? Nightmare fuel. Especially with my precedent of purging Namyang's bureaucracy en masse. From the Prefect's view, nothing guaranteed Muchang wouldn't get the same treatment. Even innocent, who'd shrug off a mad official lopping heads?
"Let's head to the Prefect first."
Thus, I stuck to protocol—no need to give the man a heart attack. I'd hate it too: lounging at Giwangjeo, belly full, when the Emperor drops in unannounced to sweep leaves? Instant coronary.
...
Whoa.
Just imagining it broke a cold sweat. I'd nearly done the Prefect dirty.
Regrettably, it seemed I would have to. En route to his office, a commotion erupted from a roadside inn.
Familiar mess.
I sighed despite myself. The racket, the shouts, the chaos—textbook parakho brawl. Not drunks overserved at midday, but sword-swinging vagabond martial artists clashing. Truly lamentable. I'd planned Prefect first, business after—but stumbling on a crime in progress? Can't ignore that.
Thanks, you worthless scum.
Suppressing my exasperation, I dismounted Kki-ing-i. Our lovable parakho bastards, picking the most visible spot to scrap—practically begging to be nabbed. Tears of gratitude welled. Walking quotas, aren't they? So gorgeous I wanted to lock 'em in a officials-only dungeon right now.
"Wh-white deer!"
"White deer and black garb! No way—that's gotta be..."
Amid it, sharp-eared locals spotting me and Jo Wi-cheo began murmuring. My Central Plains pilgrimage was long done, but tales of two dark-clad men on white deer still circulated. Give it centuries, and "immortals descending on white deer" legends would sprout everywhere.
"But didn't he become Deputy Censorate Inspector? Why's a Vice Director-level lord here?"
Ah.
That blunt truth hit like a gut punch, making me flinch. Hell if I knew. Across east and west, ancient and modern, had any vice-ministerial official ever hustled like a dog? Not in my memory.
Damn these bastards.
Humiliation twisted into fury at murim. Couldn't snap at a citizen for plain facts—denying truth is ugliest. But thrashing the parakho who dragged me here? That's justice served. These shitstains pulling crap even in wartime? Unforgivable—even if I'd wink at peacetime antics.
"What racket in broad daylight—"
I channeled Grandfather's vibe surging in my veins and flung open the inn door, only to find:
"You scum! How dare you call yourself a martial artist? How can a sword-bearing man ignore the people's suffering?!"
"The people matter, but order matters more! Taizu warned against reckless meddling by types like us! He distrusted non-officials meddling in state affairs! So waiting for an official command—what's wrong with that?!"
Not quite the melee I'd pictured.
What the hell?
Grandfather's vibe, peeking out, ducked back sheepishly. Martial artists quarreling, sure—but no blades or fists. Just finger-pointing and raised voices: a mouth-fight.
"The realm's foundation is the people! Protecting them first is right—why cling to petty procedures and abandon the greater good?!"
"Order safeguards that foundation—order! Disrupt it, and new woes follow inevitably!"
And shockingly productive for parakho, no less.
...Should I bail?
Bursting in so aggressively felt embarrassing now. At least I hadn't led with curses—small mercies.