Had the Inverted Lake "dried up," and the play still wasn't over?
Fu Qian unfolded the script in his hand again and studied the marks on it, as if he could see a screenwriter who'd run out of ideas.
The sixth act still hadn't appeared. There wasn't even a single extra word.
There were still five lines in total, and the titles of the third and fifth acts were both blank.
He'd absolved Rom, peered into the apocalypse, and torn apart armor... After a whole series of such intense actions, he still hadn't managed to leave a single new mark on the page.
Had it completely given up and decided to wait for him, an actor in the play, to fill it in himself?
Though he'd already done something similar, Fu Qian couldn't help grumbling inwardly.
Clearly, this was different from what had happened on April Fools' Day. He had to do more than guide the plot; he even had to summarize it himself.
The blank third act was already an example. No matter what, that scene had ended, yet its title still hadn't appeared.
It wasn't as if this laziness couldn't be explained. Even when people summarized the main idea of the same text, they often came up with different answers.
So what exactly had this act expressed? A vast expanse of white, utterly clean?
At one point, Fu Qian really did take out the pen and look around.
He wasn't exaggerating. Even the Jia family's estate probably hadn't been stripped this thoroughly when it was confiscated.
The research facility had long since been emptied, and even the whale and lake spread across the scene had been transformed beyond recognition by repeated disturbances.
The only thing that still evoked even a hint of the old scene was A Fei,