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... ngyao kept staring at the girl with sharp and introverted eyes, seeing her shy ears turning red, and a dark pupil with an emotional look.

"All right."

   Mu Xingwan blushed and raised her head, and the man couldn't wait to lower his head to kiss him, even more domineering and eager than before.

   As early as the girl unbuttoned his shirt, he could hardly restrain himself.

   She took the initiative to wrap her arms around his neck, trying to respond to the kiss.

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After quitting the national team, Qi Yue devoted herself to agronomy.

At a certain party, someone was booing, and whoever lost the shooting game would be kissed by Qi Yue.

Looking at Qi Yue, who was planting potatoes with a hoe with a sloppy face and a muddy face, in the experimental field, the big guy’s face turned green.

Everyone scrambled to target the bullseye for fear of being punished.

In the end, Gu Huai, the big male god of A, raised his hand and missed the target and shot a 0 ring.

When they met for the second time, Gu Huai was crushed by malicious provocations in the fencing hall.

Qi Yue couldn’t stand it any longer and was forced to take action.

When we met for the third time, Gu Huai was homeless on the side of the road.

In order to help him, Qi Yue spent three months of living expenses.

After many years.

Qi Yue looked at the world shooting record certificate, fencing championship trophy and dozens of property certificates with Gu Huai’s name written on it, and fell into contemplation: “…”

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MTL - Sword of ComingChapter 1215 like a dragon
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The boundless universe is full of many wonders.

I, Chen Ping, only have one sword!

I can move mountains, overturn the seas upside down, suppress demons, slap the face of gods, pluck the stars, break rivers, destroy cities, and… open the heavenly abode!

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The Midland world was full of wonders.

In the center of the world, there was a scholar who had once used a sword to slash out a waterfall of the Milky Way. This was the person he was the most proud of.

At the edge of East Sea’s cliffs, there was a nameless Daoist who was unwilling to ascend to the peak of a mountain. He only wished for a cool breeze to brush against his face.

In the Western Pure Land, there was an old monk who liked to treat people to chicken soup and tell stories.

In the southern border of the Wilderness, there was a blind painter who controlled golden-armored puppets that were as tall as mountains to move the hundred thousand mountains, creating an embroidered picture.

A impoverished youth who grew up in the north. One day, he saw tens of thousands of Sword Kinesis Immortals above him, like a swarm of locusts crossing the border.

He wanted to see for himself the scholar that the storyteller had mentioned, the surging tides of the East Sea, the vast swamps of sand in the west, and the majestic mountains of the Southern Wasteland.

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“The Second Cult Leader and the Prophet of the Voodooists died during the Holy War seven years ago.”

Florence Academy was a prestigious clergy academy.

“Now that the Voodooists are considered as a cult, who is the Third Cult Leader, where are they now, and what are they up to?”

Only I knew the answer to this question.

The Third Cult Leader was a freshman at Florence Academy. He was here, standing amongst the others in the auditorium.

How do I know this, you ask?

Because I’m the Cult Leader.

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