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... decoction when it is warm. Take a small cup of decoction each time, and finish all of it within three days,” said Wang Yao.

When they were talking, the doorbell rang again. Another visitor came. Wang Yao knew the visitor, Yang Ming; he was Wang Yao’s old schoolmate. Yang Ming came with a present, and he was surprised to see Wang Yao in Tong Wei’s home.

“Hi, Wang Yao!” said Yang Ming.

“Hi, Yang Ming. What a coincidence!” said Wang Yao with a smile. He stood up from the chair.

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Bathed in the love of her imperial family and her husband, Yun Shang was a spoiled princess and the envy of many at the Royal Court. Her life had been perfect right up till the moment when she realized that everything was just a sham, a ruse designed by the Empress to ruin Yun Shang. After enduring bitter treachery and being poisoned, Yun Shang died with a broken heart and an unfulfilled vow of vengeance. As if God was answering her final request, Yun Shang found herself reborn like an immortal phoenix. She was eight again, and all her memories from her previous life remained intact. The others, however, did not remember the events leading up to her death. Determined not to repeat her mistakes, Yun Shang planned to rain hellfire onto the treacherous, backstabbing villains for all the heart-wrenching pain they had once inflicted upon her. He was the handsome and smart prince of the Ning, who was revered as a battle-hardened general that knew no match in the world. He had thought he wouldn’t settle for anyone until she showed up. A seemingly innocent young princess and a gorgeous prince. Where would their relationship lead them?

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As a princess that could not wield magic, Princess Daphne’s only value to her kingdom was her arranged marriage. The task was simple, but when Daphne gets kidnapped and brought to the cold mountains of Vramid, she realizes that she’s in over her head.

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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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