Chengdu is not the birthplace of any Great Sect, nor is it a fortress carved into mountain peaks like Wudang or Shaolin. Yet in the Murim, its importance cannot be overstated. For centuries, the Eternal River City has served as crossroads, sanctuary, and battlefield for martial wanderers. Its rivers flow with trade, but also with secrets and blood. To the sects, Chengdu is a neutral ground too valuable to abandon, and to independent fighters, it is the perfect stage to rise from obscurity into legend.
Chengdu’s geography ensures its prominence. Nestled in the Sichuan Basin, it is the natural hub between Tangmen territory in the south, Wudang pilgrims from the east, and Shaolin wanderers from the north. Caravans carrying medicines, weapons, or treasures must pass through its gates, and with them come martial guards, mercenaries, and sect envoys. The city’s markets and tea houses echo with dialects from across the empire, each voice carrying the weight of Murim allegiances.
Because it lies outside the formal boundaries of any one sect, Chengdu has become a neutral meeting place. Rival sects send envoys here to negotiate alliances, exchange apprentices, or settle disputes under the pretense of trade. Courtyards, temples, and even inns have hosted such gatherings, often ending with uneasy truces — or violent clashes when words failed. Chengdu’s streets are scarred by duels fought over pride, honor, or insult, and its bridges have borne witness to rival masters testing skill with blade or palm.
The Ming Dynasty maintains soldiers and officials in the Government District, but even the empire knows better than to openly provoke the Murim within Chengdu’s walls. Imperial law is applied, yet carefully: a street brawl may be punished, but a duel between sect envoys is often ignored if both sides accept the outcome. This balance has made Chengdu unique: one of the few cities where Murim custom exists side by side with imperial authority.
This delicate neutrality makes Chengdu indispensable. Wandering masters can rest without fear of sect persecution, and even sworn enemies may pass each other in tea houses without drawing steel — though such restraint rarely lasts long. The city thrives on this tension, balanced precariously between order and chaos.
To walk Chengdu’s streets is to tread upon the echoes of countless battles. Some are whispered legends, others are still remembered vividly by living witnesses:
A duel on the Stone Willow Bridge, where a Shaolin monk and Tangmen assassin fought from dusk until dawn, neither yielding until both collapsed from exhaustion.
The Festival of Lanterns Massacre, when two rival sect factions turned a celebration into chaos, their feud spilling blood into the river as fireworks lit the sky.
The Opera Stage Duel of Eight Harmonies, where two disguised masters turned a performance into combat, their strikes mistaken by the crowd as part of the play until the stage collapsed.
The Three Nights Tournament, secretly organized by the Beggar Sect in the alleys, where unknown fighters tested themselves for the chance to be recruited by greater powers.
Such events are not rare in Chengdu. Tournaments, both open and hidden, draw fighters eager to prove themselves. Some are arranged by merchants to attract crowds, others by sects testing new disciples, and still others by shadowy figures who wager fortunes on the outcome. Chengdu is a crucible of martial reputation: a single victory can make a name, while a single defeat can stain it forever.
Every sect views Chengdu differently, but none ignore it.
Tangmen: To Tangmen, Chengdu is both ally and prey. Their assassins pass through often, taking contracts whispered in brothels or tea houses. Some Tangmen maintain quiet ties with merchant families, trading rare poisons for information or safe passage.
Wudang: Wudang disciples treat Chengdu as a pilgrimage stop, a place to meditate among scholars or test their skills in friendly duels. The sect values the city’s balance, seeing it as a reflection of their Taoist ideals — harmony between chaos and order.
Shaolin: Shaolin monks descend on occasion to preach compassion or quell disputes. Some Shaolin see Chengdu as a city in need of guidance, its corruption a moral failing, while others see it as a testing ground where disciples learn to temper themselves.
Beggar Sect: Chengdu is the heart of Beggar Sect operations in Sichuan. Their stations spread through alleys and markets, gathering information on every whisper and trade. To them, Chengdu is a river of secrets, and they are the ones who decide how those secrets flow.
Smaller Sects: Groups like the Golden Needle Sect hold their ground here, using Chengdu’s visibility to prove their worth. Others, from wandering clans to nameless schools, often test their fortunes here, seeking recognition.
Not all martial roles in Chengdu are visible. The city’s brothels, alleys, and river markets make it ideal for assassins and shadow players. Tangmen contracts are often struck here, but even independent killers ply their trade, vanishing into the city’s chaos after the strike. Courtesans of the Red Blossom Brothel are rumored to have arranged assassinations with a whispered word, while merchant families quietly hire killers to deal with rivals.
For this reason, Chengdu’s reputation is twofold: a city of celebration, and a city of death. To dine at a banquet or stroll through lantern-lit alleys is to wonder if the smile across the table hides a blade.
Within the Murim, Chengdu is seen as a mirror of the world itself. It is neither wholly good nor wholly evil, neither purely sect-driven nor imperial-controlled. It is the stage upon which all threads converge. For some, this makes it dangerous — a place where enemies lurk in every shadow. For others, it is opportunity incarnate: where alliances are born, where names are made, and where the Eternal City offers a stage broad enough for legends.
A saying among martial wanderers captures its essence:
“If you can survive Chengdu, the Murim will remember your name.”
Chengdu’s martial role is not as a single sect stronghold, but as a crossroads of power. It is where the Murim tests itself, where sect rivalries clash in shadow or spectacle, and where imperial authority bends without breaking. To the wandering disciple, it is a place of trial. To the assassin, it is a city of opportunity. To the sects, it is neutral ground too vital to lose.
Chengdu is thus the pulse of the Murim — not a fortress, not a monastery, but a living stage where every duel, every alliance, every betrayal resonates across the land. Its bridges and alleys remember more martial history than most sect archives, and its rivers carry the whispers of legends yet to be born.