When the People Only Took the SLAPS…

Once upon a time, in a vast and ancient kingdom, there lived a king.

He possessed all that a ruler could ever desire: a shining golden crown that sparkled in the sunlight, a grand throne carved from the rarest wood, and a palace whose marble halls echoed the footsteps of servants and soldiers alike. His empire stretched far and wide, and thousands of people bowed before him, offering loyalty and obedience.

Yet… something was missing.

Each morning, the king would rise before the sun and walk to his high palace window. From there, he would gaze out over the rooftops of his capital — watching the merchants set up their stalls, the farmers lead their donkeys through the gates, and children chase each other through dusty alleys. The city was full of life, yet there was an emptiness in his heart. His face remained calm… but a deep sadness clouded his eyes.

One morning, his trusted vizier entered the chamber. A wise old man with a beard like snow and eyes that had seen too much.

“Your Majesty,” the vizier said gently, “you seem troubled. What burdens your soul today?”

The king sighed, turning away from the window.

“My friend,” he said quietly, “I fear my own people.”

The vizier was taken aback. “Fear them? Why, Your Majesty? They love you.”

“They may love me,” the king replied, “but they have forgotten how to speak. They breathe, they walk, they work… but something inside them has died. They do not question. They do not resist. Even if I became a cruel tyrant… or worse, if my son turned into one… I fear they would remain silent, enduring it all with bowed heads and closed mouths.”

The vizier was silent for a moment. Then, a curious smile played on his lips.

“Then allow me to test them, my King. Let us see just how much silence they can bear.”

The king raised an eyebrow. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“There is a bridge,” the vizier said, “between our two largest cities. Thousands of your subjects cross it every day. Let us charge a toll — a small one at first. Ten coins. Then gradually raise it… and watch how long it takes for them to cry out.”

Intrigued, the king agreed.

The very next day, the toll booth was set up. A sign read:

“Toll: 10 Coins. By Order of the King.”

People paid and crossed. No complaints.

The toll was raised to 20. Then 40. Then 100.

Each time, the sign changed. Each time, the people paid.

No protest. No voice. No resistance.

The king watched in disbelief. “Are they truly this weak?” he asked the vizier.

The vizier nodded slowly. “Let us go one step further.”

“What do you mean?” the king asked.

“Now, in addition to the toll,” the vizier said, “let each person who crosses the bridge receive a slap on the face. Let’s see if pain will wake them where price did not.”

And so it was done.

Every citizen who crossed the bridge paid 100 coins…

And was slapped across the face by a guard.

Morning after morning. Slap after slap. And still… nothing.

No revolt. No anger. No movement.

Until one day — the unexpected happened.

A massive crowd gathered outside the palace gates. Drums beat. Voices murmured. The king stood on the balcony and finally smiled.

“They’ve had enough,” he whispered. “They’re here to rebel.”

The vizier bowed. “Shall I bring their leader before you?”

“Please do,” the king replied, hope in his voice.

A man was brought in. He bowed politely.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “we come with a humble request.”

The king leaned forward eagerly. “Yes? Go on.”

The man said, “We tolerated the tolls — 10 coins, then 20, then 100. We accepted the slaps. We bore it all without question. But now… there is a new problem.”

“A problem?” the king asked, confused.

The man nodded. “There are too few guards slapping… and too many of us waiting in line. It delays us from reaching work. We kindly request that you hire more guards… so we can be slapped faster… and not be late.”

Silence fell.

The king stared at him, stunned.

Then, wordlessly, he turned away… and walked back inside his palace. His steps were heavy, his face pale.

Behind him, the vizier stood still.

And in the air, a question remained, echoing across the city:

“How long will the people keep getting slapped… and still stay silent?”