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In the dark mist, Chu Wuyong was like a dark king as he controlled everything.
And Song Qingyun was like a small insect that fell into the cobweb and can’t escape the fate of being preyed on, no matter how it struggled.
At this moment, Song Qingyun’s forehead was drenched with cold sweat, and his heartbeat was in disarray. The joint fingers of the hand that held the spiritual tool turned white, as he slightly trembling; his ...
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