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... o days later, outside Beili City, at the entrance of the charitable estate.
The night was tranquil, with a waning moon hanging high, soft as fluff, light as a floating cloud, varying in depth, seemingly there and yet not.
Under a large tree stood two figures, An Jing and Luo Chongyang.
“Cough, cough, cough…”
An Jing’s body was still actively cycling the “Nameless Heart Scripture,” absorbing the spiritual energy from heaven and earth, nurturing his essence blood. < ...
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