"Xiao Wu, quick, quick, quick!
"Hurry up and come up with a poem that will shock the world and stun everyone here!"
Zhou Duoduo's chest heaved with anger, and the veins at her temples were on the verge of bulging. She kept muttering, her tone urgent and sharp:
"You have to grind that pest Ye Xiangyong beneath your feet!
"Otherwise, he'll be pointing in our faces and laughing at us for ages!"
She simply could not stomach Ye Xiangyong's arrogance anymore. Wasn't he just someone who could recite a few sickly sentimental verses? Yet he actually thought he was the God of Literature descended to earth. The sight of him with his nostrils pointed at the sky made her teeth itch!
Yet faced with Zhou Duoduo's relentless urging and implicitly reproachful tone, Wu Zhifeng seemed not to hear her at all. He was completely immersed in his own world.
At that moment, his head buzzed as though countless bees were charging around inside it, threatening to make it explode at any second.
He clutched his hair with both hands, his fingers almost digging into his scalp, and frantically scratched his ears and head. His features twisted together, as though this primitive method could get his frozen brain working again and squeeze out even a single decent line of poetry.
Fortunately, this was only a minor interlude. Before long, everyone had cast Wu Zhifeng's predicament beyond the ninth heaven.
After all, they had something more important to do: rack their brains to compose a magnificent poem.
The top three contestants at this poetry gathering would receive exceptionally generous prizes. In particular, that second-grade heaven mountain snow lotus had countless people drooling.
Everyone rubbed their fists and flexed their wrists, eager to try, their eyes filled with determination. No one wanted