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... e, its flickering small flame not brighter than the moonlight. A bowl of congee, a small dish of pickled radish, a voracious figure, and a crowd of stupefied villagers.


“Miss Xiao Zhuo!” Wu Si glanced at the empty bowl again, swallowed, cautiously asked, “do you want another serving?”


Zhuo Qing put down the bowl, coldly replied: “Call me Zhuo Qing, well, I’m full now.”


“Oh.” Wu Si let out a long sigh of relief, she finally had enough, after seeing the bottom of the ...

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