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The old monk muttered something, stood up slowly, and the surrounding clouds and mist surged, or turned into soil, or trees, or people.
The scene is unpredictable, from far to near, sometimes slow, sometimes speeding up, just like someone is constantly pulling the progress bar.
Walking outside, there was already no one there. The traffic lights are working as usual, switching between red, green and yellow in an orderly manner. The difference is that the road is no long ...
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