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... ers are like brocade. On the bluestone, the girl sits in a circle, and the sound of the flute passes from it.
At the end of the song, Zhu Long lowered the flute, and closed his eyes, his eyelashes trembling slightly.
She raised her bright chin, facing the sky tree.
There was another fruit on the tree of heaven, and the mysterious ideological fluctuations converged on the fruit, and then it turned into a streamer and fell from the branch.
Caused a scramble for a group ...
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