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... Nan Zhubin, who had just finished his shower, sat on the sofa in the living room. He held a bottle of red flower oil in his left hand, the opening facing down, and dripped it into his right palm with a "pop, pop" sound. He then smacked it onto his ankle with a loud "smack," rubbing it vigorously as if kneading dough.
Kicking someone and hurting yourself in the process—how did that happen?
He muttered to himself, thinking that after dealing with everything lately, he really neede ...
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