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... ight in front of Mobei-Jun’s boots; his sword, still half-stuck in its sheath; his heart, hadn’t quite decided whether or not to draw his sword.
Mobei-Jun sneered, an ice-cold glint of blue flashing through his eyes. No sooner said than done, Shang Qinghua threw himself over to hug his thighs with a plop.
All his Shixiong: “=口=”
Mobei-Jun: “= =”
Shang Qinghua fell to one knee. “My king, please let me follow you the rest of my life!”
Mobei-Jun wan ...
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