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... ce in a bamboo grove.
The monk extended a Buddhist salute toward him and smiled. "Amitabha. My name is Santong. I understand Buddhist scriptures, Daoist arts, and the human heart just a little."
The scene gradually faded and turned into a warm and gentle afternoon. A silver-haired girl in a white dress lightly spun once before the swordsman.
"Daoist Master, does this look good?"
He had forgotten how he had answered. The memory was far too vague; only scattered fra ...
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