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... ridor window, as the cold wind blew into the narrow hallway.

The chill penetrated every nook and cranny, but the young man’s body temperature felt scorching hot.

“Qu Feitai,” Ming Jing called out lightly.

The young man held her tightly in his arms, like a drowning person clutching onto the last straw for survival.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” His tone carried hints of complaint and grievances, as if Ming Jing had wronged him somehow.

His voice was so ...

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