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Paint those memories of war, etched into the bones?
Lin Wan Yi’s heart suddenly sank.
This isn’t painting Happy Sheep.
It’s not painting little animals building houses.
It’s blood, it’s fire, it’s a history stacked with countless lives.
Is she capable of painting that?
On the way home, she didn’t say a word.
Gu Yanshen didn’t ask.
He just slowed his pace, matching her rhythm.
Just as they were nearing home, Lin Wan Yi s ...
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