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... she could only hear the sound of boiling water.

Whimpering and muttering, ceaselessly.

On the small red mud stove, although there was no green ant new wine, but the water in the purple sand pot tumbled, and white steam came out, but it was soon scattered in a green color.

The young monk who looked after the stove was wearing old white clothes, as if wearing a large piece of old moonlight, and holding the fan lightly. His drooping eyebrows softened the handsome lines on the ...

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