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... rises, clouds billow high.
Old Cang’s figure slowly appeared amidst the descending mad wind.
“I’ll let you make three moves, to avoid saying I’m bullying you.”
Xu Zimei raised his head, looking at the silhouette of the speaker.
The elder’s hair was tied with a braid on top of his head, resembling the traditional queue of ancient people, giving a scholarly feel.
He wore a blue Confucian robe, embroidered with patterns incomprehensible, his eyes steady.
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