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Before him was an old jujube red wooden door, exuding traces of years past. Its surface densely covered in veins, like a door made of flesh and blood, stood blocking the mountain path.
In a trance,
Lu Chenzhou saw thousands of indistinct tenacious figures, who with bodies tempered a thousand times and wills that never faded, smashed through the door, laughing heartily as they passed.
Beside his ears, it seemed that countless bold and unrestraine ...
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