Even without mentioning them, one could tell just by observing the atmosphere in the auditorium. Everyone in the audience had turned silent. Even the host, Zhang Huo, was at a loss for words while holding onto the microphone. The female host, Sung Mengjie, was even worse. She stared straight ahead and did not even realize that her hand had lost its grip on the microphone. Only when it issued a heavy thud on the red-carpeted floor of the podium did she come around. Following this, the souls of the people returned to their empty bodies, as if they had just crawled down from the moon in Zhang Ye’s poem!
Wow!
Shouts immediately exploded!
“Good poem!”
“What the f***!”
“Heavens! What did I just hear!”
“The pen of God! The pen of God!”