At the foot of a snowy mountain,
a small tavern was filled with scholars.

“My writing is worthy of the king himself!”
“Once I pass the civil exam, a high office will be mine for sure!”

They poured each other drinks,
cut one another off mid-sentence,
and raised only their own voices.

Just then,
a tiger came wandering down from the ridge.

The scholars flinched as if frightened—
but their eyes quickly calculated
the price of the tiger’s pelt
and the weight of its threat.

“Dear sir, please accept this fine silk!”
“We are but lowly scholars…”

But the tiger knew.
They weren’t bowing out of fear—
they were kneeling out of strategy.

These were men
who only bowed to the powerful
and ignored the weak.

The tiger said nothing.
He quietly pulled out his long pipe
and lit it.

Fff—

White smoke slowly drifted
through the tavern air.

“A world where rank rules,
and hollow titles command obedience…

If I must breathe in this stifling society,

then let me do it
with a bit of smoke—

so I can at least pretend
I’m not the beast here.”

From that day on,
the tiger smoked from time to time.

And when people saw the smoke rising,
they whispered:

“He’s not trying to act human.

He smokes…
because he wants to feel
less ashamed than they are.”

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🌿 Optional Ending Reflection (for blog)

In the end,
it wasn’t the tiger’s roar they remembered.

It was the smoke—
and the silence
between human voices.