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... p> Chen Yan, bare-chested and drenched in sweat, with his veins bulging...

He was holding the horse stance.

His legs were spread apart as he stood, his arms stretched out straight, fists clenched. He was gritting his teeth, determined to hold on.

Meanwhile, Zhao Ying held a small wooden stick in his hands, circling around Chen Yan with his arms crossed over his chest. Whenever he saw Chen Yan’s posture slipping, he’d flick the stick at him.

Just as Chen Yan’s left ...

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