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... Like a little vinegar pot with its lid lifted off.
"You... write a better one, you must surpass them."
Zhao Rong frowned, cutting her off directly, "I don’t want to write."
He gazed at Liu Mei, who was about to get angry, and spoke his mind truthfully.
"If it were before, if you asked me to write, I would definitely write. I could write any sort of poem for you. But now, I haven’t yet written the love poem I promised you, how can I write for another woman?"
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