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... Zhiwei listened silently, understanding that political struggles were the same everywhere.
Both of them stayed silent and the room fell quiet. Summer wind blew in through the ajar window, tossing Helian Zheng’s dark hair over his prone back; framed by his hair, the color of his purple eyes gleamed even brighter, the amber mingling with the deep purple, outshining the moon.
His robe fell loosely against his strong, light honey chest, lazily curling up on Feng Zhiwei’s small bed lik ...
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