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The sky above the Bleeding Heaven did not move. It wept bloodless clouds that hung like corpses strung from invisible nooses, swaying slightly, yet never falling. The sun—a pale wound in the heavens—offered no warmth. And beneath it, amidst half-dead fields and bone-dry rice paddies, Rin Xie stood at the edge of a breathless silence.
The village had no name.
It had forgotten how to speak it.
Wooden huts leaned inward like grieving mothers. Smoke curled from no ...
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