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As Yang Quanfeng’s voice fell, the air seemed to freeze.
Qin An squinted his eyes, lightly tapping his fingertips on the knife sheath, producing a crisp "ta-ta-ta" sound.
"Clarity and chaos coexist; whichever prevails will determine this Pseudo-God’s virtue or vice."
The aura within the coffin fluctuated between purity and impurity, akin to the Pseudo-God lingering on the edge of good and evil.
One thought can lead to enlightenment, another can turn to demo ...
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