Backstage under the pedestal of the opera hall, in the screenwriter's independent studio

Because of Alice's strong style, Corell had nothing to do as a screenwriter, so he took out paper and pen and took the time to write the latest opera.

It wasn't until Corell came here on patrol and told Yale about the matter that he put down the quill, dried the paper, and prepared to find this unfortunate friend.

Before his feet crossed the threshold, he met a lean and capable young man head-on, and the other party smiled politely:

"Mr. Dean Qi, Mr. Dean invites you to come over to discuss the latest script."

Deanqi knew this man, he was the assistant and guard of the director of the Thracian Thracian Theater, and he was deeply appreciated and should not be offended.

"If that's the case, please lead the way." Anyway, there's plenty of time now, so I'll go to Yale after I finish the script.

"Okay, please come with me."

During this time, the concert hall was filled with the fast and rapid melody of the violin, and the opera hall did not move at all. The lights on the stage turned from red to purple, and gradually dimmed. Finally, only a few beams of silver light remained on the violin players on the stage. Suddenly, the sound of the piano turned and became sonorous and enthusiastic...

Standing alone in the small dark room, Yalei's mind fluctuated and jumped with the music, suddenly like thunder and lightning, suddenly like a hairspring, floating...floating...

All of a sudden, the lights went out, and the majestic concerto played in the concert hall, mixed with the sound of drums galloping like a thousand horses, like a spring thunder, knocking him down from the clouds. At the same time as the mind is lost, the strength is out of control...

"What a piece of shit..."

The knight's face was pale in pain, but the hard facts told him that he had to have capital to divide his heart into three uses. If he didn't have that ability, it was better to be conservative.

After finally waiting for the pain to subside, Yale immediately blocked the music in his ear, and focused on guarding without looking away.

Opera House, Dean's Room

"Mr. Daienqi, your new work is too violent. In my opinion, it is even more outrageous than "The Flower Field of Hope". For example, in the second scene, the male protagonist uses all kinds of unscrupulous means to win the victory. The opponent who came from a well-known family and had a decent style was completely paralyzed. The opponent agreed to surrender and then killed them all. It was too unconscionable and had no chivalrous demeanor, which was inconsistent with the main idea of ​​​​the empire..."

"For example, in the fifth scene, in order to save the world, the male protagonist did not hesitate to kill his wife, his assistant and lover, and his daughter. The last person died alone. Although he later adopted a man who inherited his will. Adopted son, it's still too dark... I can't help but want to hit you after reading it..."

"In the last scene, the big villain is resurrected, and the second villain is also resurrected... How can the ending be like the villain won? Your thinking is very dangerous, young man..."

The old-fashioned bald-headed theater director held a copy of the script and chattered endlessly, pointing at Dainqi's nose from time to time and swearing.

"Yes, yes...change, change..." A screenwriter was as compliant as a quail, but he didn't think he was embarrassed, and was even a little excited. With the power and qualifications of the other party, he really does not like himself, and if he wants to crush himself to death, he doesn't even need the time for a meal. In his opinion, the curator is willing to take time to scold himself, that is to look down on himself.

Swear, swear, in short, I just want to write stories that can heal people's hearts. For this, I will never regret it!

In addition to the secret joy, Dai Enqi was also a little anxious. The other party had sprayed him for more than an hour, and it would be less than ten minutes before the intermission.

"Oh, I'm getting old after all." The old curator suddenly stood up from his seat and shouted to the door, "Rodman, help me out to the toilet."

A lean young man stepped in and took his arm.

Dai Enqi asked tremblingly, "Mr. Dean, I still have something in my hands, can I... can I leave?"

The old man trembled and walked to the door. Hearing this, he turned his head and gave him a vicious look: "You are not allowed to go anywhere, and I will continue to scold you when I come back."

It's not over now! Dai Enqi was in a hurry, and suddenly he glanced at the white paper on the curator's table, and a flash of inspiration flashed. He hurriedly lay down on the table, pulled out the quill, and dipped a few strokes in ink to draw a sketch of the route.

It was folded into a square and stuffed into a pocket. He peeked out his head furtively and looked out the door, where the old curator was already far away. Only then did he sneak out the door, and rushed up the stairs leading to the upper floor.

Dai Enqi's physical strength was not strong at first, and after several years of screenwriting career, he had gained a lot of weight.

He just ran up the stairs and reached the first floor of the plinth, when the old curator's angry scolding could be heard behind him: "Where's Daenqi? There's no one to go to the toilet? Hurry up and give it to me. Come back, if you still want to be a screenwriter!"

Oops, the old man is angry!

Originally, he was going to rush into the music hall and hand over the drawn route map to a knight in charge of guarding. They must know Yale.

Now it seems that I still overestimate my speed, and the time must be too late. That old man has always been stingy, and he must have known that I had touched his pen and paper, so he might find fault. It is better to be careful and hide the evidence first.

He didn't have time to think too much, so he tucked the sketch under the angel sculpture by the handrail, and shouted, "Mr. Nannett, I just want to go to the toilet all of a sudden, don't be angry, I'll go back right away."

At this time, the patrol team just patrolled from the concert hall to the first floor of the pedestal. Corell, headed by him, looked at his back and muttered strangely: "What is this guy doing in the curator's room?"

On the big steps in front of the dance hall, the guards brag and fart boredly, and occasionally glance in awe at the side room behind—from their angle, they can see Yale standing upright.

The knight had real perseverance and was still watching the door meticulously. Therefore, others are knights, and they can only be soldiers.

He couldn't listen to music, and his lower body was still aching, so he could only exercise every once in a while, and Yale felt that the time became difficult. He had no choice but to look at the sky outside the door, counting the stars in a boring way, until they were chaotic, and then they counted again and again...

I don't know if it's a psychological factor, but after counting, the music seems to stop. The knight pricked up his ears with bated breath, the music seemed to really stop! It was probably halftime, and Clark was probably back right away!

A calm Clark really lived up to his expectations. After only a few minutes, he walked back with a scent and a happy smirk on his lips.

"Go!" The man opened the door.

"It's on time! It's up to you next!" Yale gave a thumbs up, and couldn't wait to get out of the small dark room on the side. He stopped as soon as he stepped into the corridor.

By the way, I don't know the way! Why hasn't this guy Dainqi come to see me? It's not like his style, just wait patiently.