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... Then he lifted the patient's two eyelids and observed carefully.

Old Prince Jing couldn't help being nervous.

The moment she stopped, she hurriedly asked, "How is it? Can my son be saved?"

He has only had one son all his life, and now he doesn't even have a grandson. If his son is so hopeless, then Prince Jing's mansion may fall into his hands.

How will he face his ancestors in a hundred years?

Qin Jianxi stood up, "The patient has had this disease for at ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

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