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... nd black clouds that appeared like cotton. However, there was no tangible feeling on touch; it was more like condensed smoke.
“There are some peculiar things in the fog. I’m afraid that your voice transmission stone cannot be used here.” The little white tiger lied in Ye Qingtang’s arms and moved its whiskers. Its nose was uncomfortable from the cold air in the fog.
Ye Qingtang was confused, but Ling Yan must have his reasons when he told her to enter the place.
While Ye Qingta ...
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