71. Tying Up Loose Ends (2)
Inspector Censor. The main force of the Censorate and a rank 7 official. These slightly over a hundred surveillance agents scattered across the country wielded tremendous power.
"...What is this?"
"Oh dear. Can't read? And yet you've achieved so much success. Impressive."
Wang Song was still chuckling away. I was utterly dumbfounded.
"Can you just hand out such an important position like this?"
"I've never handed it out before. You're the first censor I've recommended since becoming Deputy Censor-in-Chief."
"Censors are appointed by recommendation?"
"For a deputy censor, it's possible."
I suddenly realized that the man before me, Wang Song, was a rank 3 high official. A rank 3 was treated with utmost respect anywhere they went. And here I was, drinking with someone of that stature.
"As far as I know, censors aren't allowed to hold other jobs. It can't be connected to their personal interests, right?"
"No, plenty do. Even merchants."
"Isn't that just a cover job?"
"Fair point."
"Mine isn't a cover. My real profession is merchant."
I snapped the wooden box shut with a loud clack. Inspector Censor? I had no idea what he saw in me to offer this, but it felt like an arbitrary decision. It could be a panacea if things went well, but nine times out of ten, it'd be poison. Censors were forbidden from holding other jobs not just because of conflicts of interest, but because the role was so demanding there was no time for anything else. If I wanted to keep merchanting, I absolutely couldn't accept this.
"And didn't I say earlier? I have no intention of taking an official post."
"Heh heh. This is the first time in my life I've been turned down so bluntly."
"No means no. I'm grateful for the high regard, though."
"But this isn't a mere proposal."
Wang Song's eyes curved into playful arcs, twinkling with mischief.
"I've already reported to Beijing that you're an inspector."
"Pardon?"
I nearly lost control of my expression. Who in their right mind would be happy to be forced into a job they didn't want?
"Wait, hold on, sir."
"As I said, this is a call from the state. Any subject of the Great Empire must answer the call."
"I have no intention of answering. It's not even a direct summons from the Emperor."
"Haha. So you're opposing because my rank is too low?"
"That's not it. Even if the Prime Minister recommended me, I wouldn't go."
"What if the Emperor himself recommended you?"
"Are you comparing yourself to the current Emperor?"
Wang Song went silent as a clam with honey in its mouth. When hit with an unanswerable question, I just fired one right back. As the mood soured, the watching Kang Se-min and Hyeong Hyeong-seong's faces stiffened too.
I had no desire to become an inspector, even if it meant clashing with Wang Song and cutting ties. His head was bowed low, out of my clear view. I figured even if he got angry, there was nothing for it. The best was to minimize the fallout.
"Heh heh."
"...?"
"Heh heh, hahaha!"
I'd prepared a few countermeasures, but his reaction was something I hadn't anticipated at all. He suddenly threw his head back and burst into roaring laughter. Kang Se-min and Hyeong Hyeong-seong were just as baffled, mouths agape.
"As expected, you're an entertaining fellow."
Wang Song even wiped at the corner of his eye with his index finger, as if tears were welling up.
"Was the inspector position a joke?"
I asked cautiously. But I'd seen censor badges a few times before—this one was real. The Deputy Censor-in-Chief had no reason to forge one.
"No, not a joke. You are an inspector. I've reported it to Beijing."
My eyelids twitched faintly. I couldn't follow what he was saying at all.
"But you're not your typical censor. Regular Censorate inspectors can't hold other jobs, as you said, and they have to declare their household too."
"What do you mean, not typical?"
"You're not under the Censorate. You're an Embroidered Uniform Guard censor."
"...You're just saying things I can't understand. Since when does the Embroidered Uniform Guard have censors?"
"They do. It's a secret, though."
I narrowed my eyes at Wang Song. He was still smiling, but his gaze held a glint of truth.
"And Embroidered Uniform Guard censors don't surveil officials."
"Then what?"
"They surveil the jianghu folk."
"...!"
A chill ran down my spine, like cold droplets trickling over it. Surveillance of the jianghu.
The conspiracy theory that the imperial palace secretly watched the martial world despite the unspoken rule of non-interference was a perennial rumor. I found it plenty plausible myself. After all, jianghu folk were still subjects of the empire.
But thinking it plausible was different from knowing it for a fact. One truth could spawn information, insight, and even reshape one's entire worldview.
"So it was true."
"Embroidered Uniform Guard, Eastern Depot—they all monitor the jianghu. Not that it's anything groundbreaking."
"Makes sense they'd monitor them."
"Exactly. I like how we see eye to eye. Most jianghu types foam at the mouth about it—what right do you have to surveil us?—whenever it comes up."
"They might feel that way. But my identity leans more toward merchant than warrior. Warriors are unpredictable hotheads who need watching."
"Anyway, an Embroidered Uniform Guard censor's role is to report jianghu folk who break imperial law."
"Strictly speaking, even brawls in inns are illegal. Property damage, assault—worst case, it ends in death."
"Everyday stuff like that doesn't need reporting, obviously."
Is killing commonplace? Well, if he called it everyday, then yeah, it was.
"So what do I report?"
"Rebellion. Dynastic upheaval. Anything that threatens the Emperor."
Cold, clipped words spilled from Wang Song's lips. Rebellion and dynastic upheaval. Just uttering those terms aloud could land you in prison for lèse-majesté.
That explained why this conversation had to be so secretive. I could guess why he'd dismissed all the servants too.
"You think I can do that?"
"Absolutely. I haven't seen anyone more suited to the job."
Wang Song's smile faded, his eyes turning serious.
"You straddle the jianghu and merchant worlds, giving you a neutral perspective. You're shrewd in dealing with people, quick-witted on your feet—who could be better?"
"But I haven't said I'd do it."
"Well, sure, the bit about the state calling was a joke. I did report it to Beijing, but I can always retract."
"Then..."
"I was planning to give you salt warrants for Hubei province. What a shame."
"Pardon?"
"Well, keep the box then."
Wang Song reached for the wooden box in my hand, but I instinctively clutched it to my chest. He tilted his head.
"Why's that? Weren't you about to refuse?"
His face brimmed with smiles, as if to say, I know exactly what you're thinking.
I always hated when this happened—moving exactly as the other person intended. But merchants and salt warrants? That was playing dirty.
"I wasn't refusing. I was just thinking it over."
"If you're gonna refuse, do it quick. If word reaches His Majesty, it'll be hard to take back."
"No, wait. Why the sudden rush?"
"I'm a busy man. Didn't you know?"
My mind raced at full speed. It felt like my brain was spinning so fast it might overheat from friction.
"I'll do it."
"Hm?"
"I said I'll do it."
"Speak up; I can't hear you when you're that small."
"I'll do it!"
"That's more like it."
Wang Song guffawed. Kang Se-min and Hyeong Hyeong-seong gaped, jaws practically unhinged. As his laughter subsided, Kang Se-min stammered.
"S-Salt warrants? Is that something you can just give away?"
"What's wrong with giving them? In my eyes, Division Leader Muk is the best merchant in Hubei. He's not the type to cheat the people for petty gains."
"Well, sure, but..."
Kang Se-min kept stuttering, and with the Transport Commissioner fumbling his words, the Treasury Minister didn't dare interject.
"Even if the Commissioner objects, it doesn't matter. Salt warrants come from the capital anyway."
"...True enough."
Salt warrants were vouchers for purchasing salt—typically redeemable for about 200 geun of salt each.
Since the state issued them directly to merchants, local officials like the Commissioner had no oversight. That was why major trading firms cozyed up to Beijing bureaucrats—eighty percent of it was for salt warrants. Controlling salt sales was as good as holding regional power.
Having salt warrants gave a trading firm massive advantages.
First, it guaranteed steady, predictable profits. In an industry where failure could tank revenues to zero, that was huge. Salt had fixed state quotas and export limits, stable prices, and constant demand as an essential good.
Second, it boosted the firm's credibility. Issued by the state, as Wang Song said, it made people see them as officially endorsed.
There were other perks, but those two were the big ones. After the Twelve Bandit Styles fiasco left me with nothing to sell, this was like rain in a drought.
"So, what exactly do I need to do?"
"Your eyes are sparkling now, unlike before."
"Merchants perk up at the scent of money."
A warm smile spread across my face unbidden. To think he'd prepared such a massive gift. In my previous life, the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group only handled salt after over a decade. This time, we'd be doing it in under a year.
"Nothing much. As you go about your jianghu life, you'll overhear things. Just report anything unusual up the chain."
"Got it."
Not a burdensome task. No need to go hunting; just pass on what I heard.
"If you spot something illegal, you can flash the badge and handle it on the spot. But be cautious. Embroidered Uniform Guard censors are rare even in the Central Plains."
"I'd rather it never come to that."
"Good. Ideally, just report and leave it. No need to risk your neck."
I took the censor badge and got Wang Song's promise on the salt warrants' timeline. At least within two months, I'd have them issued. That meant getting the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group ready by then.
Wang Song's farewell banquet wrapped up. I sent a letter to Wudang first—return delayed.
No time to go back and forth with salt warrants arriving in two months.
Call me rude, but I was swamped. Interviews for new hires, expanding warehouses, buying a manor for offices.
On top of submitting piles of documents to the Transport Office—and waiting times to boot—but with the Treasury Minister in my pocket, things progressed smoothly. Jo Chung-heon and I ran ourselves ragged. When he went out, I went in; when I came back, he headed out. With salt sales ahead, I needed to build ties with market officials too.
In the Central Plains, ties meant booze. I could circulate qi to fend off the alcohol, but officials had a nose for that sort of thing, so I didn't dare.
So every day: meetings, heavy drinking, wake at noon.
And that day was another routine lunch booze-up.
"Tsk tsk, you rascal. Set on shaming Wudang, are you? Ming-gyeong, what do you think?"
"My failure to rein in my junior brother, I suppose."
The room buzzed noisily with familiar voices. And despite being midday, shadows loomed over me. I snapped my eyes open.
"Waaah!"
I tumbled off the row of chairs I'd rigged as a bed.
Because the moment I opened my eyes, Cheong-hwa, Ming-gyeong, and Myeong-seong were staring down at me openly.
"...A dream?"
I murmured without thinking. But the pain in my cheek said otherwise. Cheong-hwa's hand—goodness knows when she'd snuck it there—was yanking my cheek like she meant to rip it off.
"Aaaack!"
"Think it's a dream?"
It was a long-awaited reunion with my Wudang master and senior brothers.