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... e air. Ding Song sat in the front room, resting in a meditative pose. His war blade had not been sheathed, lying across his knees, while the woman rested in the master house, her eyes half-closed, a fine sweat beading on her nose, obviously not sleeping peacefully. Triggered by some emotion, memories of the past gradually became clearer and reemerged at that moment.
There were flames, there were swords.
There was a fierce intent to kill.
Beneath the blazing torches, the m ...
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