Chapter 521: Chapter-521
The System’s blue interface flashed a frantic, despairing red.
’’[Host!]’’ the System shrieked in absolute digital agony. ’’[First of all, this is the ancient world! There are no cars here! And secondly, you cannot just give a small, impressionable child such a violently unhinged and morbid topic to write about!]’’
Heena didn’t even flinch at the System’s digital shrieking.
’’Fine, a very fast, heavily armored carriage, then,’’ Heena amended mentally, entirely unfazed. ’’Or a swift kick from a galloping warhorse. The foundational physics remain exactly the same, System. The dog achieves liftoff.’’
The System’s screen pulsed a deep, defeated purple before it simply vanished, completely giving up on trying to teach her basic moral boundaries.
Meanwhile, the Ninth Prince was still sitting on the floor, staring up at Heena with a mixture of profound confusion and lingering terror. He had completely missed her silent conversation with the invisible System, but he had definitely heard her out-loud explanation.
"What in the world is a... ’car’?" the young prince asked, his voice cracking slightly. "And why would anyone throw a dog into the sky?"
Heena smoothly waved her hand, dismissing his first question entirely. "A car is simply a highly advanced, very fast metallic carriage from the far Western regions. Do not get bogged down in the minor technical details, Your Highness. Focus on the core concept."
The prince scrambled up to his feet, dusting off his golden robes. He looked at the blank paper on the desk, then back at his completely unhinged tutor.
"But it makes absolutely no sense!" the prince protested, his aristocratic education rebelling against the absurdity. "The Imperial Tutors always teach us to write about the grace of the bamboo, the sorrow of the moon, or the majesty of the Emperor’s dragons! Dogs do not have wings! A poem about a flying dog is completely illogical!"
Heena clicked her tongue, slowly pacing around the mahogany desk.
"And that, Your Highness, is exactly why your previous poetry was so incredibly boring," Heena declared, tapping the wooden desk with her riding crop. "Poetry is not just about observing what ’is’. It is about envisioning what ’could be’. It requires absolute vision, raw imagination, and a complete, arrogant disregard for the laws of nature."
She leaned over the desk, pinning the young prince with a sharp, piercing stare.
"How can you ever expect to lead the empire’s military one day if you lack the tactical imagination to visualize the aerodynamics of a common hound?" Heena asked, her tone entirely serious. "If you cannot imagine a dog flying, how will you ever anticipate an enemy attacking from an impossible angle?"
The Ninth Prince stared at her.
His mouth opened, then closed. He tried to find a flaw in her logic, but she had delivered it with such absolute, overwhelming confidence that his twelve-year-old brain actually started to believe her. ’Was’ his lack of imagination regarding flying dogs going to make him a terrible general in the future?
"I..." The prince swallowed hard, his previous explosive anger completely derailed by sheer psychological manipulation.
"Exactly," Heena said, pulling out a chair and gesturing to it. "Now, sit."
The notoriously tyrannical prince, who had terrorized the Imperial Palace for years and broken the spirit of half a dozen elite scholars, obediently pulled out the chair and sat down.
He picked up the ink brush, his small hand trembling slightly as he dipped it into the black inkstone. He stared at the pristine white paper, his mind desperately trying to figure out how to make a dog gracefully hurdle through the clouds without sounding completely insane.
"You have exactly one hour," Heena instructed, stepping back and crossing her arms. "I want two full stanzas. I want vivid, emotional imagery. I want to feel the absolute panic in the dog’s soul, and I want to feel the rushing wind in its fur as it hurtles through the sky."
She offered him one final, terrifyingly bright smile.
"And if your poem fails to move my heart, Your Highness, you will spend the rest of the evening writing a ten-page essay on the structural integrity and financial cost of the imperial vases you just shattered."
The Ninth Prince visibly gulped. He gripped his brush tightly, hunched over the desk, and frantically began to write, leaving Heena to stand guard with a highly satisfied smirk.
For the next hour, the only sounds in the grand imperial pavilion were the frantic, desperate scratching of an ink brush against paper and the occasional, terrified whimpers of the eunuch still glued to the wall.
Heena sat comfortably in a plush chair she had pulled up, casually sipping a cup of lukewarm tea.
Every now and then, the Ninth Prince would pause, bite the end of his brush, and stare up at the ceiling in deep, existential agony. Trying to merge the strict, elegant rules of ancient imperial poetry with the absolute absurdity of a hound being launched into the stratosphere was pushing his twelve-year-old brain to its absolute limits.
"Time is up," Heena announced, setting her teacup down with a sharp ’clink’. "Put the brush down, Your Highness."
The prince flinched, immediately dropping the brush onto the inkstone. He grabbed the paper with ink-stained fingers and held it out toward her, looking as if he were handing over his own death warrant.
Heena took the paper. She leaned back, crossing her legs, and held the parchment up to the light.
The translucent blue screen of the System popped up over her shoulder, completely unable to resist its own digital curiosity.
"Let us see the depths of your tactical imagination," Heena murmured. She cleared her throat and began to read aloud:
’The noble hound stood on the grass,’
’Unaware of the carriage made of brass.’
’A sudden strike, a forceful breeze,’
’He soared above the willow trees.’
’No wings of white, no feathers grand,’
’Just pure momentum from the land.’
’He barks at clouds, a tragic sight,’
’A furry bullet in the night.’
The pavilion fell completely silent.
The Ninth Prince squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable insult. He knew it was terrible. The Imperial Scholars would have literally fainted at the use of the phrase "furry bullet."
Heena slowly lowered the paper. She brought a gloved hand up to her eye and elegantly wiped away an imaginary tear.
"Magnificent," Heena whispered, her voice thick with fake emotion.
The prince’s eyes snapped open. "What?"
"Absolutely magnificent," Heena repeated, looking at the stunned boy with genuine, terrifying approval. "Look at this, Your Highness! You completely captured the essence of the prompt. ’Just pure momentum from the land.’ You acknowledge the absolute, uncaring laws of physics, yet you give the hound a tragic, unyielding spirit. It doesn’t cry as it flies—it ’barks at the clouds’! That is the spirit of a Vanguard warrior!"
The digital System beside her began to furiously flash red again.
’’[Host, you are actively destroying the cultural heritage of this empire!]’’ the System wailed. ’’[The Imperial Ancestors are rolling in their tombs! This is literary garbage!]’’
’’Quiet, you uncultured calculator,’’ Heena thought back sharply. ’’This is a masterpiece of modern expressionism.’’
The Ninth Prince just stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. He had expected to be beaten. He had expected to be yelled at.
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