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... iers on patrol have stepped on the soil and fallen leaves, and they all have a pleasant taste of the mountains.

Huo Xingxing sat cross-legged on the chair, with his elbows draped over the back of the chair, his posture was lazy, and he recited the poem slowly. There seemed to be some shallow yearning in his tone, but because his voice was too clear, he could only hear a few words. Fragmented words.

What "Xinghe", what "Night Quiet", what "Deep Forest and Bright Moon".

Um?

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