Yan Lu's poetry has become Mingzhou. If he wants to beat him, the talent of his poetry must be more than three feet and six inches, which is close to the level of Zhenguo.

Du Ning writes most poems in Mingzhou, so it would be very difficult for him to write a poem that is almost nationally important.

Creating poems and articles requires inspiration. Without this, no matter how exquisite the writing is, it will be flashy and useless.

In different occasions and environments, the inspiration for creation is different, which will directly or indirectly affect the quality of the work.

"Master Du, it's your turn to write lyrics." Yan Lu said.

"Please."

The students of Jieying Society stepped back and gave up the stone table to Du Ning to write.

"Brother Yan has been prepared for a long time and can compose the lyrics in one stroke, but Du is here temporarily, so please allow me to think about it."

The meaning of Du Ning's words is that he hopes everyone can give him some time to think.

"Don't keep us waiting too long, I'll give you five hundred breaths at most." Yan Lu said expressionlessly.

One breath lasts nearly one second, and five hundred breaths is equivalent to less than nine minutes.

"Enough."

Du Ning smiled and nodded.

"Then we'll see."

Yan Lu put his hands behind his back, feeling extremely confident.

He prepared carefully and barely reached the height of three feet and six inches.
Chapter completed!