Rivals Through the Ages - 2
Throughout the long, long history of the murim, countless factions rose and fell, and with as many powers as there were, rivalries and oppositions were a frequent sight.
'Represented most famously by Shaolin Temple and Wudang Sect.'
Shaolin and Wudang were the twin pillars of the orthodox faction, dubbed "Northern Revered Shaolin, Southern Honored Wudang." The world often compared the two, and aware of those eyes upon them, the sects themselves had declared ambitions to dominate as the singular peak rather than sharing the stage.
Yet Shaolin was rooted in Zhili, and Wudang in Hubei. The distance between them meant few opportunities for direct clashes arose, and excluding their shared orthodox label, their differences outweighed their similarities—contrary to popular perception, no true competition ever materialized.
'Well, you need overlapping traits for real rivalry.'
Shaolin was a Buddhist sect favoring fists; Wudang, a Daoist one wielding swords. With such distinct domains, neither had reason to tear into the other.
'Other examples include the Green Forest Seventy-Two Strongholds and the Yangtze Waterway Eighteen Strongholds.'
If Shaolin and Wudang were the orthodox giants, those were the unorthodox ones. They maintained a savage rivalry, squabbling over land and water like dogs and otters—or so the tales went. Now, they'd all been nicely exterminated by the court and were probably still at it down in the underworld.
The government wouldn't have tolerated nationwide mountain bandits or river pirates dominating the Yangtze if it had any sense. The very fact that such scum once infested the Central Plains was humiliating enough.
'Though more mountain bandits survived than water pirates, does that mean Green Forest won?'
It wasn't the strong who survived, but the survivors who proved strong. By that logic, the rivalry between Green Forest Seventy-Two and Yangtze Eighteen ended in a default victory for the forest folk.
'And finally, Zhongnan Sect and Huashan Sect.'
The last example—and the only one with actual competition. They shared the same region, rose around the same era, both joined the ancestor's great campaign, and were both Daoist sword sects. It was as if heaven itself egged them on; the sparks for conflict overflowed.
"Heard the news? They're holding a martial exhibition for Zhongnan and Huashan."
"Hosted by Prefect Pojeongsa himself, no less!"
"Even the capital's bigwigs might take interest."
"Word is Yangyang Wang of Hubei and Nang-jung Wang of Sichuan are already attending."
Unlike Shaolin and Wudang, mere image rivals; unlike the Green Forest and Yangtze crews, who went amicably to hell together—these true archenemies drawing the world's gaze. News of them settling it in a spar was enough to captivate not just Shaanxi, but the entire realm.
"This is getting out of hand."
I let out a hollow chuckle at the sparring rumors spreading uncontrollably. The sect leaders hadn't even replied yet, but the world was treating it as fact.
More than that—what was this about Yangyang Wang and Nang-jung Wang gracing the event? First I'd heard of it.
"Zhongnan and Huashan are fanning the flames themselves. Ignore it."
"Pardon?"
I couldn't help blurting a retort at Prefect Pojeongsa's take on this bizarre phenomenon. Why would they spread it? If unconfirmed news leaked empire-wide, wouldn't they suffer most?
"I told you before. The leaders have mellowed with age, but they're still belligerent. Their delayed replies? Just selecting disciples to fight. Participation's a done deal."
"Is that... so?"
"Indeed. If they're worried, it's that the opponent might back out. So they're spreading rumors to trap them—no escape now."
Unbelievable, but this was Shaanxi's mediator between the two sects speaking with authority. Odds were high he was right.
'They're insane.'
Soon, even awe crept in. I wanted to legally thrash those bastards, but if they fled, problem— so make the spar inevitable. What sect in this world was this aggressive? If Zhongnan and Huashan were unorthodox, the Central Plains murim would've been a bloodbath.
Days later, letters arrived under the sect leaders' names from Zhongnan and Huashan. Brief missives thanking the court for mediation and gladly accepting.
"Each sending eleven first-rate disciples. One-on-one matches as planned; most wins takes it."
'Eleven...'
The ambiguous number—not ten—left me floored. Ten could've ended in a 5-5 draw. Odd number screamed zero tolerance for ties.
Truly, Zhongnan and Huashan being orthodox was the Central Plains murim's fortune.
"Once this exhibition ends, Shaanxi should stay quiet awhile."
"Aye. Prideful as they are, they won't deny the results. The victors ride high; the losers go quiet as mice."
I nodded plainly at Pojeongsa's bright smile, beaming like he'd already won the lottery. Fighting like mad against equals showed ironclad self-confidence, which meant clean wins and losses. Denying defeat? Just admitting you slacked and lost to trash.
"Baekgi left us quite the legacy."
I nearly burst out laughing. Endless burial goods, and a legal ranking spar excused by their division. As Pojeongsa said, Baekgi gifted us plenty. Time to offer hearty ancestral sacrifices yearly.
With the exhibition date set, dignitaries flooded Xi'an. Local branch managers under Shaanxi prefectures, merchant guild heads with outposts here, nearby prefects and garrison commanders, even the Left Supervisor Deputy of the Right Army overseeing southern Shaanxi—not to mention capital heavyweights drawn by news of merit sects sorting hierarchies legally.
Xi'an officials screamed internally, souls grinding away at the dazzling guest list. Any incident or discomfort among such nobles meant heads rolling.
And topping that list? A monster even high officials bowed to.
"Hah, did the King come all this way? Makes me look the boorish fool—embarrassing."
Sichuan's king and Daesong founding merit subject. Recommended by the ancestor who'd possessed a Pokémon Master, a historical hero in his own right.
"Greetings, Nang-jung Wang!"
"""Greetings, Nang-jung Wang!"""
Mingha's founding emperor, Ming Okjin. The old man, living peacefully in remote Sichuan, had descended upon Xi'an.
"Rise, all. You're busy—no need fuss over this geezer."
Amid officials' welcomes led by Pojeongsa, Nang-jung Wang personally lifted the prefect by the shoulder. No need to mention the man's face draining to ashen at that glorious, terrifying touch.
"Shaanxi's resources aren't abundant, yet you host this meaningful event amid hardships—truly admirable."
"Th-thank you, Your Highness."
"Brought some modest gifts from my stores—use them well. Nothing sadder than lacking funds for great deeds."
"We are unworthy!"
Pojeongsa's back bent anew at the promise to refill the exhibition's drained budget. Necessary to calm the sects, but costly. For the prefect with an unplanned hole in his purse, this mercy was rain in drought.
"If grateful, guide me to a good seat. Want a close look at how the young ones fare these days."
"Fear not! The finest seat awaits!"
Financial balm eased the prefect's tension; he appointed himself Nang-jung Wang's personal aide. A swift pivot, but not unseemly. Even if "financial treatment," it padded regional coffers, not his pocket—joy in that showed solid duty. The king, knowing this, accepted with a pleased smile.
A heartwarming sight. Pojeongsa got fat budgets, the king a handy aide, and I—dodging the king's notice—bliss—
"Left Vice Censor-in-Chief. No hiding—come here."
"...Yes, Your Highness."
Of course, an expert's attention couldn't be hogged by one prefect.
Zhongnan is a pillar of the Central Plains murim, eldest son of the Forward March Faith. The world says only Shaolin rivals Wudang, but narrow to Daoist sects, and we Zhongnan are Wudang's true nemesis.
Thus, Zhongnan reigns supreme in Shaanxi, top-tier empire-wide. Huashan's whelps may deny it, but truth bends for no one.
And from today, they can ignore us no longer.
"The time has come."
I clenched my fist at our Eldest Brother's grave gaze sweeping us. Yes—the moment to prove Zhongnan superior before the realm.
"Show everything you've honed. Huashan may be Forward March bastards, but they've got skill to challenge us. Lose through carelessness, and I won't forgive you."
"Understood!"
"We'll win for sure!"
"Good."
Satisfied with our fierce replies, Eldest Brother drew his sword and roared.
"We stand before Daesong's nobles—and Nang-jung Wang himself! As disciples of the Tae-eul Geom-jong, seize victory proudly!"
"Zhongnan! Zhongnan! Zhongnan!"
"Down with Huashan! Down with Huashan!"
Around ten Zhongnan warriors, me included, roared back in unison.
We would triumph!