Admirable Fellows Choose Bureaucracy - 1
The water bandits who had been plaguing the area near Wuchang had been granted a second chance at life by the grace of the government, successfully eliminating the overt troubles on the surface. The martial world factions were quarreling precisely because bandits like these existed under heaven. Once the bandits were eradicated, there'd be no need for the martial sects to debate the safety of the common folk or the maintenance of order.
Of course, this was only sweeping away the superficial issues—the root problems hadn't vanished. But buying time in itself was a reasonably positive outcome, wasn't it? At the very least, it had prevented the martial factions from kicking up a fuss.
"Well done."
With the temporary fix settling the disturbances in Hubei and Hunan, I returned to find Jwa Do-eosa nodding lightly in approval.
"Hubei's old martial factions are among the largest and most complex in the entire Central Plains. Hunan, heavily influenced by Hubei, is practically a shared destiny with it."
"That's true."
I immediately agreed with Jwa Do-eosa's words. It felt a bit guilty to think this way, but Hunan always came across like an appendage to Hubei. Even in Romance of the Three Kingdoms, the core of Jingzhou was Liu Biao's Jingbei, not the Jingnan that Liu Bei swallowed up after Red Cliffs. Hubei and Hunan fit that Jingbei-Jingnan mold perfectly.
Thanks to that, Jwa Do-eosa's orders had been to "investigate the activities of the martial factions in Hubei and Hunan," but I hadn't even set foot in Hunan. The disturbances there would resolve once Hubei was handled, and Hubei's issues would quiet down by stabilizing its heart, Wuchang.
And that's exactly what happened.
The Deputy Censor-in-Chief himself had come down to Wuchang and beaten the water bandits black and blue. And even after seeing that spectacle, they still raised their voices about acting for the people's sake? That marked them as the type cut out for bureaucracy, not the martial world.
Anyone with that much righteous fervor should take the military exam, no doubt about it.
"By the way, how was the Prefect?"
"Well..."
I hesitated at Jwa Do-eosa's sudden question. The Prefect's situation wasn't great, even if I spun it in the most desperate positive light. He'd even admitted in front of me that local administration had its limits—how bad could it be?
The worry was how to package it to make it sound palatable.
"What? Did the Prefect clutch his neck and collapse?"
Jwa Do-eosa let out a light chuckle at my pause, as if she knew my concerns and was telling me to just spit it out.
"Fortunately, it wasn't that bad."
"Then speak. Even if it's a stopgap, you wouldn't dream of keeping it from your superior."
Her logic was sound, so I sighed inwardly. Fair enough. I'd handled this mess with a hack upon a hack, and the official story for the realm was "disturbances caused by water bandits," not "martial faction disputes." Deceiving the world was one thing; deceiving my direct superior would be outright insanity.
Covering the people's eyes temporarily to prevent panic was for the greater good, but blindfolding the government's eyes too was tantamount to sabotage. If even the officials turned into blind beggars, who would eliminate the realm's woes and protect the people?
"The Prefect expressed concerns over the government's noble and weighty duty to inspect every corner of the realm firsthand. It's only right for the bureaucracy to devote itself to the myriad people, but with large-scale troop detachments like this, won't it stir up complaints?"
"Hmm."
"Of course, His Majesty's virtue blankets the realm, and Great Song's prestige stands tall. It's the barbaric Mongols who are the anomaly—no second or third massive expeditions will happen. Still, the Prefect must consider all possibilities and soothe Hubei accordingly. It's natural to worry even about slim future risks."
I tried to explain as neutrally as possible. The Prefect's sighs and concerns were justified, but if relayed poorly to the central merit subjects or high officials, it could be twisted into "local rebellion against central policy." That would be disastrous.
The Prefect was merely raising a petition that local areas couldn't sustain the current approach indefinitely—he harbored no discontent with the current emperor's reign or Great Song's dominion. If anything, he was the type ready to grind his body to dust for it.
Jwa Do-eosa probably feels the same.
With that in mind, I subtly defended the Prefect in my report, hoping Jwa Do-eosa would understand his mindset. She was a post-founding official, after all. She complied with the anti-martial policy as a minister-level bureaucrat, but she held no real anger or hatred toward martial factions.
Well, maybe not zero. Disruptions from old martial groups just meant more work, so she'd dislike that. Same for me. But we weren't the type to fly into a rage and grab a club at the mere mention of "martial world." In today's Great Song high officialdom, that alone made her a saint.
"A regrettable situation. The Prefect's burden must be immense."
Jwa Do-eosa tapped the desk with her index finger and spoke softly after hearing my report.
"He's responsible for an entire region. He can't ignore even low-probability events. Thinking of him agonizing and sighing alone makes me regret not being able to help."
"Your Excellency speaks wisely."
It was a mild response, so I bowed promptly.
"Yet with all Great Song united to punish the ferocious northern bandits, we can't immediately resolve the Prefect's worries."
"Quite right. His concerns are no small matter, but how can they outweigh subduing the barbarians and securing our borders?"
I bowed even deeper at her follow-up. It was exactly the expected reaction—the most appropriate in these times. No outrage at the Prefect's worries. No rash promises to fix them on the spot. In the current situation, calmly logging the petition like Jwa Do-eosa was the best course.
No matter how vast and mighty the Central Plains dynasty, administrative reach had limits.
"Hmm."
"Is something wrong?"
"It might be best for the involved party to report to His Majesty directly. You were the one who quickly identified the water bandits' presence, mobilized to suppress them, and restored discipline."
"Pardon?"
Her baffling words drew an involuntary retort. What nonsense was this? You'd ordered me to go to Hubei and Hunan yourself. So why push the emperor report onto me?
"Those who tie the knot should untie it."
But her firm tone quickly quelled my complaints. It sounded innocuous, but it really meant, "You handled it with hacks, so take responsibility and wrap it up yourself."
By the book, she could report it herself, but non-parties couldn't smoothly explain a hack job.
Infuriating.
I couldn't rebut her flawless logic. I'm a civil exam graduate, so I don't know the details, but isn't coding the same? Once it's a tangled spaghetti monster, only the creator can wrangle it. My stopgap was no different. Only I could explain the causes, processes, and outcomes.
...I've been seeing the emperor way too much lately.
A sigh nearly escaped me. Was it because I'd become a vice-ministerial official? My face-to-face audiences with the emperor had skyrocketed. Cafes give a free Americano after ten visits—did the emperor comp promotions after ten meetings? The mere thought terrified me to tears.
Another imperial audience awaited. This time in the rear garden rather than the throne hall—a minor difference.
"—And so the water bandits were granted new lives. Thieves who once gnawed at the realm now devote themselves as soldiers for the realm and its people—what greater joy could there be? Even former bandits shed tears praising His Majesty's virtue. This was possible only because His benevolence reaches the heavens and blankets the earth."
I offered the ritual greetings and swiftly launched into the report. I'd witnessed two warriors' passionate debate in Wuchang; it was righteous and principled; the debaters were wandering heroes planning or willing to take the military exam. Impressed by their fervor, I'd handled their concern—the water bandits—in their stead.
I packaged it as positively and satisfyingly as possible for the emperor. Some parts deviated slightly from reality, but were they outright lies? Not really.
"Even zealots passionately debating grand principles appeared before the throne."
The emperor, who had merely nodded through my flowery report, finally spoke. Passionately debating grand principles in court. So even that fiasco could be spun that way. His mercy and tolerance were staggeringly vast.
"It was just recently that I was pleased to see talents who will lead Great Song's future. And now the Deputy Censor-in-Chief uncovers new ones—your merit is no small thing."
"The realm teems with the righteous because Taizu the Great properly enthroned Heaven's Mandate, and Your Majesty embraces it all with virtue. This official merely harvested the crops you and Taizu cultivated—how could I call that merit?"
"Is that so."
I instinctively shook my head at the emperor's praise. Don't mention merit in front of me. My emperor-encounter coupons were piling up—I was anxious about getting a free promotion.
Having been promoted repeatedly for all sorts of reasons, I couldn't let my guard down.
"But Deputy Censor-in-Chief. You said the scions of the Yeon and Ju families dreamed of official military paths?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"It's a great loss for such fine youths to remain in the wilds. Just as we recruit academy scholars who show promise, we should do the same for them. What are your thoughts?"
"Your Majesty's will aligns perfectly with reason—I am deeply moved."
So when the emperor brought up recruitment, I latched on immediately. If Yeon Ji-un and Ju Gang became officials, the aggro aimed at me would shift to them. Bonus: it might delay my free promotion.
Congrats on the recruitment.
I sent a quiet mental congrats to Yeon Ji-un and Ju Gang. They'd landed their dream jobs—worthy of celebration. May they become fine military officers, pillars upholding Great Song.