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Atop Misty Peak.
Qiao Jiaxi, carrying a wooden bucket, ran down the mountain along the stone stairs.
“One, two, three, four!”
As Qiao Jiaxi ran, he chanted rhythmically, his breath steady, light as a swallow, not at all like an ordinary person.
“It really is strange, these past few years, my constitution has become better and better; no matter how much I run, I don’t feel tired,” Qiao Jiaxi muttered to himself as he ran.
Although he ...
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