Time passes minute by minute.

At first, people were still holding their breath, expecting Wu Dalang to write what he called his self-created poems.

But after waiting for a long time, Wu Dalang didn't make the slightest movement.

Standing in front of the wall, motionless as a piece of wood.

Wu Dalang occasionally picked up the pen halfway, but when he mentioned it, he immediately put it down.

This made the crowd of onlookers a little impatient.

I wonder if this person can do it?

I'm quite confident in what I just said

Chapter 78 of "I, Wu Dalang, Grow My Body from Now On": Reading for the Rise of China! I am hitting it in my hand, please wait a moment,

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