At that moment.
The twenty-minute composition time had just ended!
Inside the ten pavilions.
The literary figures showed a variety of expressions.
Some confident, some tense, some sighing, some resigned, their individual efforts seemingly written across their faces.
Among them.
The Seventh Pavilion.
Shu Ziwen had already regained his composure, a faint smile hanging from the corner of his mouth, his handsome and carefree demeanor prevailing as if he had forgotten the earlier disdain from Xian Yu.
The Tenth Pavilion.
Hua Weiming, clad in a long gown, stood with his hands behind his back, his demeanor self-assured, an air of a literary giant made manifest!
Judges' seating area.
An Long opened up solemnly, "Please all esteemed figures from each pavilion pass around your compositions for mutual perusal, and those who feel outmatched may voluntarily withdraw."
Instantly.
The ten pavilions noisily exchanged their works with one another.
