Cui Yunqi laughed heartily.
Meanwhile, in the cubicle at East Literature Field, Luo Wenhuan's face was pale, and his lips were bluish-purple.
Thud!
His wolf hair brush, soaked in ink, fell onto the paper, instantly smearing the poetry on the sheet.
Yet Luo Wenhuan was unable to attend to his own answer sheet.
He allowed the ink to spread, sitting in the cubicle as if struck by a sudden bolt of lightning.
If there were truly a thunderbolt at this moment, he might wish for it to strike him into pieces right there.
This way, he wouldn't have to face the circumstance he currently wished not to see nor encounter.
But this was happening in the Imperial Examination Hall.
What kind of thunderbolt would strike inside the Imperial Examination Hall?
There was no thunderbolt, but all around him were exclamations, sharper and fiercer than thunder and lightning.
They pierced Luo Wenhuan's heart with each shout.
"The poem turned to cyan smoke? This is true!"
