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... gle’s Qingchu Sword hummed softly, its blade trembling with a cyan cold glow, as spider-web-like ice cracks silently bloomed on the green bricks underfoot.
Jian Lan stood ten zhang away, enveloped in a pale blue Spiritual Mist, the ground beneath her feet condensed with thick ice crystals, even her breath carried a piercing chill.
Two forces collided, the air bursting with the sound of shattering ice crystals.
Si Lingle’s figure was like lightning, the blade not yet reach ...
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