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... otch!
...
The old Daoist led the ox up the hill, turning back to glance one last time from afar.
Under the shade of the trees, the officers were in a rush, while the horse-faced chief lay on the ground, curled like a shrimp, emitting painful whimpers.
The old Daoist snickered.
The rats scurried wildly, biting people, then licked up the splattered blood as if ravenously devouring it.
It was as if what flowed out was not blood,
but golden fra ...
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