The Inverted Lake has already been "dried out," and the play still isn't over?
Fu Qian unfolded the script in his hand again, scrutinizing the marks on it as if seeing a screenwriter stuck with writer's block.
Not only did the sixth act still fail to appear, there wasn't even an extra word.
It was still just five lines in total, with the titles of the third and fifth acts both left blank.
After all those intense operations—sending Rom off, peeking at Doomsday, tearing the armor apart with bare hands—not a single new trace had been forced onto the page.
So it's completely slacking off, just waiting for me, the character in the play, to fill it in myself?
Even though he'd done similar things before, Fu Qian couldn't help complaining inwardly.
It was obviously different from that All Fools' Day; this time, besides steering the plot, he even had to write his own summary.
