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... orching air waves and the noisy cicada.
The summer sun is shining, only a small part of the stairwell is shaded on the roof, and the rest is exposed to the dazzling sun. I took my bento to the side, and saw Song Bailao, shirtless, sitting cross-legged in the shadows.
The bite stopper was thrown on the ground at will, with his back to me, revealing his bruised flesh, he was turning around and smearing something on his shoulder.
Noticing me, he raised his eyelids. Although the ...
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