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... iddle of a phone call. His thin lips were pressed together and his expression was grave. “Master Bi said that the piece was composed by Gu Yin?”
His hand rested on the kitchen counter, his fingers drumming against it. In front of it was an opened packet of noodles. It appeared as if he had been preparing to cook noodles but got interrupted by a phone call. His intimidating aura permeated the entire open kitchen and the atmosphere became even colder when the person on the other end said ...
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