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... he ambergris was light, mixed with the not-so-strong medicinal fragrance.

  The light is bright, and under the delicate candlestick, Chu Ling in Tsing Yi is standing, standing in front of the desk, drawing with a brush.

  Long hair hangs down, and the cold white side face reflects the firelight, shadowy, cold and dusty.

   It was very quiet in the palace, only him.

  He coughed a few times in a low voice, his lips were pale and sickly.

   I want to drink tea, b ...

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[Excerpt]

“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

……………………………………………………………

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