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PREVIEW
... bottle of liquor.
Poor, coarse clay pottery without even the lowliest restaurant’s distillery sigil, only found in the smallest of slum bars.
Ning Yi had sent a bottle of bad liquor a thousand miles?
Feng Zhiwei stared at the bottle in confusion, the answer to her question dancing on the rims of her mind. She uncorked the bottle and carefully sniffed.
Pungent and biting, a strong liquor suitable for laborers working in the cold of winter.
Feng Zhiwei’s hand sh ...
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