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... o walked in carried an aura of extreme cold.
Ye Qingying looked up, meeting his gaze, his palm slowly tightening.
"Where is Lady Xiaoyao?" he asked hoarsely.
Ye Qingying was currently shackled by iron chains, forged from millennium cold iron, lying on the bed, unable to rise due to his injuries.
Yet the murderous intent in his eyes was far from light.
"She is my Lili, not your Xiaoyao," Feng Yexuan’s voice was cold to the extreme.
"Jian Wuying, I h ...
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