"What are you writing?" The man spoke with difficulty, each word measured, his handsome face as black as Guan Yu's, yet his gaze was as fiercely red as Zhang Fei's.
"Write 'Bastard, sautéed cucumber with scrambled eggs'!"
"You—" Emperor Quan was about to explode, "Hurry up!"
"What's the rush?" Zhan Se glanced at him disdainfully, holding the tip of her hair, and wrote with no respect, the strokes swift, full of patience. After writing for a while, she suddenly lifted her head with a blank look, earnestly shook her head as if to negotiate, squinting her eyes, and asked him in a soft voice.
"Something's not quite right, I should change the phrase."
"...Zhan Xiaoyao!"
"Right, that's the way, wait till I write, 'Zhan Xiaoyao was here!'"
"Fuck!"
"No rush, this time I'll write it in Yan style."
