Gan Wenchang could tell at a glance that for an hour, he had been watching the gathered soldiers from various routes in retreat at Chanda, their souls awakened by Commander Yu Xiaoqing, only to then be cast into the eighteen layers of hell.
Looking up, he was overwhelmed by a mix of emotions.
This story, this script, could basically blow Zhao Mingyuan's script out of the water. There was hardly any suspense over who should be chosen, as long as the people at the seminar weren't blind.
But on the other hand, it's no wonder Xu Qingyan had a poker face after reading Zhao Mingyuan's script in the morning. It wasn't nervousness he felt but an effort to hold back his laughter.
Dammit, such a tight-lipped guy, he must have come out of the palace in his last life.
The seminar was set to start around two-thirty in the afternoon, considering the leaders needed enough time to rest, the actual discussion of the script would begin after three o'clock.
