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... on the face, bringing about a cool air. The guard sat on the carriage, soaked from the rain, but he didn’t dare complain. He looked at you and asked tentatively, “Young Master, are we going back?”


Layers of dark clouds blocked the moon. It must be the end of the tenth century.


Zhong Shang did not say a word the entire time, her exquisite jaw drew a cold arc, and only after a long time did she say: “No.”


The guard sighed and resigned himself to his fate.


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