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... e courtyard.
The place had grown much quieter compared to before. Most of the cooking had already been finished, and the earlier noise had settled down. The only sound left was the soft, steady clink of a spoon touching a bowl.
When I stepped inside, I saw him immediately.
Fu Teng.
He was standing by the side, holding a bowl of leftover congee in his hands. He ate quietly, his movements slow and controlled, as if he was trying not to draw any attention to himself. ...
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