Perhaps Ziyu was just too lazy, the burly man thought to himself.
Zhao Rong looked around, "Has everyone finished writing?"
Gu Yiwu and the others nodded one after another.
"Then let's hand them in."
Not far away, the blue-clad maids who had left earlier re-entered the hall. One by one, they respectfully collected the poems from the seats inside the hall. However, among them this time was no sight of the clever maid missing a front tooth.
Gu Yiwu waved to them.
Several blue-clad maids came to the table where Zhao Rong and others were seated, organized the poems, and placed them into brand-new envelopes, then registered the names on the envelopes.
Especially for Gu Yiwu's entry-level poem, the envelope holding it was cradled carefully by the blue-clad maid, unsure whether to grasp or pinch it, terrified of dropping it on the floor, for selling herself wouldn't cover the loss.
Gu Yiwu glanced at Zhao Rong's poem, which was handed over indifferently.
