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... eight thousand years have passed, yet he still cannot traverse even a small piece above the heavens, illustrating just how boundless it is above.
...
In the village, the snow ceased and the wind calmed, as if the white world had been paused.
The snow gleamed with a lustrous sheen under the mottled sunlight, unimaginably pure and spotless like untouched white paper, even with one’s face pressed against it, free of any impurity, with specks of fluorescence.
Beside ...
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