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Jiang Zhihan walked with a little eagerness, and stopped suddenly when he saw with his own eyes that the people on the hospital bed were safe and sound.
He stepped forward, lowered his head, and quietly brushed away the hair that blocked his face.
"Song Qingyou—"
Jiang Zhihan's voice was very soft.
It was the first time for him to see Song Qingyou so lifeless.
Like an exquisite doll in a glass showcase.
Pretty enough, but inexplicab ...
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