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236. Shennong’s Blessing
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237. The Roof Still Holds
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... > It clung to the walls, filled the spaces between footsteps. Laughter had long faded. Even conversation was thin, broken up by fits of coughing or the soft clatter of bowls being returned empty. When people walked, they did so slowly, like their bodies were remembering how.
Even the air felt weighed down. As though the Amethyst Plague had soaked into the very breath of Gentle Wind.
I had already spoken to Xu Ziqing and Ren Zhi, days ago.
"I can’t train anymore,” I’d told ...
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