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The moment Tang Ling was slammed into the ground of the colosseum, he regained his mobility, but it did not help him at all.


He could feel that every bone within him was broken, and it was not much of a difference from being constrained. If he had not released the little seed’s energy, he could have died on impact.


Who’s the strange man? What did I ever do to him ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

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