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Smelling the lingering hotpot scent in the room, she looked at Ming Jing with some resentment: “You had hotpot without me.”
Ming Jing sat on a sofa by the floor-to-ceiling window, with a thin blanket over her knees and a book in her hands, flipping through it leisurely.
Zheng Qing walked over and glanced at the cover, raising an eyebrow: “Wind on the Clouds? So this is the book you had me spend a fortune on for the copyright. I didn’t know you had a dream of martial ...
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