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... my hands, sinking:
"One river Qushui wine, a heaven and a moon in the hometown far away. Go out to the cold plum to fight for spring, the night of the peach blossoms, the small bridge, the father of the bridge, and the strategizing the clouds. The ups and downs of the money, the state after the Changan."
Zhang Zhong finished the impromptu poem, lifted his sleeve and smashed it in the corner of his eye, and said nothing, poured himself on the wine. I slowly drunk there.
Othe ...
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