"What… are you guys talking about?"
Xuan Mo spent two long breaths of time but was still unable clear up her thoughts—even her rushing water immortal spirit could not wash the haze that clouded her mind. After twenty days, the scene in front of her didn't seem to have changed. On the field, Wang Lu's body had turned into a phantom as he incessantly wrote and wrote. Hundreds of thousands of manuscripts had been written and covered the lawn neatly like a vast expanse of white, like a winter snowfield. On the rostrum, the Supremes of the Union of Ten Thousand Immortals were still quietly watching. On the other side, the Earth Immortals were concentrating on the scene and discussing with each other endlessly.
