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... unning out the time of the tranquil night.
Ning Yi stared blindly at Feng Zhiwei; his blurred, grey view could make out nothing, but he could imagine her face — the blush fading away, the cold determination between her dark brows, an expression like the one she wore when they first met last winter, by the icy lake of Qiu Mansion as she stepped down on grasping fingers.
Calm, determined, and hints of hidden roguishness.
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