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... t in small bites, like a squirrel stashing food for winter; every motion showed how precious it was to him.
The remaining road felt so stifled the atmosphere could be wrung dry.
Zhao Rui hunched on the cart board, covering his head with a ragged coat, saying nothing. He looked like a plucked rooster that could no longer fluff up.
Old Qian’s whip arm had lost much of its strength; he kept glancing back at the empty cart bed and letting out long sighs.
Only the mule ...
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