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... o squint, barely making out the golden-red outline of the sun and the cicada fluttering towards it.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed.
The man had waited for a very long time, seemingly forever, never leaving, not knowing whether it was reluctance to leave or anticipation.
Until he heard a cicada's cry.
Boldly sounding its voice against Heaven and Earth.
So faint, just like the insignificant ants under the vast canopy of heaven, yet brimming wit ...
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