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In the morning mist that has not faded, a 17-year-old teenager spins a sword, faintly and aggressively in his every move.
The cold light ripped apart the mist, and the water poured.
When the wind passed, pink petals fell on the edge of the pond, some were cut in half by the sword gas, and some were covered with juvenile hair, which made him black as ink and white as jade.
A set of swordsmanship was completed, and Jing Yue's fingers touched the long sword in his hand—th ...
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