The morning sun rose gently over the capital road, lighting the prince's march in a soft golden glow.
At the very front rode the young prince—barely past fifteen, eyes sparkling, expression full of worship.
Beside him, riding proudly on a tall white horse, was Han Tianci.
Behind them, a few steps away, marched the Commander, tall and stone-faced, every line of his body radiating discipline, patience, and silent misery.
The prince leaned forward on his saddle, eyes shining.
"Senior Han! Last night's poem... was incredible! I read it three times before sleeping!"
Han Tianci coughed lightly, pretending modesty while his chest inflated like a proud rooster.
"Ahem—well, Young Master, when one possesses my talent, words simply pour out like divine rain. You'll understand when you reach my level."
The prince nodded eagerly.
"So profound... so heroic... Senior Han, can you teach me how to write like that? You're truly my role model!"
The commander beside them took a deep breathe.
But he said nothing.
Han Tianci waved grandly, as if accepting celestial worship.
"Of course, of course! Follow me and one day, you too may write a poem and be a warrior that shakes mountains and seas."
The prince's jaw dropped in awe.
The commander inhaled deeply, silently questioning his life choices.
Far Behind Them — The Zombie-like Group
A full fifty steps behind, slogging through the dirt road like a funeral procession, came the rest of their group.
Heads down.
Eyes lifeless.
Bodies dragging like half-dead ghosts.
Some clutched their chests, others held their backs, and a few seemed to drift on the edge of collapsing entirely.
Their misery was like a dark cloud hovering behind the bright parade.
One groaned:
"I can't do it anymore..."
"Walking... hurts..."
"My soul is leaving my body..."
"Why is that brat bragging again?"
They lifted their eyes—
Ahead of them, Han Tianci was waving his fan, gesturing grandly as he bragged to the prince.
A collective sigh rose from the group.
"He's doing it again..."
"Heaven save us..."
Then, suddenly, from within their ranks—
A Weak Hand Slowly Rose
It was Liu Wending, the ink-stained scholar with panda eyes and the appearance of someone who hadn't slept since last winter.
"I... I want to confess something..." he said weakly.
The others looked at him in confusion.
"What now?"
"Did Tianci make you carry his luggage again?"
"Did he steal your food?"
Liu Wending swallowed a lifetime of suffering.
"It was me," he whispered.
"...What was you?" they asked.
He lifted his trembling finger and pointed toward the front—toward Han Tianci, who was gesturing dramatically as he described "his poetic genius" to the prince.
"The poem..." Liu Wending said, voice breaking like a dying flute.
"I wrote it."
Everyone froze mid-step.
"...You... what?"
Liu Wending pressed both hands over his face, as if reliving trauma.
"He asked me—knowing the prince would ask him about his battles. He didn't want to look uncool... so he asked for a poem."
Someone gasped.
Another cursed the heavens.
Liu Wending continued, voice wobbling:
"Three days... and three nights... I wrote it.
No sleep.
No rest.
Ink everywhere.
My soul burned away..."
He pointed shakily toward Han Tianci again.
"And he still said, 'Not majestic enough! Make it more heroic! Make me sound like a legend!'"
They all looked up at the front.
Han Tianci was currently showing the prince how he "stood on a mountain peak, sword pointed at heaven," playing the scene out with dramatic motions.
The group behind imagined—
His nose...
Growing longer...
And longer...
Like a demonic lie-vine sprouting from his face.
Liu Wending added, despair coating every word:
"And now... he wants another poem... and another...
I barely slept these past days...
Please... please someone stop him..."
Please... someone... anyone... stop him..."
A man beside him patted his shoulder with a dead stare.
"Heaven will welcome you soon, brother... stay strong..."
The group collectively sighed.
One muttered:
"Heaven truly has abandoned us..."
Another added:
"If the prince ever finds out the truth, He will never trust a person again..."
"Senior Tianci, truly... were you really surrounded by a hundred demons that day?"
A third whispered:
"...Look... he's bragging again..."
Up Front — Han Tianci Continues His Performance
"Young Lad!" Han Tianci said, raising his chin proudly.
The prince chuckled politely, unaware of the battlefield of misery behind him.
Han Tianci puffed up even more.
"I will write a hundred poems! One for each glorious moment! The world will remember my heroic deeds!"
The prince clapped excitedly.
Han Tianci's nose grew another inch in their imagination.
The commander almost stumbled.
The poison prodigy Lin Chao muttered first, shoulders sagging under three giant travel sacks:
"He's making us walk… while he rides like an immortal sage up front. At least lend us your spirit beast to carry the luggage…"
The wandering bard Feng Qingzi clutched his zither case, nearly tripping over a rock.
"That stone lion of his… enormous, majestic, divine! And what does it do?"His eyes burned with despair."Nothing. Not a single thing. It just walks beside him looking handsome!"
The seductress-warrior Yan Ruyu wiped sweat from her brow, glaring murderously at the back of Han Tianci's head.
"It's not the worst… The worst is—he keeps taking detours… so he can brag longer to the prince! Yesterday we circled a hill three times!"
The battle monk Jinhai was staggering like a lantern in a storm.
"My legs have seen wars… but this… this is torture beyond mortal and immortal realms combined… At the least stop him from Bragging"
They all looked ahead again.
Han Tianci flicked his sleeve dramatically, mimicking sword strikes as he reenacted how he "suppressed an immortal ghost general with one breath."
The prince nearly sparkled.
The commander silently questioned reality.
Liu Wending cried into his sleeve, mourning his sleep.
Behind them, the four cultivators dragged their feet, looking like heroes fallen from grace.
Lin Chao groaned:
"Does he not understand? We are cultivators, not mules…"
Feng Qingzi sighed like an old poet whose dreams had been stepped on repeatedly.
"Heaven… why do those blessed by fortune walk lightly… while hard workers like us sink into mud…"
Yan Ruyu stared ahead with a deadly calm expression.
"If he asks Wending for another poem… I will put paralyze poison in his soup."
The monk nodded solemnly.
"Amitabha. I shall assist."
Someone whispered, broken:
"And he won't even let the stone lion carry one… single… bag…"
Another:
"No… if he gives it the luggage, it won't walk proudly beside him anymore…"
A wave of understanding and bitterness settled over the four.
"Oh. Oh yes. That makes sense…"
One finally muttered:
Far ahead—
Han Tianci's nose grew another inch in their imagination as he bragged again, gesturing grandly, the prince hanging onto every word.
Then It Happened
Han Tianci looked back and waved.
The prince asked:
"Senior Han! Can the others join us up front?"
Han Tianci brushed it off:
"No, no—they are in training. Casual training. Very Easy."
The four cultivators died inside.
Again.