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... p> Meanwhile, in the cubicle at East Literature Field, Luo Wenhuan’s face was pale, and his lips were bluish-purple.
Thud!
His wolf hair brush, soaked in ink, fell onto the paper, instantly smearing the poetry on the sheet.
Yet Luo Wenhuan was unable to attend to his own answer sheet.
He allowed the ink to spread, sitting in the cubicle as if struck by a sudden bolt of lightning.
If there were truly a thunderbolt at this moment, he might wish for it to str ...
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