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... gers to the sky, as if to swear an oath, and couldn’t help but chuckle. He nodded and turned to leave the room.
By the time Wen Qiao finished washing up and went downstairs, Fu Jinghen was already seated at the dining table.
His white shirt fit him perfectly, his hair was meticulously combed, and he sat with his legs crossed, scrolling through something on his iPad with an indifferent expression. He exuded an air of detachment— the epitome of a chaste noble gentleman.
Wen ...
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