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... ure slowly appeared.
“I’ll let you strike three times first,” the old man said calmly. “Lest others say I bully the young.”
Xu Zimo lifted his gaze toward the speaker.
The old man’s hair was tied in a single braid atop his head, like ancient scholars used to wear, giving him an air of refinement. He wore a cyan scholar’s robe embroidered with mysterious patterns, his eyes deep and composed. His nose was slightly sunken, his lips dry and cracked.
As he approached, ...
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