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... quietly wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and bravely offered a cup of tea.
"Master, perhaps a cup of tea..." (slowly?)
Before he could finish, a chilling glance from Nangong Mo made Feng Xuan’s hand tremble, almost spilling the tea, "Master, I spoke out of turn!"
With that, he retreated to a corner: I was wrong! I reflect! I face the wall!
Master, you came here, neither drinking tea nor eating, could it be purely to... eavesdrop?
Feng Xuan thought it ...
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