"Now it's time to take care of that favor I asked you for."
Lann got up from the bed. Rong Buqiu, looking bright-eyed and energetic, grabbed his cloak with its tiny paws and climbed up onto his shoulder.
The Demon Hunter walked over and patted Dandelion on the shoulder.
"I'm writing, I'm writing."
"I told you, once this script is done, I'm gonna make it so those Minstrels who sang about the last North–South war have nothing to sing except my lyrics! You can't rush art."
The poet was a bit irritable about it. Creators tend to be like this when they're stuck, so Lann didn't take it to heart.
"How about you add me in?"
It was actually Priscilla, who had been watching Dandelion write the script from the side, who cheerfully turned to Lann and asked.
"The story of this script is great. It'll just take time to polish and rhyme it properly. My skill's no worse than his—add me in and the work will go twice as fast for half the effort."
