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... kirts of Lu City.
The bright moon hangs alone, its gentle light covering the ground.
The ground seems to be covered in a layer of silver frost, shrouded in a faint mist, while occasional owl calls come from the dense, dark forest nearby.
In an open space, Zhang Kui holds a small bone flute the size of a palm and gently blows into it.
The sound is small yet sharp and piercing, like the cry of some animal, floating in the air and spreading farther and farther...
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