Chapter 716: When Going Out, Maintain Your Dignity (10)

The Administrative Secretariat was the bureau in the Central Plains imperial court that managed all documents, and the Administrative Commissioner was the office that referred to the head of that bureau.

You might wonder what the big deal is. It’s just the chief of document management, and not even the chief himself but his son—does that really justify walking around this puffed-up and triumphant?

But in the end, there are only two ways to convey intent: by speaking or by writing.

And in the primitive, ancient Central Plains, there was no long-distance communication, no such thing as personal machines that could send characters back and forth.

The Son of Heaven is still only human, and there is only one of him, so his time is limited.

And reading is much faster and more efficient than hearing someone out and understanding them.

In other words, most of the information that comes before the Son of Heaven in the course of governing arrives in the form of written documents.

And the Administrative Secretariat is what manages those documents.

It can send up the memorials it likes, and quietly remove the ones it doesn’t.

On top of that, if it drafts a memorial itself and sends it up, it can even fabricate information, with the power to turn an innocent man into a traitor overnight, and a rebel into a paragon of loyalty for the ages!

What’s more, the edicts the emperor issues also count as documents, so as the “mouth” that delivers the emperor’s words, there’s room to tamper there too.

Of course, if you get caught doing that, you die.

And you don’t die alone—you get the three branches of three, the nine clans, your entire extended family erased down to the last cousin.

Even so, the point is: the Administrative Secretariat is the post that chooses what information the Son of Heaven will receive and what words the Son of Heaven will say.

Which is why the power and prestige attached to the position are tremendous.

And in the Central Plains, bribes are not “dirty money” but a proud side income you earn with your abilities, so the fact that the Administrative Commissioner is known as the post with the highest income in the palace should tell you everything about its power...

That was Sima Chunbong’s explanation.

“Ahem.”

As the explanation went on, Mandarlo’s mouth kept creeping up and his shoulders kept spreading.

Does this brat think he’s the Administrative Commissioner himself?

Maybe that Kang, Administrative Commissioner, knows how to keep the documents in order, but judging from the state of his son, he clearly didn’t manage the boy very well.

Qing flicked Mandarlo’s head with a light tap.

“Feeling amused? Thanks to you we’ve got assassins dropping in, and you’re just thrilled about it, aren’t you?”

“How dare they, whoever they are, lay hands on me—”

“No one comes to mind?”

“Hmph. A capable administrator naturally has many enemies. It would be strange if there were only one or two who hold grudges against my father—”

“The attitude of this cadet is just so very courteous.”

SMACK. Qing lightly smacked the back of his head again. The shape of his skull was pretty decent; the back of his head fit perfectly into her palm.

Mandarlo’s head wobbled, then he stiffened his neck, eyes blazing, pupils narrowing like double-pupiled lanterns.

“Let me repeat myself, cadet. Once you enter Sword Hall, I don’t care if you’re the Administrative Commissioner’s son or the Administrative Commissioner’s father. With me as instructor, the basics are the basics. You keep them.”

“And what gives you the confidence to be this arrogant, tsk—”

SMACK. Another shot to the back of the head.

He must always sleep on his back, perfectly straight, without moving, like a corpse.

The back of his head was so flat and nicely pressed that—mm, the hand-feel really was pretty good. Not bad at all.

At the faint upward twitch of Qing’s mouth, Moyong Juhee, who’d been watching Qing, had a tiny earthquake in her gaze, but fortunately—or unfortunately—Qing didn’t notice.

“Arrogant? Look at this kid talk. I take it you’re hiding behind your dear father’s title to act up, cadet, but do you think your exalted father is going to use the power of paperwork to stop the assassins right here and now? Honestly, if you just die or get expelled and go back home, the government offices will take care of government business all on their own, right? Ever heard of ‘civil administration must not meddle in martial affairs’?”

“Kh. This is exactly why those thugs of the martial world are a problem. You try to solve everything with brute force, yo. The civil offices look the other way and a pack of street punks run wild, yo. Tsk—”

“Use proper formal speech. And then, are you telling me the people who sent assassins after you aren’t administrators but martial artists? Assassins are hired with money and power, not with fists. If you’re going to kill someone, at least have the guts to say your name and step forward on your own strength. Sneaking around in the dark hiring killers is way more despicable, isn’t it?”

“That’s...! Urgh.”

Mandarlo snapped his mouth shut in frustration.

From the start, trying to match Qing with words was about as stupid as it got.

If you tried to fight that sorcerous tongue of hers—words that could flip a person’s five viscera and six bowels inside out—with words alone, you were accepting certain defeat, a hundred battles, a hundred losses.

“So, why did you come to Righteous-Proper Martial Academy? You are a spy after all? You’re a bit too on-the-nose for a spy, but still—planning to bleed off Alliance intel?”

“That’s not it, yo.”

SMACK. Another tally on the back of his head.

“Hey, are you going to keep being this petty little ‘yes-yo, no-yo’ brat? If you’re going to use polite speech, then use it properly and clearly—that’s actually more manly and straightforward. What, you don’t like getting hit and you don’t like speaking politely either, so you’re going to sit in the muddy middle? Be a man and either talk rough and pay the price every time, or else speak clean, respectful sentences. Pick one. If you do neither, that just makes you more of an idiot—no, more of a pathetic little weasel.”

“Ahem. That is not what this is.”

Apparently he didn’t want to be a weasel; Mandarlo’s honorifics slipped out on their own.

Looked at one way, he might actually be easy to handle.

At that point, Sima Chunbong stepped in to tidy things up.

“Mm. With the situation as it is, we have no choice. Mandarlo—no, Young Lord Kang Damhyeon—you will have to return home. Now that your identity is exposed, we can’t keep pretending we don’t know who you are on our side either. If assassins keep coming, it’s the safety of the other cadets that will be gravely threatened. We’ll skip the formal withdrawal procedures, so, Young Lord, you will head straight for the capital.”

It was a swift expulsion.

Given that this was Sima Chunbong, who claims to be the core of Academy operations, it was only natural he’d have that much discretionary power.

“Hmph. You think I want to be here? Fine by me—this den of thugs, tsk—”

“Basics.”

“Now that I’m not a cadet anymore, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Where does a snot-nosed brat get off talking down like that? This is a lecture I’m giving you as an adult, not as an instructor. Talk like that to the wrong person and you really will end up dead.”

Then Qing cleared her throat.

“In that case, I’m thinking I’ll take this kid to the capital and drop him off myself. Sima, is it all right if the instructor steps away for a bit?”

“Heavenly Flower Sword herself, personally?”

“If he dies before he gets to the capital, people are definitely going to talk. You said this Administrative Commissioner is somebody pretty high up, right? Better not give a man like that even the smallest excuse to hold a grudge over his dead son.”

“In that case, it doesn’t have to be Heavenly Flower Sword. Any of the ordinary mortals here could escort him.”

The rest of the group, suddenly demoted to “ordinary mortals,” had little twitches at the corners of their eyes.

First they were treated like second-raters, and now commoners, when in reality they were some of the top later-stage masters of the martial world—and if not for Qing, there were at least two of them who would have set the record for youngest supreme masters.

“It’s fine. If we run all night, it won’t take that many days. The assistants are already in a place where they can run class on their own, and if I appoint Sword-Friend—that is, Sinjae—as acting instructor, he’ll teach them properly. Honestly, he’s probably better at teaching people than I am.”

If Namgung Sinjae had been there, he would have been moved to tears—Sword-Friend!—but unfortunately, at this exact moment he was back at the Academy, thrilled to be facing eager would-be swordsmen who came to train even on their day off, happily pouring out everything he knew.

Mandarlo, on the other hand, went pale.

Run all night, she said.

This was a Mandarlo who had already experienced being luggage under her arm and then, more recently, a young lady carried in her arms.

Either way, going all the way from here to the capital in that state?

He’d rather take his chances with the assassins.

“No, that—that won’t be necessary. I can go alone. Yes. I don’t even have to go that far—if I just stop by the garrison at Pyeongjeong Mountain, I can get an escort from the military. I will, ah, take care of it myself.”

SMACK. Another shot.

“Oh, I see. You’re going to speak freely and take your blows freely too? Very manly of you. But are you sure? Is that general over there actually close with your father? Do you have any proof he’s not on the assassins’ side?”

“That’s...”

Mandarlo’s words trailed off.

Because he didn’t know.

What does a pampered young lord who’s always just been out playing know about the political games in the imperial palace?

“You really don’t get your own situation, do you? At this point, it wouldn’t be strange if assassins came crashing in right now. You saw that poison pill he took.”

A painkiller that effective, that was also a deadly poison, was no ordinary item.

He’d been willing to swallow that just to shut his own mouth, so he clearly belonged to some very serious outfit.

Put bluntly, he was probably part of a famous assassin group.

Which meant there were almost certainly more of his comrades.

“They’ve already failed twice. If you go back to the Academy as you are, they’ll assume you’ll hole up and never come out again. Honestly, the fact that you came out now, even though you were attacked already, is kind of absurd.”

Qing shrugged.

“So if they’re determined to finish the job while you’re out in the open, you want to go alone in that situation?”

“That’s...”

“You really don’t seem to understand where you stand right now. If the assassins all rush in screaming they’re going to kill you this instant, that wouldn’t be strange at all.”

Only now did he seem to grasp his situation. A flicker of unease crept into Mandarlo’s eyes.

“Th-then... I’ll ask for your help.”

And right then, from somewhere in the distance, a frightened voice:

“Fire!”

“What was that? Sounds like something’s on fire somewhere.”

All at once, everyone’s expressions hardened.

A beat behind the words, a faint acrid scent of burning smoke curled into their noses.

SCRAAAPE—someone yanked the door open in a hurry, and thin, hazy smoke was already seeping in.

Ah. So that fire was here.

“Damn it. They say words become seeds.”

Qing scratched the back of her head.

What fire, out of nowhere?

Just as Qing had said, it would be nothing strange if an attack came at any moment—and if the attackers had decided this was their last chance.

Qing snapped out orders at once.

Her companions all drew their weapons in unison.

“San—no, those overzealous women might get dragged into it. Miss Moyong, you take care of the cadets. Everyone else, help evacuate the other guests. They might go so far as to slaughter civilians just to erase evidence, so stay tight and on edge.”

Then Qing hoisted Mandarlo up and slotted him under her arm.

Apparently he’d decided being luggage was better than being a young lady, because he went limp with a sort of resigned compliance, letting himself be installed at her side.

“What about you, Lady?”

“I’m going to carry this brat and shout that he’s here, draw everyone’s eyes and play bait. Once things are a bit under control, come help me mop up. Everyone got it?”

They all nodded.

Then, suddenly, Sima Chunbong inserted a protest.

“Wait a moment. Why is Heavenly Flower Sword so naturally taking command here? If there was ever a time for my strategies that reach the very heavens—”

“Then you do the honors, Chunbong. I’ll leave it to you.”

“Wait, Chunbong?!”

Qing snickered and launched herself out.

She’d always wanted to call him Chunbong to his face someday.

Yeah. This feeling—there’s slaughter ahead.

This time, absolutely: slaughter, nothing but slaughter.

Personally, she preferred enemies who came straight at her over ones who hid. And for the Academy, that was better too.

These are people who poisoned liquor to get at one dog-bone brat, and now they’re setting fire to a whole pavilion. Who knows what trick they’ll try next if you leave them alone.

And if you torture and kill assassins this vicious, that’s practically a public service.

How could that not make you smile?

She’d told her friends she’d play bait, but all she really had to do was draw their attention, gather them in one place.

Sometimes the bait eats the fish.

Qing went CHAK-CHAK-CHAK-CHAK, taking one step per stair, but each “step” cleared an entire flight at a time. As she did, she tapped Mandarlo on the crown of his head.

“What is it?”

“What do you think? You heard me. We’re going to draw attention. You shout that you’re here. I run, you scream. Or do you want to switch?”

“Why would I—no, haah.”

Mandarlo started to argue, then apparently ran out of words—or gave up.

Pressed under her arm, his thin chest expanded with a long, trembling inhale.

And then—

“Look—at—me! Look at—augh! Why again?!”

“Hey, that’s not how you do it. What do you mean, ‘look at me’? Who’s looking at what? You shout your name. They don’t know who you really are back at the Academy yet, so you yell Mandarlo. ‘I’m Mandarlo! I’m Mandarlo from, what was it, Ganyang in Sichuan!’”

“...Ganyang. I am! Mandarlo! I am Mandarlo from Ganyang in Sichuan, aaagh!”

Mandarlo screamed.

Well, Qing had tightened her arm around his waist, and that terrifying strength of a thousand jin clamped down on his midsection. Of course it hurt.

“That’s all the voice you’ve got? Cadet, even a worm slithering past in front of your instructor would make more noise than that. A damn ant’s footsteps are louder.”

“What kind of bullshit is tha—AARGH! All right, okay, I get it!”

He could whine all he wanted—he was a mouse in a jar, no, a “dog bone” wedged under her arm.

He was basically already on the torture rack; if he didn’t want his upper and lower body separated, he’d better behave.

The moment he grasped that fact, Mandarlo’s expression crumpled.

And then, at last, a loud, powerful shout—