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... uly 11th, afternoon following the meeting with Gastella.
Ke Mingye sat cross-legged on the bed in his bedroom, his eyes downcast as he fiddled with his cellphone. On the wooden table beside the bed, a handheld fan rotated slowly, facing his face—the weather was hot enough to roast the cicadas that chattered noisily in the trees.
In the email he had just replied to his second brother, he stated that he was unclear about Gastella’s intention of disguising puppets as himself.
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