Self-Criticism

At first, the reply section was just a sea of question marks, but words soon began to appear.

[OP, nice pics, bring more next time.]

[Which episode did I miss?]

[ID: CheerfulNetizen9527... A new account? I've been on this forum for so long and never seen this guy, still using the default avatar too.]

After a brief moment of confusion, when people clicked on the full-size images and looked through all nine photos one by one, the mood on the forum began to subtly shift.

The first picture was of Long Ao.

Half of the young man's body was soaked in blood, veins bulging on his muscular arms, as he let out a silent roar at some unseen entity outside the frame.

Behind him was the collapsed top of the tower, and beneath his feet were the remains of demonic beasts. That unyielding ruthlessness could practically burn one's eyes right through the screen.

[Holy shit, Brother Ao looks so damn cool in this, it's so hype.]

[This composition, this lighting, this sense of brokenness—did OP draw this themselves?]

[What a delicious meal, I'm eating this up.]

The second picture, An Changqing.

He held up his longsword, blood dripping down the blade.

He wasn't looking at the camera, but gazing into the distant, pitch-black night sky, his eyes bright.

[My heart aches for our little angel Changqing, being the strongest sword cultivator and fighting the most brutal battles.]

[Our Changqing is the number one genius among sword cultivators! The gentleman's sword of noble righteousness, the lingering sword of tender affection, all things can be a sword—one sword that once held off a million troops, one sword whose frost chills fourteen states.]

[I'm eating this up.]

The third picture, Liu Feiyu.

The young man in black sat alone on a broken stone beam, his back looking desolate.

The night breeze fluttered the hem of his clothes, and the coin in his hand reflected a silver light.

He looked like a detached judge, and at the same time, a lone wolf carrying too many secrets.

[Bro Liu is eating good too, giving off that everyone is drunk but me vibe.]

[He's clearly on the battlefield, yet he seems detached from everyone else. This sense of loneliness is incredible, Bro Liu has been isolated again.]

[I'm eating this up.]

[Whose glutton is this, why are you everywhere.]

...

Nine pictures, each telling a story. There was the absolute resolve of Su Yuehe, Yin Chen, and the others standing back-to-back; there was the flying crimson hair of Hong Yuan as she swung her giant axe; and the final picture was an exhausted group shot of everyone under the lights.

Sure enough, the popularity points in the background were sensibly increasing.

This batch of viewers was really easy to please.

Chen Guan closed the forum page with satisfaction.

He was immersed in the joy of watching his balance swell when they arrived at the landing pad outside.

Because of concerns that the demonic beasts might make a comeback, the original First Academy had been evacuated; this was the Second Academy.

The cabin door opened, and Instructor Jing's lazy face appeared at the entrance.

His gaze fell on Chen Guan in the corner.

"Chen Guan."

Chen Guan stood up and adjusted the black coffin on his back.

Instructor Jing grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Your private reflection room is ready. The environment is nice, there's a desk, a lamp, and an unlimited supply of manuscript paper."

"Don't forget, a five-thousand-word self-criticism by eight o'clock tomorrow morning, not a single word less."

Chen Guan's movements paused for a moment.

Wait, you're actually making me write it?

He silently followed the crowd off the aircraft and walked toward the private room prepared for him.

The room was very quiet, with only a single incandescent bulb overhead.

A desk, a chair, a thick stack of manuscript paper, and a pen.

Chen Guan sat down and picked up the pen.

He pondered for a long time, and facing the blank manuscript paper, solemnly wrote down the first line.

"My name is Chen Guan, today I..."

He stopped writing, looked up at the ceiling, and fell into deep thought.

How was he supposed to make up the next four thousand nine hundred or so words?

The tip of the pen in Chen Guan's hand hovered over the paper for a long time, and a drop of ink slowly spread out.

On the manuscript paper in front of him, there was still only that single lonely line.

And then what?

He stared blankly at the ceiling for a while.

He ran through a few universal templates in his head.

For example, when I had a high fever, my mother carried me on her back through the heavy rain to the hospital, which made me understand the greatness of maternal love; love you mom, see you tomorrow.

Or, I helped an old lady cross the street, and she handed me an apple with trembling hands, which made me understand... understand what again?

His childhood was gradually blurring, and Chen Guan couldn't fit into these templates at all.

This was five thousand words, not five hundred.

Chen Guan put down the pen and leaned back against the chair.

He changed his line of thought.

Who was this self-criticism meant for?

Instructor Jing, White Tiger.

An evil big cat who loved watching drama and had a wicked sense of humor in his bones.

What did he want to read?

A sincere and deeply reflective letter of repentance?

Stop making your Brother Guan laugh. That guy just wanted to see a joke; this was just a prank by his cheap boss.

Thinking of this, he sat up straight again and picked up the pen.

This time, when the pen touched the paper, it didn't stop.

He deconstructed the entire Myriad Demon Tower incident from his own perspective.

[When I saw the demonic beasts' sharp claws tear through my companions' defenses, my heart felt as if it had also been slashed open by those claws. It hurt so much. I hated my own powerlessness, and I hated the unfairness of this world. Why must there always be sacrifices? Why must protection always come at the cost of blood?]

He felt absolutely no emotion inside, and even mentally critiqued it: Long Ao was just blasted away, but saying torn through added more tragic color and could pad out a few more words. Five thousand words was too many, and writing this paragraph was just to inflate the word count.

Throughout the entire self-criticism, he used a massive amount of flowery yet hollow rhetoric to repeatedly depict his inner pain and struggle.

What did it mean to act without authorization?

That was called "being swept up by the torrent of fate, struggling involuntarily."

What did it mean to disobey orders?

That was called "cleaving a bloody path toward the dawn for my companions in the despairing darkness."

As for why he had to write five thousand words?

Because how could my pain and reflections possibly be contained in a mere few hundred words?

He wrote more and more smoothly, his inspiration bursting forth, not even needing to make a draft.

An entire night passed, and when the horizon turned the pale color of a fish's belly, the manuscript paper was completely filled.

Chen Guan blew dry the ink on the last page and stretched his sore wrist.

He read through it once. At first glance, it looked incredibly profound and erudite, but upon closer inspection, it was absolute nonsense.

I can't be the only one suffering; White Tiger has to come and read these five thousand words of trash talk too.

Until he could actually beat Kitty Tiger in a fight, Chen Guan could only covertly oppose White Tiger in this manner.

...

Medical Center.

Long Ao lay in a healing pod, feeling a sense of injustice on Chen Guan's behalf.

"What kind of nonsense is this? Chen Guan has to be locked in solitary confinement and write a self-criticism?"

By now, Long Ao knew that Instructor Jing was White Tiger, the very same person who had saved him and Chen Guan in Jiang City. He had also given him a strange token and asked some weird questions.

His assessment of White Tiger was that he was a weirdo with unknown motives. When he asked White Tiger how he should repay the life-saving grace, the man didn't say, only replying that the time had not yet come.

This sort of unknown actually made Long Ao a bit restless. He could tell that White Tiger possessed extraordinary strength, so whatever he sought must naturally be massive.