Shaanxi: Once the Center of the World - 1
Shaanxi had reigned as the heart of the realm all the way back to the Tang Dynasty. The Zhou Dynasty—constantly hailed in Confucian texts as the ideal age—rose from this very region of Shaanxi, and the Qin Dynasty, which first unified the Central Plains, was also based here. It was a land of immense power. Fittingly, it wielded tremendous influence throughout Central Plains history, holding the center of the world for over a millennium.
That's Shaanxi. Or rather, that was Shaanxi. 'Now it's just some backwater borderland.'
Tragically, in these modern days, Shaanxi was little more than a peripheral province clinging to its glorious past. The word "glory" had long since become a distant, wistful memory. The reason was simple enough. There's a saying that those who rise too young to prominence often meet unhappy ends, and Shaanxi had been the center of the world for so impossibly long that it declined faster than other regions. How could it endure after millennia of farming had depleted the soil? In an agrarian society, exhausted land meant ruin.
And everyone knew Shaanxi was the core of the Central Plains dynasties—even the barbarians. Internally, soil depletion ravaged it; externally, invasions hammered it relentlessly. 'And yet, two major sects hold out in a dump like that.' Ironic, isn't it?
Shanxi, a fairly prosperous area, had no heavyweights, so it was just mid-tier factions squabbling endlessly. But in declining Shaanxi, two powerhouse sects—renowned even from the days when the Murim world was untouchable—still endured. Of course, Shanxi was a border frontier bracing for barbarian incursions, so the government's presence was strong there. Shaanxi's decline had made life hard for the common folk, allowing religious sects to expand more easily. Objectively, there was every reason for Shaanxi's Murim to grow stronger than Shanxi's.
Still, something felt off about it. If only one of Zhongnan or Huashan would just up and move to Shanxi. The two sects wouldn't have to fight, they'd all be happier, and Shanxi would finally have a proper heavyweight to handle its bullies.
"My lord, we've arrived."
As I stroked Kki-ing-i's antlers and sorted through my thoughts, Jo Wi-cheo's voice pulled my head up.
The center of Shaanxi, nestled near Zhongnan Mountain and Huashan. The city of cultural triumphs that had served as thirteen dynasties' capital. We'd arrived at Xi'an, better known by that name.
No one could deny that Xi'an and Shaanxi had fallen into decline, but the court didn't neglect the province for it. If anything, the decline drew more attention and care. When a once-great man suddenly becomes a beggar, his misery is pitiful enough. But if the state piled on with "Hey, you're a bum," in that moment of despair? He might snap, drive a spear through some corrupt official's gut, and go down raging. That would be a problem.
Shaanxi's economy and prestige had plummeted, but its geography remained unchanged—a dagger at the heart of the realm. It lay just west of Zhili, where the Song capital now stood, adjacent to one of the Five Capitals, the Western Capital's Henan Division—Luoyang itself. A rebellion here would be a headache, suppressible or not.
"It's been a while, Left Vice Inspector General. Seeing you after all these years makes it all the sweeter."
"Your hospitality leaves me at a loss, Governor Pojeongsa."
That's why officials posted to Shaanxi were invariably from prestigious families or men of exceptional talent. Every bureaucracy has its must-pass posts for promotion, and Shaanxi governorships felt just like that. The Pojeongsa greeting me now had been a guest at my grandfather Giwang's banquet just a few years back—a heavyweight in his own right—yet here he was in this backwater.
"I've kept up with your news even from here. You've come after inspecting Habuk and Shanxi, yes?"
Chuckling lightly, the governor took a sip of tea before continuing cautiously. "You must have had it rough in Shanxi, so rest easy here in Shaanxi before you go."
"My thanks for your consideration."
Anyone could tell he was alluding to the O Tae-hyeon affair, so I nodded graciously in acknowledgment. The proverb about rumors flying a thousand ri on wings wasn't born in vain. I'd hurried from Shanxi here, yet the news had beaten me to the governor. 'Guess the governors share intel.'
Smooth information flow between provinces was a good thing—no mismatched efforts or friction in duties.
"Well then, I'll take my leave first. Representatives from Zhongnan and Huashan are due to arrive."
"From Zhongnan and Huashan?"
My brows furrowed instinctively. Everyone knew those two sects were locked in a brutal rivalry here in Shaanxi—from me to you to the alleyway vendors to Kki-ing-i and Kki-ong-i munching fodder. Mediation between them was practically the local officials' main job.
And now both sects were sending people—simultaneously, no less, important enough for the prefectural governor himself to greet. 'Who the hell did they send?'
It was baffling. Even if Zhongnanpa and Huashanpa were merit sects cooperative with the court, a mere envoy didn't warrant the top administrator's personal welcome. Any of his subordinates would suffice.
Yet the governor was rising to meet them himself... 'Did the sect leaders come?' Unlikely, but it was the only thing that fit. Even elders just below the leaders wouldn't demand his presence.
"Ah, you wouldn't know yet, Left Vice Inspector General."
Noting my reaction, the governor flashed an awkward smile, as if just realizing. "A tomb believed to be Bai Qi's has been discovered. It's massive—enough to expect vast burial goods."
"...Pardon?"
A tomb? Bai Qi? The famed general from sixteen centuries ago, during the Warring States. He played no small part in elevating his homeland Qin to hegemon of the Central Plains, but he also slaughtered hundreds of thousands of enemy prisoners, earning infamy as a massacre incarnate—the predecessor to Xiang Yu. His end was bizarre: sidelined by court politics, he took his own life. A brilliant general and war machine, yes—but never revered as a great man. Too much controversy in his life, too ignoble an end. The Central Plains has no shortage of spotless heroes to admire.
But no one denied Bai Qi was a mad genius of warfare. If his tomb—with rumored riches—had turned up, it would shake not just Shaanxi but the entire realm.
"Did that guy even have a tomb? I thought Bai Qi killed himself in exile."
The real question was authenticity. He hadn't died normally, nor from despair—he'd earned the king's wrath, been exiled, then ordered to suicide. A pristine tomb for such a man? Possible as minimal respect for the dead, but nothing grandiose. No king permits a traitor's mausoleum.
"We checked the style: not Warring States era. Likely descendants, friends, or followers preserved his relics across generations, only building the tomb after Qin's fall."
"That's surprising in its own way. A private effort to build a tomb like that?"
"Could be a group. Shaanxi's been through endless wars. Sneak it in during the chaos, erase the records—easy enough."
Made sense, so I nodded. Chaos turns the Central Plains to ash, and Shaanxi, ever the center, takes the brunt. Hiding a tomb, burning the records? Plausible. Even famed Murim masters build bizarre "tombs" like sword mounds. For a warrior like Bai Qi, it'd be massive regardless of when.
...
"Governor Pojeongsa."
"Speak."
"If it's no offense... where exactly was this tomb of Bai Qi's found?"
Smiling benignly, he replied, "Precisely midway between Zhongnanpa and Huashanpa."
So serene a delivery, I bought it completely. Of course. Right between the two sects who loathed each other. 'Damn it all.'
Tears nearly welled in my despair. You swindler of a governor. "Rest easy while you're in Shaanxi," my foot. How could I, with this blowing up?
"My lord, if it's not presumptuous... might I join you in greeting the guests from Zhongnan and Huashan?"
"Ha, presumptuous? Quite the opposite—it's what I was hoping you'd offer."
He nodded as if he'd been waiting. Felt like walking into hell willingly, but it was right. As the national inspector tasked with reining in Murim, non-intervention wasn't an option if their feud escalated. Better to lead from the start than mop up later.
Infuriating. An undiscovered tomb unearthed in my time. A suicide-by-imperial-order getting a lavish grave. 'Curse you, Bai Qi.'
Not that he'd built it himself, but still—hate the guy. Alive, he butchered the Six States' armies; dead, he tormented Daesong's bureaucrats. What a wicked bastard.
'Curse you Murim idiots too.' And damn Zhongnan and Huashan for charging in, eyes bloodshot, the moment it surfaced. Touching another's tomb is grave-robbing, you lunatic criminals.