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... held her flowing black hair in a casual ponytail, and she had a yellow-skinned gourd hanging from her waist.
Beneath the fiery light of dusk, she looked like a painting of a pure immortal beauty.
Su Yi slumped lazily in his wicker chair, looked her up and down, then pointed to a stone bench. “Sit.”
Yue Shichan casually took a seat. The setting sun illuminated her slender, delicate figure, its radiance like clothes woven out of gentle, misty light.
“Fellow Daoist, ...
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