I Thought I Was the Chosen One

I posted this by mistake.

I can only dig up a short piece I wrote a long time ago to fill the gap.

Both the blurb and the story are in first person.

When I walked a thousand miles to reach an immortal sect and ask to become a disciple,

I shouted like a young hero from a storybook: "Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river. Don't bully a poor young man!"

They burst out laughing. "A broke loser thinks he's allowed to speak?"

I realized the storybooks I'd been reading were outdated.

These days, rich people are the ones who get to be protagonists.

People like me

are generally called "losers," or refer to themselves as "your humble servant."

This isn't a wish-fulfillment story,

so don't get your hopes up for a power fantasy.

That's all.

Theme: Strive tirelessly to better yourself