PREVIEW
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“One… hundred.”
Cheng Xin took out a charcoal pen and wrote a few crooked words. “Second question: Where are they?”
“Grand… Salt… Mountain…”
“The third question is: Japanese, the witch.”
Cheng Xin grabbed the charcoal pen solemnly, like Sun Wukong grabbing chopsticks, and wrote quickly.
At this moment, Leng Ziling suddenly crushed the last bottle of poison in his hand, and the powder fell on Cheng Xin and him.
“I told you not to move!”
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