Episode 27

There was a brief commotion when Kkiing and Kkiong, who had been given otherworldly names, refused to let us ride them. However, it didn’t take long before they humbly yielded their backs. It seemed they had come to terms with the fate that names are not chosen by oneself but bestowed by others.

Seeing their pitiful expressions made me feel a little sorry for them. If they were just ordinary deer, they wouldn’t have to sulk over their names. This is what happens when animals are too intelligent for their own good.

“At least they’re not named Badu.”

No, wait, would Badu actually be a better name than Kkiing?

“Take care of us from now on, Kkiing.”

—Kkiiiiing…

Still, I couldn’t just abandon the name given by Miss Ak. When I patted Kkiing’s neck in consolation, he let out a sorrowful whimper, sounding as if he were on the verge of death.

Get used to it. Didn’t they say that those who smiled in the face of sorrow were truly first-rate? You were more than qualified to go beyond first-rate—to reach the absolute pinnacle.

“We’ve arrived, sir.”

While I was comforting Kkiing, Jo Wi-cheo’s voice brought me back to reality.

A familiar building, a familiar signboard, and a familiar atmosphere came into view.

“It’s been a while.”

I had arrived at the Dochal Institute’s administrative office—not that I was particularly thrilled about it.

“I’ll go in and greet them, so wait around here and rest.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll be here when you return.”

The moment I finished speaking, Jo Wi-cheo disappeared with Kkiong.

An impressively quick decision. If he loitered around me, there was a high chance the Left Inspector would rope him in with a “You, come along too.”

“Isn’t that a bit too ruthless?”

Still, from my abandoned perspective, I could only lament Jo Wi-cheo’s sharp judgment.

Hellfire burned less hot when you entered it together…

The moment I stepped into the Dochal Institute, I was met with stares as if I were some kind of mythical Pokémon.

I understood why. A guy who had been roaming all over the country suddenly appearing in the administrative office? It was bound to be surprising.

“Though this should be normal.”

Technically, the Left Assistant Chief Inspector was supposed to be stationed at the administrative office. How did it make any sense for a minister’s aide to be running around the countryside instead of staying in the central government? I wasn’t some reconnaissance scout.

“Oh, Left Assistant Chief Inspector.”

“Greetings to the Deputy Left Inspector.”

Swallowing my frustration, I made my way toward the Left Inspector’s office—only to run into the Deputy Left Inspector just as he was stepping out.

“Ah, that’s right, you were supposed to come today. I had forgotten for a moment, but it’s good to see you.”

With a warm smile, the Deputy Left Inspector patted my shoulder before glancing at the office.

“Fortunately, he’s in a good mood today.”

“I appreciate the valuable insight.”

Returning his playful whisper with a knowing smile, I offered a respectful gesture.

A superior’s mood was the most critical factor for any bureaucrat. Thankfully, it seemed I wouldn’t have to worry about getting nitpicked over trivial matters today.

“Well then, good luck. Today doesn’t seem like the right time, so next time you come to Kaifeng, I’ll treat you lavishly.”

“I’ll look forward to it, sir.”

Watching the Deputy Left Inspector leisurely disappear, I resumed walking.

In the midst of all this, even he seemed to take my constant travels for granted. I chose to erase that thought from my memory. After all, it wasn’t the Deputy Left Inspector sending me to the provinces—it was the Left Inspector.

“When is that man going to disappear?”

Bitter thoughts filled my mind. The Left Inspector was of the 2nd level rank, which meant he had almost no chance of further promotion. He was also relatively young for a high-ranking official, making retirement an even more distant possibility.

Realistically, I would have a better chance of transferring to another department before he ever left his position. If you don’t like the abbot, the best option is for the monk to leave.

“Left Inspector, sir. This is Han Un, Left Assistant Chief Inspector.”

Of course, this position wasn’t something I could just run away from—it was one my grandfather had placed me in. So, for now, I had to suppress my desire to escape and speak calmly.

“Enter.”

A clear voice rang out from behind the door.

Back then, I had been fooled by that voice and appearance, failing to recognize the true nature of the Left Inspector. Looking back, it was nothing short of an embarrassing memory.

“Yes, sir.”

With permission granted, I opened the door—only to find the Left Inspector idly scratching his back with a wooden scratcher, his long black hair messily tied up.

“That damned…”

From the depths of my being, an immense wave of irritation surged forth.

This man worked me like a dog, and yet here he was, lounging around without a care?

But the moment I recalled his level of martial prowess, my frustration dissipated like a lie.

Annoying a master who could even suppress aging would only turn me from Han Un into Han-nihilated. Better to endure.

The conversation with the Left Inspector ended quickly.

“I plan to enforce stricter internal control. From now on, we won’t just punish those who act, but we’ll also pressure those who are uncooperative.”

That being said, a short conversation didn’t mean it was light in substance.

It was true that the government had always been wary and disdainful of the martial world. However, due to the edicts of the founding emperor and the current emperor’s policies, they had refrained from outright oppression. They merely broke the long-standing tradition of non-interference and refused to recognize the authority of sects and noble martial families that had ruled over the provinces.

Even that alone was a devastating blow to the martial world, which had lived in unchecked dominance. From the government’s perspective, simply refraining from labeling them as rebels and executing them was an act of mercy. I had said it before—many of the founding officials and senior ministers held an almost pathological hatred of the martial world.

But that mercy was now over. The government had decided not just to purge “ruffians causing trouble,” but to crush “unpatriotic individuals who refuse to cooperate with the state.”

“If you suddenly implement such measures, the backlash will be severe. Even if they haven’t reached the core of power, their accumulated influence and wealth are not negligible.”

At first, I opposed the idea.

Having traveled across the country and seen the reality firsthand, I knew that despite the government’s disdain, the martial world’s power was still formidable.

Its history ranged from mere decades to hundreds, even thousands of years. As long as the government didn’t physically obliterate the martial world, it would never truly disappear.

Of course, the martial world had lain low, knowing that if the government decided to wield the blade, they would lose not just their honor but their wealth and livelihood as well. But if they were truly backed into a corner? If death was inevitable either way, would they remain passive then?

“Besides, wasn’t the abolition of non-interference already causing manpower shortages? If we tighten the leash on the martial world, it won’t be them but the frontline officials who die first!”

The government was already suffering from chronic manpower shortages.

In the past, law enforcement had been outsourced to the martial world, with the government focusing on administrative roles. Now, however, the government was forced to take on both responsibilities.

As someone on the ground, I could guarantee this—if they escalated the suppression of the martial world, the first to collapse would be the government itself. A single province might be manageable, but complete control over all of Zhongyuan? No one in history had ever accomplished such a feat.

“That would be true if we intended to wipe them all out.”

And, fortunately, the high-ranking officials of Song weren’t reckless idiots forcing their will without strategy.

“Form sects that cooperate with the government. Show them that obedience brings rewards. Make the people scorn uncooperative factions, and sow discord from within so they cannot unite.”

Rather than crushing the martial world entirely, the plan was to divide and rule.

That made things much simpler. For a moment, I had thought they wanted to beat them all into submission.

“These people never manage to unite even when they have a common enemy.”

I sorted my thoughts as I climbed onto Kkiing’s back.

The martial world had failed to unify even when the Khitans invaded, when the Jurchens marched into Zhongyuan, when large-scale unorthodox sects wreaked havoc, and when the Blood Cult stirred chaos.

If the government declared the complete annihilation of the martial world, they would resist with all their might. But if they saw an opportunity to negotiate? They’d start playing the game of wits, looking for personal advantage.

“If this works out well, things will become a lot easier.”

My heart pounded.

If this plan succeeded, more sects would align with the government, helping to suppress the uncooperative ones. That would drastically reduce the government’s burden.

Then I wouldn’t have to keep running across the country, nor would I need to send disobedient troublemakers to Mountain-Sea Pass or Great Dragon Pass.

“Kkiing, let’s work hard for a while and then take a proper break.”

— Kkiing?

As I stroked Kkiing’s antlers, he tilted his head in confusion.

He didn’t understand my words now, but one day he would.

“Now, where should I start?”

After sending Kkiing to locate Kkiong, I began mapping out my route.

The Jiangnan region could wait—I had just been there recently. Frequent visits from an inspector would only increase the local officials’ stress.

The west had few martial sects, except for some in Sichuan, and most of those had supported the founding war. There wouldn’t be any major problems there, and starting from the west would complicate my travel route.

“North seems like the best option.”

That left the north as the most viable choice.

The major sects there included the Hengshan Sect, while prominent noble martial families like the Peng and Eon Clans held influence.

This was the political heartland, a region that had been central to numerous dynasties for centuries. It couldn’t be ignored.

“Did they have Beijing duck in this era?”

A smirk crossed my lips as I thought of Hebei’s famous dishes.

If I crushed Hebei first, the other regions would likely submit without much resistance. Just as the Namgung Clan was the head of Anhui, Hebei was effectively the head of Zhongyuan.

Heavenly Primordial Lord, please permit me once again to be a righteous troublemaker today…

— Kkiing!

“Oh.”

Moments later, I spotted Jo Wi-cheo, sharing Dongpo pork with Kkiong.

Seeing a deer eating meat was an odd sight, but at least I hadn’t let them drink alcohol.

“Getting them drunk would be a nightmare.”

A divine beast with a criminal record and another with a weak constitution. Just the thought of it made my heart swell with dread.