Off to Shanxi It Is - 3
The official-murim non-aggression pact tolerated the existence of murim in the bureaucracy's blind spots. It seemed like a mad system where public authority turned a blind eye to private armed forces, but maintaining order across the vast Central Plains with bureaucrats alone would have been even crazier. Hence, it endured out of necessity.
Shanxi, however, was a hotspot where officials flocked to prepare for barbarian invasions. Even without murim, the government could handle security on its own—a key reason why Shanxi had traditionally been a murim wasteland. With soldiers patrolling everywhere, what lunatic would dare cause chaos and build a power base there?
This trend intensified after the pact's collapse, turning Shanxi into a battleground of middling factions. Its border status and massive population meant plenty of murim groups, but none truly powerful. Sure, no mighty sects or clans, but their sheer numbers made up for it.
"Got them all?"
"Yes, my lord."
That old saying about any five humans including at least one piece of trash fit Shanxi perfectly.
These lunatics.
I clicked my tongue at the parakho scum Jo Wi-cheo had subdued. Most modern murim folk were out of their minds. Sane ones would have joined the bureaucracy instead of suffering its crackdowns—or at least pretended to have some reason and operated elsewhere. Shanxi murim were the real deal, double-certified crazies. And the ones we'd filtered out? Mad enough to swing swords in broad daylight.
Still, I didn't expect them to throw down right in the middle of the village.
I rubbed my throbbing head and sighed. Sure, murim caused incidents everywhere. But those were sneaky back-alley brawls, tussles in remote hills or fields, or shaking down merchants for "protection" fees. Hacking away on a street where an official might pass? That was performance art even under the old pact. These bastards pulled it off. Truly awe-inspiring scum.
"M-my lord... we're innocent..."
One of them, just coming to after Jo Wi-cheo's punch, spoke in a trembling voice.
What the hell is this guy on?
I was baffled yet intrigued. Anyone with shame wouldn't dare claim innocence as a caught red-handed criminal. Then again, the shameless wouldn't slash in daylight to begin with.
"It's true we drew our swords and scared the townsfolk! But we did it to protect them from those vile unorthodox scum—not for our own gain!"
As I stared silently, the guy kept going, trembling but resolute.
Unorthodox?
A term I hadn't heard in ages. Back then, they strictly divided orthodox and unorthodox, but now, with equal crackdowns on both, it was meaningless. Unorthodox types were especially the live-for-today psychos among murim. Unlike "orthodox" folk who at least pretended to value law and custom, these danced atop it. Any calling themselves unorthodox and acting the part had long been executed or flogged under Daesong law.
These days, we didn't split murim into orthodox and unorthodox. Just hot-blooded parakho, troublemaking parakho, and criminals who needed killing.
These the unorthodox?
I eyed the particularly vicious-looking bunch. Yeah, they screamed unorthodox. Their criminal mugs matched the water bandits we'd crushed at Dongting Lake.
"Hah, what did we do to deserve such slander? We just lent our strength to protect merchants' trade and took fair payment!"
"Protect what? Local shopkeeps barely scraping by aren't some trade caravan! Forcing 'protection' and extorting them—that's your 'fair payment'?"
Self-proclaimed orthodox vs. so-called unorthodox were at each other's throats now. I nearly laughed.
"Shut your mouths. All of you."
"……."
"……."
How dare they bicker in front of an official. Asking to die.
"Maintaining local order and the people's peace is the bureaucracy's right and duty. Private protection rackets violate Daesong law."
The unorthodox crew's faces twisted.
"Taking private action without requesting official aid disrupts order too. You're all lawbreakers."
Now the orthodox hung their heads.
"We'll head to the county office first. They'll decide your fates."
I led the now-silent criminals toward the office to hand them off. Even a border village this size—practically a small town—had to have resident officials and a county yamen.
...Which just pissed me off more. Swordfights in a decent-sized village not run by some village head?
Martial clashes with officials right there?
My anger shifted to the local bureaucrats. The root was these fearless sword-swingers, but how worthless must officials seem for this to happen? As a Dochalwon man, I'd shake them down thoroughly.
Two men on deerback hauling dozens of bound adults caused chaos at the yamen.
"Left Vice Censor-in-Chief Han Un."
"We greet the Left Vice Censor-in-Chief!"
Even more so since those two were a proper fourth-rank Left Vice Censor-in-Chief and a seventh-rank Inspector Escort. This was just a county, not a prefecture or commandery. The magistrate was seventh-rank himself—couldn't even lift his head properly before me.
"Caught some parakho stirring trouble on the way. Gave us quite the spectacle in broad daylight."
"O-only apologies, my lord...!"
How the hell do you run this place that daylight brawls happen?
I phrased it politely; he prostrated himself.
Not a crime if unseen, but they got caught—by a Dochalwon official, no less. Officials failing to control murim, letting them fight in official turf? Unforgivable. I'd dig to the truth, punish any incompetence or corruption mercilessly.
"Half extorted honest merchants with protection racket talk. The other half took private vengeance relying on their own strength, not the law. Their punishment is yours to handle, Magistrate."
But first, deal with these instigators. I'd personally delivered them—a courtesy—so fair trial and execution was the county's job—
"L-Left Vice Censor-in-Chief."
The still-bowed magistrate spoke, voice shaking.
"They didn't act privately... They moved at our request."
"...What?"
I doubted my ears. He knew he'd said the unsayable—shoulders trembling.
Private action? No—official request? Murim causing trouble on orders?
"Out!"
My grandfather's roar reflexively burst out.
Is this guy insane?
Unbelievable. That was an old pact-era habit. Higher-ups strictly forbade it lest murim rise again. Bureaucrats slaved away overworking, pining for aid from rare war vets like Wudang or Hengshan, but never dreamed of this.
A mere county magistrate did it? With what guts...?
The parakho were tossed into cells for now. My priorities shifted. Shake down the magistrate first, not them.
"Protecting the people and punishing evil is the bureaucracy's exclusive right and duty. No Daesong official could be ignorant of that—yet you delegated to mere parakho?"
I skipped grabbing his collar or bellowing. The earlier "out!" was pure shock. Anyway, post-pact, viewing murim as foes to check was common sense. A seventh-rank with county experience knew better. Yet he broke it.
Petty violation? I'd handle by the book. But defying basic sense? Bewildering.
"...I know I did wrong."
No brazen denial or teary begging—just calm admission. Less criminal desperation, more enlightened resignation.
"As you know, my lord, Shanxi is the shield guarding the realm from Mongol northern bandits. To protect it, much of our talent and wealth feeds the army. I saw the military's growth as natural for Shanxi and the realm's peace."
He bit his lip, sighed softly.
"But even prosperous Shanxi has limits. Guarding the vast realm and long walls demands resources beyond a mere functionary's imagination. The fallout crushed places like this county."
No exaggeration—just quiet fact. I listened. This was Song's side effect: no murim subcontractors meant strict resource rationing. Exactly what's needed, exactly for a year. Bigger units like prefectures could scrape surpluses; counties couldn't. No production capacity, no county status.
"Knowing our plight, parakho flooded small cities and villages, not metropolises. Even trying to manage, limited supplies made it impossible."
The rest was obvious. Squeezing resources for order, hitting limits, breaking taboo by mobilizing murim. The lesser evil to save the county and its people.
Was it this bad?
Bitter. I'd toured the nation but skimmed remote counties. The realm's too vast for nitpicking; even major hubs took all my time. I knew border hardship intellectually, not viscerally. Figured if bigger places coped, counties did too.
Damn it.
Seeing the magistrate bow like a sinner drew a sigh from me.