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... it.
In the end, Shi Yuhuai had to do it.
He sat on the stool with his eyes downcast and expressionless, inexplicably looking aggrieved, as if even his wig exuded a sense of irritability.
The tall figure was still about the height of Mu Qiu’s chest when seated; the wind blowing through the bamboo forest lifted his long hair, and his dark red tunic flapped in the wind.
If only he were playing a zither beneath his hands, it would be perfect.
Unfortunately, hi ...
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