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... appearance, with his black hair let loose, a weathered face, and stubble, his eyes deep as pools, resembling a seasoned middle-aged man.
He quietly lay dormant with his bone stick, waiting for the Divine wheat field’s turmoil.
In the pitch-black, desolate realm, the black wheat was nearing maturity, swaying in the night breeze, its heavy ears shimmering with a dark light, the seeds plump and crystal-clear, emitting the unique fragrance of grain, imbued with a rich vitality.
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